Restingmotion

  • Spring skirts

    Picture 5 Duchesse posted this skirt yesterday.  I really like the look and was surprised that I had missed it.  But when I pulled out my Talbots catalog I realized why.  I like the front with the pleats, but the back is gathered and I don't believe it would do anything for the rear-view given that I don't think it flatters the models on the catalog cover either.  I'd like this skirt if it had pleats in front and back.  

     

    Picture 2 It immediately reminded me of another skirt I'd just seen in an e-mail from Donna Karan.  I love the look of this skirt and the fabric, but am managing to convince myself that it will probably be too snug through the waist.  Sad but true.  Besides, the way the gathers are ruched or smocked at the top (I'm not quite sure which and it doesn't matter because I'm not going to copy this detail) would not flatter me.  I'd be much better off with stitched pleats.

     

    But it does seem apparent that I need to make a pleated skirt for summer.  I've had favorite pleated skirts in the past, here, and here, and it seems time for another.

     

    photo 1 courtesy Talbots

    photo 2 courtesy Donna Karan

  • February Made Me Shiver

    I seem to be having a little motivational crisis.   All I really want is to go back to bed and stay there until spring with perhaps a few forays into the kitchen for coffee and brownies and a stack of books.  

     

    It is easy to say I am tired of winter, and it is true, I am tired of winter.  But so is everyone at this time of year and this has been a winter particularly trying to human patience.  But blaming it on winter is such a cliché, even if it does hold a kernel of the truth.   Winter is not over yet, there is still February, and February somehow seems to be both the longest and the shortest month, long because there is usually at least one brutal snowstorm waiting in the wings, long because we are all tired of winter, long because spring doesn't really start to come until April. In February, April seems like a long long way away.

     

    IMG_4453 I was cold all day yesterday.  I was wearing a warm sweater, the thermostat was set to 70 degrees.  But still I was cold.  Truthfully, the house wasn't really 70 degrees except in a few warm protected spaces and the smaller rooms, which are all bedrooms and therefore all the more appealing as a place to curl up and hibernate.  This is the downside of having a big contemporary house where the rooms are all large open spaces and the entire west wall is glass. Glass facing the Hudson River is beautiful, but it also exposes us to the bitter force of icy winds blown across the country to our house, battering our glass walls, sending shivers of cold through the house so powerfully that no oil furnace can keep up.  A few nights below zero, a day or two with no sun, a bit of wind and a chill begins to set in.  No wonder I love to knit big thick comfy sweaters this time of year. I live in a scaled down contemporary version of a drafty old castle.  At least it warms up more quickly when the sun finally reemerges.

     

    The whiteness of snowfall that I loved so much in the early part of the winter seems oppressive now.  Yesterday the whiteness seemed to glare at me, to taunt me, and it was not accompanied by the soft enveloping silence of many snowfalls.  Instead we had wind, the roar of wind against the glass, the cold fingers of icy winds through the windowpanes. We do have insulating blinds, but they are not enough, and the wind seeps around the corners and curls down to the floor, creeping into one's toes and up into one's bones. This was a cold brittle whiteness, the whiteness of emptiness and despair.

     

    Or at least that is how it seemed to me.  But then I know this really isn't just about winter.  It is about fear. It took me all day to write yesterday's post, not that it was all that much, but I just couldn't do it.  The idea that things were going well just wouldn't make the leap from my brain to my fingers to the keyboard.  My hands would freeze up.  My brain would burp.  I would think "I need a cup of coffee", or "I should run some laundry" or whatever it could throw at me to keep me from admitting that things are going well.  Am I afraid of happiness, of good things?  No I don't really think so.  I am happy to be happy.  But I am also fearful.  I am afraid to get to wrapped up in this happiness, to count on things too much, to be vulnerable.  Instead of saying things are going well, I fret about all the things I haven't yet done and think how much better they will be when I finish.  

     

    I am thinking about how much safer I will feel when I finish things.  I am afraid that this happiness, this improvement in G is only temporary.  Oh hell, I know it is only temporary, I know the facts of dementia and the statistics.  Of course no person is a statistic and the reversal might not be so bad.  But my experience is that the reversal will occur, and I will not be prepared and so I am afraid to get too comfortable with this happiness because I am afraid it will get jerked out from under me.  This has been my experience.  But what am I actually afraid of?  What is safety?  Why do I think that doing things will make me safe?  They will not.  They merely distract me.  Winter is cold and brittle.  I don't want my heart to become cold and brittle but I am afraid to bring it too far out in the open as well lest it be caught unawares by a fierce cold wind.  But if I hide behind doing I will miss the warmth of just being in this moment.  The fall will be no less harsh because I was afraid to feel the joy of the heights but the loss may, in fact be greater.  And yet I am afraid.  

