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Project Update

The body of the purple cardigan is done and is in the process of being blocked.

Admittedly it took me a few days after casting off to actually get the sweater on the blocking board and pinned, although I fully planned to do it immediately. Even though the laundry room island is perfect for this, and at the perfect height for me, I was often too tired at the end of a day in the garden to face standing and pinning. The mind was willing but the body was weak.

It should be dry by tomorrow and I think I shall seam it together before starting the sleeves, which is just the way I prefer doing it at the moment, as it seems I always have to shorten sleeves. Technically I should just figure out the actual dimensions I prefer for different styles of sweaters and then calculate the appropriate sleeve length for each shoulder/arm combination. But somehow I am not at that point yet. Close.

In the meantime, I uncovered these three skeins, or partial skeins of yarn while I was unpacking a box. I don't have the labels and have no idea what they are, nor really why I purchased them. Actually, as I wrote this paragraph I realized that one of them, the plied blue wool with white flecks, was used in a cowl I knit for my step-daughter three Christmases ago. That one is Louisa Harding's yarn called Trenzar.

The simplest way to avoid cataloging was to cast on. Since two of the yarns remain a mystery, I am simply naming this mystery scarf. The pattern is half-linen stitch, which is a four-row pattern, and I am alternating the yarns as I knit, one row per yarn on size 10 needles. I think it is turning out rather nicely. I have no real plan except to keep knitting until I run out of one of the yarns.

At the moment I tend to pick up my knitting in the evenings when I am exhausted, and the scarf suits my current needs more than the diamond stitch at the ends of the sleeves. That will change. Either I will take a break from planting, or a rainy day will come along, and I will seam the purple sweater and start the sleeves. But there is no particular rush, and I am happy with this slow flow of life, where each day is filled with the whims of inspiration.

April 7, 2021
Garden Walk

My garden remains more a field of dreams and promises than an actual garden, more unplanted bed than lush landscape of greenery and flowers, and yet, easily pleased, eager, silly, proud, garden mom that I am I am thrilled with every small bit.

Let's take a walk around the garden this early spring morning. Many of these photos were taken over the course of the past week. There was a hard frost last night however, and some of what I show you may no longer look as lush. This is not true of the daffodils of course, which will easily survive temps down to 25 or so, are upright, almost laughing in the light frost. This photo was taken slightly after dawn this morning. These are the daffodils in the back, by the porch, the bulbs I planted too late. They are not as large and showy as they will be next year, but despite the setbacks, they are blossoming, and they make my heart sing.

As I turn east to go around the house, I see the bed next to my small patio, along the side of the garage/studio. A hosta is beginning to emerge in the foreground, an itoh peony toward the back. They seems safely ensconced in this protected spot.

The east walk, is mostly a woodland garden, primarily filled with hellebores, but a few wildflowers and other treats are mixed in as well. I missed capturing some of the early blossoms. But not all. This garden is well established and therefore accustomed to the vagaries of Tennessee weather.

In this protected spot at the Northeast corner of the house, the hosts is a little further along than the one in the back, but still defiant.

As I approach the top of the driveway on the east, the Jane Hydrangeas that were transplanted over the winter are opening up. These were dug up during construction and had been sheltering behind the garage for two seasons. I see that a peony accidentally got relocated with a hydrangea, too close really, but they must have survived well together in a pot for those two years, and I suspect their roots are intermingled. Both survived the frost. These two pose the kinds of questions to which I do not know the answer. Do I move the peony now, or let it sit out this season here next to its companion, recovering somewhat from one transplant before disentangling the roots and moving it again? The two will eventually come into conflict, perhaps even this year as they will both get more sun. Act now or Wait? I am leaning toward waiting…

The hydrangeas are in the same bed as the daffodils, which have been doing quite well. They too dance in the morning sun, mocking the sparkle of frost on the ground around them. As the hydrangeas leaf out, they will hide the fading daffodil leaves, perhaps a perfect companionship.

