Monday, January 28, 2008

A Trio of Harlots


I thought the title might pique some interest in the blog. Heh. I'm sneaky like that.

These
are three scarves knitted with the Yarn
Harlot's One Row pattern
.

While her scarf was made with some fabulous yarn she had spun herself, mine are knitted from some fabulous hand spun yarn I purchased. Being the slow, er, deliberate knitter that I am, I skipped the step
of spinning the yarn myself. It would probably take me 5 years to get
anything long enough to knit with. So, knowing myself as I do, I bought
lovelyhand spun, hand dyed yarn from Greta Dise's booth at Rhinebeck. I love her color combinations.



This is a very simple knit and lends itself well to knitting and watching House, and Lost. I tend to have difficulty walking and chewing gum at the same time, so I am thrilled when I find a pattern I love, which allows me to creatively use yarn that I love,to create a finished object that I love, all while watching television I
love. It meets all my needs, as a knitter and a tv addict. Who could ask for anything more?

__________________________________

Postscript.
I want thank you all for the kind comments about my Manny post. You all
are very encouraging to a new blogger. Manny is truly a great cat and
my daughter and I love him to bits. Whenever Beth comes home from
college he becomes "her" cat again, which is fun to see. The basket
that I took his picture in is one of his favorite hiding spots. And I
am so glad he's a part of the household. Except when he decides that
4:30 a.m. is an appropriate time for us to get up and start the day. As
spring gets closer and dawn comes earlier and the birds start singing
more, he'll be waking me up more often. Those are the days I wonder
about my choice of pets!

Monday, January 21, 2008

Cat in a basket


This is Manny. He's sort of a miracle cat, as you'll soon see.

He joined my household in 2004 when I already owned a Cardigan Welsh Corgi dog named Sherman, and two other cats, Kirby and Jazzy. I don't remember what prompted me to adopt another cat that winter but I am so glad I did. He brightened up a household that at the time was threatened to be overwhelmed by sadness.

My husband had moved out in the summer of 2003 and while I was functional, that was about all that I was. My youngest child, Beth, was still at home and though I doubted her, she told me she was "fine." After all, she could see her father whenever she wanted to and call him anytime. Her schedule had not changed. She was dancing and being a junior in high school, which kept her very busy. She was not exhibiting any real sadness that I could see. Or anger. While I was struggling with figuring out how to best live my life, and grieving, I was also trying to get her to open up to me about her feelings about all of this, something she resolutely refused to do. I had to take her at her word.

The change I saw in Beth after Manny joined the family opened my eyes to how affected she had been by having to be the one person left at home to deal with a very sad mom. She became "lighter." A 16 year old who was smiling. It was wonderful to see.

Beth is the one who named him. We have a tradition of naming our cats after favorite baseball players. Kirby (after Kirby Puckett of the Twins) was a revered member of the family for 17 years. So, Manny had little choice but to be named after Manny Ramirez, Beth's favorite player (at the time). When she's frustrated at the baseball player, she says that his name is Mani, short for Manicotti.

He’s very affectionate, often seeking out affection, in the manner of a dog. Many cats are aloof and reserved, but he insists on being with me wherever I am in the house, and if he's outside when I come home from work, he runs to meet me, then walks to and fro in front of me, checking to see if I am still following behind him. He loves to be outside with me when I do yard work.

He is a mighty hunter. He’ll bring down squirrels and rabbits bigger than he is. He wears a collar with a bell because I was tired of finding bits and pieces of rabbits, squirrels, mice, voles and birds on my front porch. As much as he loves to be outside, I try to keep him in when the birds are nesting and teaching their young to fly.

When I first brought Manny home, he was afraid of the dog I then owned, Sherman, a Cardigan Welsh Corgi. (That's where Cardigirl comes from.) By the second month of living with us, Sherman was Manny's dog. He would run up to greet her whenever she came in the door. (yes Sherman was a girl.) Eventually, because my other cats would not allow Manny to sleep with them, he started to sleep on top of Sherman. First the dog would go to sleep. Then Manny would climb up on top of her and curl up. I guess the cat was light enough that he didn't wake the dog when he curled up on top of her. It is one of my biggest disappointments that I did not have a working camera when this was going on. It was so cute it hurt.

When Sherman passed away, Manny mourned her for a long time. He would look for her in all of her usual places. Eventually, he began to sleep curled up next to me. He never slept with me before Sherman died. After I go to sleep, Manny comes in the room and curls up behind my knees. I often wake finding I have been pushed to the edge of the bed as the cat has taken over.