     

    I am thinking that today, faced with whiteness, freed from the obligation of need, of work, of responsibility to the world outside, is a time to celebrate the world inside.  Today may be a day to snuggle.  Perhaps I should give it a try.

     

    * Title taken from American Pie by Don McLean

  • One Thing Leads to Another

    And another…..

    And so on.

     

    At least that is how it all seems right now.  I get started on X, and I get a certain amount done before I realize that I am stuck and can't go any further until I do Y and Z, which of course lead to A, B, and C, and before you know it I am back to X.

     

    January seemed to be an endless loop of projects and adjustments to a new life.  Just as we seemed to reach a new understanding, a comfortable place, we would find some other adjustment that needed to be accommodated.  In the same way I would start a project, then find that something else had to be done before the project at hand could be finished, and the projects would pile up without ever being fully completed.

    I would like to think that February will be an improvement.  There are two things I know:   

    1.    The floors will finally be installed.

    2.    The new bookcases will go up in the family room.  

     

    And a few things were accomplished in January, but not enough things.

    • I established an effective morning routine which seems to work for me and everyone else in the household.
    • I am knitting every day and am therefore making progress on at least one creative front.
    • I got one nightstand set up in my bedroom so that I no longer have to crawl across the room in the dark, but the second nightstand requires that I move a cabinet which requires that I dismantle a shelving system in one closet, which requires that I have a place to put the contents of the shelves, etc. 
    • I managed to sort, purge and store shoes, sweaters and boots and they are properly stored in their new locations.

    Most of importantly, G is doing fabulously well, and although his memory is still terrible and he has days of greater confusion, he is also able to carry out conversations and form conclusions based on the facts at hand in ways that he has not be able to for a long long time.  We are able to spend companionable time together, talking, reading, watching television.  This I treasure.

  • Books in Brief

    2421737Three Books this week, all generally brief reads, beginning with Larry McMurtry's Books.  At the time I started it I was obsessed with reading it right at that moment even though I am not quite sure what possessed me, as book-collecting, or the collecting of anything particularly, is not one of my interests.  But I was interested and I enjoyed the book, particularly the small bits about McMurtry's life. The early chapters particularly appealed as the author manages to capture his early pre-book life on a ranch in Texas in a way that was richly evocative, at least to me, in spare words that fitted the spare Texas landscape.   I read those opening chapters aloud to G as we enjoyed our second cups of coffee and it was a lovely way to start a morning.

     

     

     

    2706211 I found The Unthinkable by Amanda Ripley far more fascinating and at times as gripping as a good novel.  I didn't really read the book expecting to learn how to survive a disaster, I just wanted to read survivor's stories and get a sense of what they remembered.  And I believe this was a good way to read this book; it does not hold up to great scrutiny.  It is not particularly technical, and there are considerable oversimplifications.  It is not a "how to" book, but it is interesting.  The basic points are that people don't tend to panic as often as one might suppose but they do tend to freeze, and that we are each responsible for our own survival so that it would serve us well to think about what could happen and know our options before hand because we really won't be likely to figure them out when the unthinkable actually occurs.

     

    5191DZ96EPL._SL160_AA160_ Lastly, I read Peter Ackroyd's  The Trial of Elizabeth Cree.  This is something I just picked up from the library on a whim.  I've never read any of Ackroyd's fiction and thought it would be interesting.  It was well written with a colorful and  atmospheric protrayal of Victorian London.  At first I thought it was rather predictable, since we knew the ending at the beginning but appearances are deceiving in this novel.  Even though I figured out the plot twist before the end, I still found the ending to be surprisingly haunting.

  • Cat in a box

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    Moisés seems to have decided that the light box is his.  This was not part of my plan.

  • I believe I mentioned buying yarn

    I thought I'd share a few pictures of what I bought on Saturday.  Everything was from Habu Textiles and I really wished I hadlooked up the vendors online before I went so I could make a list.  Instead I just bought what appealed.  Things were already fairly picked over but it worked out well.

     

    IMG_4431 A-60 Shosenshi paper is a linen tape yarn.  I am planning on making a lightweight cardigan with this, mixing the linen paper yarn with Habu Tsmugi silk.  I could also knit the two skeins together to make a sleeveless top, but if I were to do that I think I would prefer having two different colors.