Next I turn west, along the street. This is the bed I showed you a couple of weeks back, in its planning stage. I spent a weekend digging up the area that had been marked with orange paint, digging holes and amending soil for transplanting peonies which had also been sheltering in back. A large part of that area was a mixture of rock, concrete, and clay and difficult digging. Not quite hardpan, but not easy. It took me three days to get the area ready, but I did transplant the peonies, and I planted alyssum and strawberries, from seed. The peonies are doing well. Most are up and leafing out, but one suffered partial frost damage. I have no idea what will happen to the seeds, or where they will come up as we have had over 5 inches of rain since.

This past week I planted these ten encore azaleas in front of the wattle fence. The soil here was easier to dig.

One of the azaleas, variety autumn chiffon, had a single bloom, and I captured it. Good thing too as that blossom succumbed to the frost, I think the azaleas are fine, but it is always iffy when things are so newly planted. I probably should have covered them, but I was too exhausted to roust myself out of my stupor yesterday evening.

Here is a close up of the blossoms on the crabapple. This morning they are all frost burnt and sad, so I am happy to have captured this moment of beauty. I've made it my screen saver for now, for a little bright spot of daily joy.

The peas and faves are, of course, oblivious.

This lovely field of weeds has been a great joy to me this spring. I love the soft fluffy greenery. It is looking a little flattened today, but whatever happens, and something will, I am not going to be planting this field this year anyway, so it can remain nature's playground.

April 3, 2021
This World: Friday Musings

I drove 188 miles in January of 2021. In February I drove 256 miles, and March came in at 307.

Why am I telling you this? Well, not to say look at me, I am driving less, aren't I environmentally conscious. Because I am not, or not as much so as I could be. It is true that last year I said one of my goals was to drive less, or more exactly to be more conscientious about how I live and my priorities. Part of that is combining errands into fewer days so that I drive fewer miles but also spend far less time going here and there, time that could be more fruitfully put to use doing something that is actually important to me. Sadly, time in the car does not count as quality time in my book. And much of this is as much due to restrictions from a global pandemic. That doesn't mean I should drive willy-nilly once the world returns to normal, assuming we even know what normal will be. Despite a global pandemic, we saw very little drop in carbon emissions in 2020, about 5% according to Bill Gates in his new book. It is not enough.

But why now? Again, another good question. Perhaps I started musing on these environmental issues again when my book club read A Children's Bible back in December. Perhaps one of my regular produce suppliers moved from paper packaging to plastic clamshells. Perhaps I was upset one day when I saw one of my neighborhood recycle bins was overstuffed with recyclables packed in plastic trash bags rather than loose in the bin; the bags are not recyclable, and someone has to open the bag and unload it it sort the recyclables out, or it all just goes in the landfill. I was upset because I recently read that 25% of my local curbside recycling is contaminated in some way, by materials that cannot be recycled, or food waste, and has to be sent to the landfill. We can do better.

It seems perfectly obvious that no single one of us is going to stop global warming. But that is not enough reason not to do our part. it also seems perfectly obvious that if we focused our attentions and worked together we could beat this; if not, change will be forced upon us and our children. We can chose to control it or we can chose to let it control us. That of course is never as easy at it sounds. And the whole things actually sounds rather overwhelming. Sometimes it seems we are not wired for looking at long term objectives, nor for differentiating between the big picture, ie. the goal, and the tactics for reaching that goal. We look at where we are not and cannot work out a way to move ourselves forward. It is difficult for us to look at where we should be and then start working backward to where we are now. The space between these approaches can feel like an insurmountable gulf.

And yet it is a gulf that must be faced.