Because Beth and I adopted this cat together, we have become closer. For a long while, we were not able to communicate well, (mothers and daughters, sigh) but Manny gives us a mutual subject and a safe place to start conversations. And for me, Manny has made my life brighter as well. Any cat who can salve the relationship between a daughter and her mom is a miracle cat. He was the first step in my "new" life that led me to think that I would be fine.

Friday, January 18, 2008

A is for...



While enjoying a Reese’s Cup at work this afternoon, I casually glanced at the calendar and realized that I was behind schedule already for the ABC-along being hosted by Vicki. Imagine my chagrin. So I hopped on my trusty computer and started typing.

Now I’ve been contemplating the letter A and words that would make a great first post for some time. I wanted something terrific, and different and special, as I have been a poor blogger up til now and wanted to redeem myself a bit. A number of ideas were mulled over and jotted down. Most were rejected. I wasn’t worried, though. I had plenty of time. We can see where that kind of thinking led me.

One idea that I thought had great possibilities was A is for Adipose Tissue. Thinking about it, I realized it was timely and topical, as most people I know are struggling with some additional Adipose Tissue they grew during the holidays. I even went so far as to read about it on Wikipedia, where I was adequately grossed out. (Warning: pictures of mouse adipose tissue, as in dissection. Yuck.) And then, the thought of providing a picture of my very own rolls of Adipose Tissue brought the whole idea to an end. The world is not yet ready for that.

The second choice, and one I’m glad to say did not involve pictures of me in any way, was A is for Aftermath. This is the time of year when I am preoccupied with sweeping up the bits and pieces leftover from the holidays. I reflect on the time that brought my family close to me and how happy it made all of us to be together, and I am grateful, even as I am left to wrestle the tree out the door and pack up the ornaments and organize the recycling and clean out the refrigerator, alone. The holidays were great. The aftermath makes me appreciate them even more.

And one other idea caught my mind. I’ve been taking a poetry appreciation class for awhile now. Poetry is important to me. I love how a wonderfully written poem can crystallize an idea or an experience so thoroughly, with few words.

And so I thought, perhaps A is for Auden. As in WH Auden. One of my favorite poems about the holidays was written by him. I thought I would close with it. I'm not certain I understand everything he's trying to say in it. But every time I read it, I find more to think about.

Christmas Oratorio
Well, so that is that.  Now we must dismantle the tree,
Putting the decorations back into their cardboard boxes --
Some have got broken -- and carrying them up to the attic.
The holly and the mistletoe must be taken down and burnt,
And the children got ready for school. There are enough
Left-overs to do, warmed-up, for the rest of the week --
Not that we have much appetite, having drunk such a lot,
Stayed up so late, attempted -- quite unsuccessfully --
To love all of our relatives, and in general
Grossly overestimated our powers. Once again
As in previous years we have seen the actual Vision and failed
To do more than entertain it as an agreeable
Possibility, once again we have sent Him away,
Begging though to remain His disobedient servant,
The promising child who cannot keep His word for long.
The Christmas Feast is already a fading memory,
And already the mind begins to be vaguely aware
Of an unpleasant whiff of apprehension at the thought
Of Lent and Good Friday which cannot, after all, now
Be very far off. But, for the time being, here we all are,
Back in the moderate Aristotelian city
Of darning and the Eight-Fifteen, where Euclid's geometry
And Newton's mechanics would account for our experience,
And the kitchen table exists because I scrub it.
It seems to have shrunk during the holidays. The streets
Are much narrower than we remembered; we had forgotten
The office was as depressing as this. To those who have seen
The Child, however dimly, however incredulously,
The Time Being is, in a sense, the most trying time of all.
For the innocent children who whispered so excitedly
Outside the locked door where they knew the presents to be
Grew up when it opened. Now, recollecting that moment
We can repress the joy, but the guilt remains conscious;
Remembering the stable where for once in our lives
Everything became a You and nothing was an It.
And craving the sensation but ignoring the cause,
We look round for something, no matter what, to inhibit
Our self-reflection, and the obvious thing for that purpose
Would be some great suffering. So, once we have met the Son,
We are tempted ever after to pray to the Father;
"Lead us into temptation and evil for our sake."
They will come, all right, don't worry; probably in a form
That we do not expect, and certainly with a force
More dreadful than we can imagine. In the meantime
There are bills to be paid, machines to keep in repair,
Irregular verbs to learn, the Time Being to redeem
From insignificance. The happy morning is over,
The night of agony still to come; the time is noon:
When the Spirit must practice his scales of rejoicing
Without even a hostile audience, and the Soul endure
A silence that is neither for nor against her faith
That God's Will will be done, That, in spite of her prayers,
God will cheat no one, not even the world of its triumph.

-- W. H. Auden