     

    IMG_4432 N67-B linen paper in a much finer gauge.  I am planning on knitting this using a pattern by Cocoknits called Gretl, which basically only requires one skein if you make the shorter version.  But I thought I might lengthen it and two skeins would give me the option of making this tunic or perhaps even dress length.  

     

    Picture 37 Here is a picture of Gretl.  If I make the shorter version, as shown, I can use the second skein for a scarf either alone or perhaps mixed with a lovely skein of fine copper wire I also purchased.  

     

    IMG_4433 I don't really know the yardage on the copper wire, but I when I picked it up I was thinking of knitting it with Habu's N-75 fine Merino in a deep wine color, shown next to the copper wire in the photo.  My basic impulse was to knit a cowl holding the two yarns together which would yield something soft and light but also with a little bit of form due to the copper.  

     

    However there were two skeins of the wine merino available and it is a color I really love so I purchased both.  I could use one skein with the copper and one skein for a separate long scarf, perhaps using Habu's silk or wool blend with stainless steel.   

     

    Or the two skeins of merino, held together would give me enough to knit a garment of some sort, nothing fancy, a soft top or tee or perhaps even a cardigan if I use large needles and make it very light and airy, which would still provide some warmth as the merino would trap the warmth nicely.   In which case I could use the copper wire with the fine linen tape to make a very lightweight summery scarf or shawl.

     

    IMG_4435 The last yarn I purchased was this lovely, very soft, lace weight cotton boucle in a soft grayed-purple color.  I am once again thinking of using it doubled to make a soft top or cardigan using larger needles, although I am sure it would make an absolutely delightfully soft scarf or shawl.  

     

    I did also order some yarn from Habu while I was at the show.  There was a lovely garment on display  which I really wanted to knit. They did not have enough of the yarn on hand to complete the garment but they were taking orders.  I have also ordered the Tsmugi silk that I will use with the Shosenshi paper (top photo) to make a summer-weight cardigan.

     

    None of these yarns are going to appear on my needles right away.  I am cold and these projects all make me think of warmer weather.  The heat will come soon enough though, and it will be nice to have some very lightweight projects on hand.

     

     

     

  • The Time Traveler’s Wife — A Book Review

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    The critical point in my understanding of The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger came about 1/3 of the way through the book.

       "Henry sighs.  "It's very charming of you to be ignorant of the twisted logic of most relationships.  Trust me.  When we met I was wrecked, blasted, and damned, and I am slowly pulling myself together because I can see that you are a human being and I would like to be one, too.  And I have been trying to do it without you noticing, because I still haven't figured out that all pretense is useless between us.  But it's a long way from the me you're dealing with in 1991 to me, talking to you right now from 1996.  You have to work at me; I can't get there alone"

     "Yes, but it's hard.  I'm not used to being the teacher."

    "Well, whenever you feel discouraged, think of all the hours I spent, am spending, with your tiny self.  New math and botany, spelling and American history.  I mean, you can say nasty things to me in French because I sat there and drilled you on them.""

     

    So where does that leave me?  

     

    During the first hundred pages or so I found the book moderately interesting, but I could not relate to the characters.  I didn't have to like them, or feel any kind of sympathy or similarity with them, but I found them inexplicable.  A man in his 30s and 40s comes back through time and visits a little girl beginning at age 6.  He continues to visit her through her 18th birthday.  We learn that they are in love and that she will eventually marry him.  But there is nothing in these ruminations on the part of both characters to help me understand why she falls in love with him.  

     

    But then of course I realized that the book isn't really about time travel.  Nor is it a romance or a romantic novel even though the plot revolves around this relationship between Henry and Claire, that is unless one views romance as a dark creative process.  But it is a novel shaped by and imbued with art, art as creative force, art as an idea, art and the creation of art as a the creation of a world unto itself.  It is also a book about the creation of the self, about the balance of the inner and he outer life and how one needs both to be able to become "a human being".  These are big difficult subjects, and am ambitious project.  I believe the author managed to pull most of this together admirably well,  although I think the book fails as a story, and would be perhaps better if it worked on that level as well.