I was reminded of this recently when I was reading Bill Gates new book, How to Avoid a Climate Disaster. The truth is that I did not expect a great deal from this book, and perhaps for that reason I found it more interesting and enjoyable than I anticipated. Gates' writing comes across as if the book is written by an enthusiastic nerd who is fascinated with technology and human ingenuity. Surprise? No. But he reminded me of things I forget, or don't think about at all, like how much carbon is produced in construction and the very process of making things. He reminds the reader of the enormity of the task, and he does not gloss over the difficulties involved. Sometimes his enthusiasm runs a little wild. But the book is easy to read and I think that is of benefit. Gates writes that he loves the books of Vaclav Smil. I love Smil. But Smil is not easy reading, more like the opposite of easy reading.

Gates makes reading about climate change manageable, but I suspect many people will discount the book simply because it is written by Bill Gates. It is worth more than that. And he makes very good points about change, the enormity of the project, and the hidden pitfalls in choosing short term, partial solutions, that in the end can distract us from the ultimate goal, and instead make the process more difficult. He gets wrapped up in his enthusiasms and sometimes misses things, as do we all. How to Avoid a Climate Disaster is more of a wake-up call, a book for the generalist, than a serious treaty on what should be done. Gates doesn't know everything, no one does. And I disagree with Gates on some points. But that doesn't mean there is not a place for this book.

Gates is convinced we can beat this. I agree that we probably have the ability to beat this, I question whether or not we yet have the will. I do believe that if we, the population of this earth, really set all our greatest minds to solving the big problems — net zero emissions, with as little cost to global human well-being as possible – we could do it. However I am far from convinced that our governments, our national and corporate interests, and even our personal comforts, are quite ready for that. I hope we manage it before too many people suffer. But then, too many people already suffer the costs of climate change, and for too many of us this fact is so remote that we can't see it.

But what can I do? I can be more conscientious. I can think about the choices I make — what I buy, what I waste — and how I chose to use my own space on this earth. I am not always conscientious, and I am constrained by the limits and biases of my own location, society, culture. I do believe that we can all live a good life, and we can do it in a way that neither destroys our planet, or builds a life of comfort and even luxury for some on the suffering of others.

April 2, 2021
Magical Mystery Tour

Knitting time and gardening time are currently in fierce competition with knitting getting short shrift at the moment. I cannot tell you how many evenings I have sat down, happy to pick up my knitting, only to fall asleep after merely a few rows. So although I am progressing on current projects, that progress is currently rather slow…

Instead I shall entertain you with new acquisitions. These are things that have arrived in the first two installments for the mystery blanket knit along I have joined.

First up, two balls of yarn. These are the photographs from my yarn stash catalog and are therefore functional but not glamorous. These are the first two yarns for blanket, but they are not enough, in and of themselves, to complete even one square. And so they occupy a liminal space awaiting the arrival of their friends — neither stash, nor project — hoping the blanket party can soon begin. Without going into it, let me just say that the yarn and I are joined in our liminality; it has just been that kind of year so far.

But there are other goodies as well:

This set of gray yarns from Trendsetter came with the options of either a shell or the adorable bears. I am opting for the bears.

And I adore these two colors for a future scarf: Lana Grossa Colorissimo is a sport-weight wool, and luscious Artyarns beaded silk and sequins light. I did see this scarf at the reveal, but have no memory of what it will look like other than the fact that I liked it. At the moment, just looking at the two yarns makes me smile in anticipation.

This pack of yarns came in the second box. Alas I missed the reveal zoom as I had a prior commitment and I have no idea what this will look like when it is done. All I know is that it will be a sweater. All these pinks makes me sparkly happy.

A little mystery can be a good thing.

March 31, 2021
I Dream of Knitting…

Good morning. I am still here and still knitting, although not as consistently of late. Spring is here and the garden calls. Dirt and knitting do not always mix. I have finished one front piece of the purple cardigan, and am about half way through the diamond stitch pattern on the bottom of the second front. There are evenings that I am simply too tired to pay attention to even this rather simple pattern.

So I thought I would write about other things. Once upon a time, when I started this blog, I would write about my impressions of new knitting magazines and the things I wanted to knit, even though, more often that not, I never got around to the actual knitting. This blog is supposed to be about the knitting related wanderings of my mind, as well as the wanderings that occur simply because I am knitting, however, not just actual production. If that is the case, I have some catching up to do.

The new Pom Pom Quarterly arrived. There are several patterns that fascinate me, that I perhaps want to knit, or that I at least want to dream about knitting. And this in and itself is interesting to me simply due to the way my dreams of both what to knit and what to wear have evolved over time, and the contradictory selves these dreams present. Not that there is anything wrong with contradiction, I think it is an essential aspect of human nature. When we get into trouble it is because we are trying to avoid or suppress our own contradictions rather than embrace or understand them.

Let's start with that cover sweater, Lucky Pieces. This version is knit in Jamieson's Spindrift, but I suspect it could be knit in any assorted bits and pieces of light fingering yarn. I like the idea of using up scraps. I also know that I have several bits of spindrift floating around somewhere in my stash, not yet catalogued, and a quite a bit of similar yarn as well, mostly meant for a sweater that I never did knit for George during his lifetime. The problem with knitting for George was that he had drawers full of sample sweaters from the time when his mother was chief designer of Unger Yarns, and meticulous as he was, he did not need new sweaters until very late in his life. I always wanted to knit him a particular Alice Starmore pattern, Henry VIII, that he loved, but which wasn't likely because he still felt like he had more sweaters than he could wear. Alas I lost the husband after nearly 27 years of marriage before any of those sweaters wore out. I still have the yarn.

But back to this sweater. I like it. I would wear it. I would enjoy knitting it. What more is there to say. When I was young, this may have been a more casual stay at home, traipse around neighboring farms, or autumn on Nantucket, type of sweater. That was during the time when there was my casual-at-home-dirty-sneakers self, and my more (Probably insecure) armored Theirry-Mugler-sharply-tailored self, and my I want soft-shapes-and-an-abundance-of-colors self, each sharply delineated, each often at odds with the others. Obviously I was stressed. Bits of those selves still exist, but I am more willing to let them converse among themselves these days. Today this sweater could show up anywhere in my life, which I suppose means I am happier and more confident.

Knitting however will have to wait until I actually see what yarns I have and what yarns I need. That may take a while. And I am not convinced I could ever wear a sweater knit in spindrift against my skin, but perhaps the truth is more that I have never lived in a climate where I could wear a sweater knit in spindrift against my skin. The simple truth is that I don't need it as a next-to-the-body sweater, but as a vest, I would wear this. Status: Potential knit.

Next. This sweater — Lisse, double knitted in DK yarn — may in fact be impractical for my current climate but I am fascinated anyway. Or not. I may have to knit a sample to figure that out. I can admit that I may be drawn to it simply because the sample is knitted in pink, although looking at various projects on Ravelry, I find I am still intrigued whatever the color choices. I could also be attracted to this because of my current fascination for modular knitting.

At this point I don't know if my attraction to this pattern is a simple imaginary diversion or something that I should pursue further. That is not an issue because the first step would be to see what yarns I might already own that could be used in this sweater. The second step would be to address the actual modular knitting and the maths. The sleeves on this sweater are too wide for me. I would hate them, unless they were shorter, something like 3/4 or 7/8 length, but until I find yarn and do the maths, I have no idea of how this could work.

And yet, as shown, this looks like a snuggly comforting and comfortable sweater, perfect for working around house and garden, perfect for cuddling up in at the end of a day when I am tired and somewhat chilled due to exhaustion. A sweater for the dream self, or for the actual self? Status as yet unknown.

Four Quarters. I have had wrapped sweaters at various stages of my life. More perhaps when I was young and thin and had a 24 inch waist. Fewer as I grew used to the thickening that came with middle age. Now, my waist is still thick but I am less concerned about looking young. I am not saying that one should give up, but that there is a certain freeing power in saying "I have survived this long and my body has served me well". This sweater actually walks the line between the dream self and reality. It could go either way. Status: undecided but intrigued.