     

    Claire falls in love with Henry because she has already fallen in love with Henry when Henry first meets her.  He knows her as he has come back from her future, and he shapes her into the person she is to become.  Claire later meets Henry in her time, a Henry who does not yet know Claire, and she helps transform him into the Henry she knows, the same Henry who will later, in their joint temporal time go back and help Claire become the person she becomes.    Many people, when they fall in love, think they can transform the other making themselves and the other better.  Henry and Claire actually do this and their world becomes insular revolving only around themselves and the space they have made.  This is not the way real life works however and the world interferes.  But it doesn't really interfere with Henry and Claire.  It throws obstacles their way and they absorb them or grow around them or apart from them.  Henry and Claire's story is less about relationships than it is about art, how art is created and how it art itself creates something separate and outside life which at the same time contains and reflects back on life.  Henry and Claire's story is less about Henry and Claire as  two separate people who fall in love than it is about Henry's evolution as Henry and Claire as a part of Henry.

     

    Note the names:  Noble Henry, the ruler and the creator of himself.  Henry's life is a work of art, and all of the novel revolves around Henry's development from small child exploring new worlds he does not understand (time travel) danger (arriving naked and exposed), despair (drug use and alcoholism) and eventually his redemption through Claire, about whom he is rather obsessive and understandably so.  Now Henry's development mirrors the development of all children, who do not time travel, but who are faced everyday with new and complicated worlds which they must piece together as they form their own path to adulthood.  And Henry leads a dual life.  There is the outer Henry, who works in a library,who is an alcoholic and messed up punk until he meets Claire, and there is the archetypical Henry who travels through time, experiences danger and tragedy and shapes the life of both versions of Henry in the process.

     

    Claire is less multi-dimensional than Henry in the novel.  But note the name again, Claire, Henry's enlightenment.  Claire is the artist.  She is the artist who creates Henry as well as art, and she is the medium by which Henry creates himself and the materials he uses to shape her adulthood as well as his own.   

     

    Everything is circular in this book.  The outside characters are shadows, not fully drawn, but also complete in their simple sketchiness.  Each one has a role in the story.  Each is defined by a few broad brushstrokes, at least in terms of how they relate to this relationship, the main story, the work of art that is Henry and Claire.  

     

    At times the book seemed to make no sense.  Henry couldn't control where in time he went or when he travelled, but when he needed money to buy Claire a studio it was nothing to look up a future newspaper and remember the lottery numbers.  Henry claimed to be reluctant to change the future, to do anything that would change the future, but he was altering it all the time, much the way a work of art builds on itself and doubles back and recreates itself in its own world, altering space and time.

     

    There is a scene where Henry tells Claire there is something they have to watch, a big event, and it ends up being 9/11.  But there is no other mention of it, as if it is something outside life, to be watched and then forgotten.  But at the same time Claire goes through a series of miscarriages, often told in gut wrenching detail.  The tragedy in the world is mirrored in the tragedy of the personal as this is a tale of the personal, of the microcosm that is Henry's life, the world that is also the creation of a work of art, in this case a work of art named Henry, who leaves a daughter named Alba, a daughter who is literally conceived in the maelstrom of Henry and Claire's overlapping lives. 

     

    As I have mentioned many times, art figures heavily in this book.  Creation figures heavily.  The psyche and the juxtaposition of the inner and the outer lives in the creation of personhood figure heavily. As I mentioned above it is not a simple book, and the author doesn't quite manage to pull it all together into a cohesive whole, but it was worth reading once I opened my mind to the possibilities, possibilities that may only be present in my own mind. But that, in the end, is one of the hallmarks of good fiction, that it opens our minds to connections and possibilities beyond the words on the page.  Unfortunately it is not the only requirement.  I personally would have preferred the book had it been more engaging as a story, and on this level I feel it failed.  It remains a better book than many, and a book I am happy to have read.

  • A New Wallet

    The expedition was fabulous.  I did spend time in the yarn market.  I did meet friends, both anticipated and unanticipated.  I should have realized how many people I knew who would be there and made more of an effort.  So if I missed you I am sorry and I would have loved to meet.  I should have registered and decided to stay for a longer period as soon as I knew that my life had changed and that attending might even enter the realm of possibility late last fall.  But my mind was not working on that kind of schedule.

     

    And yes, I did buy yarn, but more on that another time.

     

    I was possessed with other ideas and other ambitions and so I pulled myself away from the market in the early afternoon in order to allow myself to wander and to shop.  My primary goal was to visit several stores in search of a new bag, but there were a few extras on my list as well, one of which was a new wallet.  

     

    Did I need a wallet?  Technically, no.  Notice the part where I wrote "technically".  I had a wallet.  Notice the past tense.  Now I have two wallets, but one is on its way out the door, as soon as I decide which door it is going through.  