Last, but not least, this shawl. Wholecloth shawl, knit in DK. Here Neighborhood Fiber Co's Studio DK is used, but I probably have some appropriate DK yarn somewhere in my stash. I like the wheat pattern but I would not knit it in the wheaten color. It reminds me of grains and grasses and the late summer garden. Although I am mostly attracted to shawls in finer yarns and more complicated patterns, I would actually use and wear this shawl, and I think I would enjoy knitting it. It would be simpler than many shawls that are currently in my queue. Status: most likely to be knit.

There is more catching up and random musings ahead. I don't subscribe to many knitting magazines any more, just Pom Pom (this is my second issue) and MDK's Field Guides, but I do occasionally lose myself in internet browsing and dreaming sessions. Who knows what will turn up as I unpack, catalog, and reconfigure my creative space. Besides, I still have a bunch of goodies from my mystery knit-along still to share.

Until later.

March 23, 2021
It has been a difficult week here in my little bubble ,and I write this week in honor of all those who have had difficult weeks, all those who tell themselves "things are getting better", while wondering why they don't feel better, who try to buck themselves up with "we can see our loved ones soon", and even "spring! There are flowers everywhere, why don't I feel happier?"

All my good intentions somehow went out the window this past week. I wallowed. Perhaps it helped that it rained. "Oh it is raining", I would think, and excuse myself from working in the garden because I felt too overwhelmed, too lost in my own tears. Or perhaps the fact that it was gray and dreary and raining fed that impulse. There is no benefit in castigating myself for sitting in a chair one day and losing myself in mindless television. Should-have-done has no place in the landscape of the heart. Neither does judgement. I have been struggling. I will be struggling a bit more until something going on in my life is either resolved or not resolved and I come to terms. But I am not ready to talk about that now, just to say I am struggling, and if you are struggling as well, let us hold each other up, whatever the reasons, for the reason for our struggle is irrelevant in the face of the reality of our emotions. Even if you are not struggling personally, hold someone else up today.

I am sending virtual hugs. Let us all send them around.

At the same time. I am in the garden today. I don't know for how long. I don't know if I will do all I need to do. I don't know if having my hands in the dirt, will keep tears at bay. But if it does not, and if I do not plant everything I should plant, so be it. If there are still weeds in my front yard when the dogwood trail opens next week, so be it. The spring planting won't be done anyway. April will be prime planting month and I will simply do the best I can.

At the same time there are, as always bits of joy in the garden. Peas and fava beans are up. The top photo shows tiny pea shoots beneath their trellis. Tiny spring greens and herbs are up as well. The second photo shows a sedum sending up spring growth. if you look closely, at about halfway between 9 and 12, on the upper left, you see a tiny green shoot. That is one of the daffodils I planted late. They are at least sending up leaves, which means they will survive, and I will be rewarded with flowers in the future. So often our efforts fail to show immediate results and we grow disheartened, or I, at least, grow disheartened.

Still no more daffodil blooms, but it is early spring yet. We have had a mild winter in many ways, but also a consistently and evenly chill one. The forsythia and Bradford pears are in bloom, the early magnolias, so it is early yet, even though it seems we are so desperate for promise about now, and we wish for nothing more than the promise of abundance. Yet, as you can see, the daffodils are full of buds. I just have to remind myself it is early. And remind myself again, plant some early daffodils next year. I too need the reassurances of spring blooms.

I am actually working the front yard, the public face of the garden. I have been in the process of planning out my first ever perennial bed in sunshine. I haven't planned the entire bed yet, only four small sections, figuring it is better to plant a block at a time. In planning this far I have already exhausted my spring planting budget and quite possibly the amount I can physically plant in one season. We will see how that goes. It is time to get shrubs in now, and to transplant peonies. It remains a little early for many flowering perennials and so thinking ahead is important. I have absorbed lessons from observation, watching landscape crews plant the small things only to stomp on them while the planted the big thing that went alongside.