     

    IMG_4425 My previous wallet was perfectly functional and in good shape. It was well made and still looks fabulous after two years of constant use.  But it was too big.  I felt lost in it.  Too many pockets, too many card slots.  I couldn't find anything and I kept reorganizing it hoping to make it work better but only managing to confuse myself further.  It was time.

     

    The new wallet is only slightly smaller, but it is perfect in every way, including the luscious blue color. Although I didn't know what wallet I wanted, I knew where to look:  Bottega Veneta.  I had a Bottega Veneta wallet before the red one and I adored it.  Except that it wasn't really a wallet.  It was a card case, a grass green card case, made of the same intrecciato leather as this wallet, and it brought me great joy. I kept my cards in half and bills in the other half.  I threw coins in the bottom of my purse and emptied them out into a jar every evening.  I used that "wallet" for years, and I abandoned it not because it fell apart, or because I didn't love it, but because I suddenly found myself caring for another person and having to carry far more "stuff" in my wallet and the little green case just didn't cut it anymore. So I ordered the red Levenger wallet.

     

    IMG_4428 But it drove me crazy.  And this year I knew what I wanted and where to get it:  Bottega Veneta.  It is true that I probably could have found an equally functional, well made wallet somewhere else and probably spent considerably less on it.  But the details of this wallet bring me joy and although I could rationalize away my choice with some kind of exposition on quality, the truth is that the Levenger wallet is beautifully made for its price-point, and I was perfectly happy with it except that it was just too big.  But I didn't realize that when I bought it.  Now I know better.  And I also know that I have a weakness for beauty and elegance, and yes, luxury.  There, I've said it.

     

    It is perfect for me.  It has 8 card slots, just the right number.  It has a coin pocket with a lovely, sturdy, metal zipper, a pocket large enough for bills or prescriptions or even, should I travel again, larger European currency.  It has a pocket just the right size for my NYS automobile registration card which is larger than a standard credit card therefore annoying to carry in most wallets.

     

    IMG_4424 Because I was feeling indulgent, I also bought this lovely green woven keychain.  I've wanted one of these for years but one never materialized.  And there they were in the case next to the wallets.  I really wanted the green wallet, but the wallet I wanted didn't come in green so I got the keychain so that I could have a little piece of that green attached to a nice sturdy ring.   Somehow, not only do I need to carry more in my wallet than I used to, I carry more keys as well.

     

    Oh, and I still dump out my coins at the end of each day, only now I save the quarters and dimes because I need them for parking meters and to claim a cart at the grocery store.  Nickels and pennies still go in the jar.

     

    If  you know anyone that needs or wants a used but still in good shape red wallet that can double as a clutch and will hold an i-phone as well as currency, please let me know.  

     

     

  • A small expedition

    IMG_4415 I'm off to NYC today for the first time in what seems ages, although I think it was only last May. Strange to think that it used to be such a normal occurrence. 

     

    I've not got much planned.  I am going to head over to Vogue Knitting Live and hopefully meet a few friends.  I wish I had anticipated that I would be able to do this and signed up for a class or two but it will be enough to just check out the market and experience the general hubub. Then I do hope to get a little wandering in as well.  I need a new bag and I've got a list at hand, including a stop at M0851 based on Mater's recommendations.

     

    IMG_4416 Since I'm planning on spending a good amount of time at the market, and doing a fair amount of walking, the rule of the day is for comfortable shoes and layering.  I'll probably spend almost as much time on the train as I do in the city, but I don't mind, the trip along the hudson remains a joy even after several decades.

  • Rock Crystal

    After the big push of November and Early December, my progress with the house has slowed considerably.  Of course I am no longer the only one in residence so I can't be up banging and moving things at all hours either, but I am very happy for the company, even if the pace of change is slower.  We are still waiting for half the floors to be installed, and they are scheduled for late next month.  In the meantime I wait.

     

    IMG_4381 But there are still small bits of beauty and peace.  

     

    I unearthed these rock crystal candle holders from the back of a closet, amazed that I had ever stored them away.  They are now my winter centerpiece on the dining table and they make me smile every time I see them.  It seems like the light is different every time I pass. 

     

    IMG_4377 Each one holds a votive candle or a tea light, and they are somewhat awkward to light, requiring long fireplace matches or spark to get them going without singing the fingers.  Their crystalline presence echoes the cold whiteness in evidence outside the windows, but at the same time when lit, they are both warm and cold, a very inviting combination of fire and ice.