I am planning on getting the three peonies in this weekend. One will go in each of those roughly 3-ft squares. But I also need to prep the areas between the peonies and the boxwood hedge because those plants won't go in for a few weeks yet. I don't want to be standing or kneeling on new peonies when I am trying to plant those small spaces. The area between the peonies and the grass will be easier, well, obviously, because I can stand and kneel on the grass.

I am excited and nervous. I have had fun playing with ideas and colored pencils. I will have fun with the plants, with waiting and watching, and I may have to move everything around next year, because I have no idea if I've made the right choices or not. But at least it is a start.

And because, I am still on tenterhooks, and because I may grow tired and weary and even teary again, I want to be reminded that even sadness is important. I want to look at this picture of the spent camellia blossoms on the back patio. The plant itself is still heavily laden, and beautiful, but this, this carpet of red, this carpet of promise and loss, this too is beautiful and worth celebrating.

Hugs to all.

March 20, 2021
Hello Spring!

It always seems to happen this way, I am poking about in the garden, happily puttering, breathing in the soothing scent of soil and new leaves and poof, just like that I go from feeling like I have all the time in the world to being slightly frazzled. Frazzled in a good way, but nonetheless, it means I have work to do.

Mostly this past weekend I was weeding and doing a little trimming here and there. I posted a photo of my first, and so far only, actual daffodil blossom on Instagram. These have been in the ground a while. More than once have I feared they had been accidentally displaced by workmen or overzealous grounds grew. Luckily not yet. I planted some other daffodils over the winter, too late actually and they are not yet sending up shoots. They arrived about the same time as Poncho and in my state of overwhelm I forgot them and left them out at room temperature far too long. I hope I will still get greenery, although I doubt there will be flowers; at least that way I know they will survive and build strength for next year. If not, I must admit to having made yet another miscalculation.

Mostly the garden remains strongest in the realms of potential rather than spring loveliness. The hellebores are fully open now and lush, although the side yard itself still looks a bit on the scraggly side, waiting for various woodland plants to emerge. And the camellias are blooming nicely, indicating that they have indeed survived the upheaval of construction. This year I am seeing the largest and most profuse blossoms yet. Blossoms the thrill me even as I worry about the way the weight of the heavy bloom has the branches leaning downward, almost touching the table below.

But truthfully various small bits and buds thrill me almost as the large showy camellia blossoms and the hellebores — and hellebores fill me with boundless joy. The blueberries are budding again. They budded in January and I feared for them, feared the devastation of frost on tender growth. And here I am in mid March surrounded by promise and resilience.

And the hydrangeas are in various stages of bud formation, mostly with barely discernible leaf buds visible only if I look closely as I am weeding around them. This one however is a little more adventurous. Or is it reckless? only time will tell.

And as to that sense of being slightly overwhelmed I mentioned earlier, whence did it arrive? I noticed that the peonies, which have been sheltered in pots behind the house for nearly two years now, are starting to bud. That means I need to get them transplanted before they completely open. Peonies don't really like being transplanted, and I am already pushing their boundaries for acceptable settling-in time. But I hadn't yet planned the perfect spot, so some time yesterday was spent out in the front flower bed with paper, pencils, and measuring tape.

There are only five peonies to plant, and the ground to prepare as well. Doesn't seem like much does it? Five peonies and the ten encore azaleas I picked up on Friday. I tell myself "I'll plant a little here, I'll plant a little there" and then suddenly I am in the thick of it. And yet every new leaf, every new bud is filled with hope..

Hello spring!

March 15, 2021
February Books

As I started to pull this post together in my head, my initial memory of my reading adventures in February was that I did not read much, and that my reading was mostly easy and forgettable. As I compile the list, however, I see that my memories are only partially accurate, that, like so many other things in my life, I move in cycles, cycles of reading and cycles of not reading, and although it was not a month of complex reading, I did not do so badly after all.

First the List:

13. Stuart Woods, Hush Hush.

14. Ijeoma Oluo, So You Want to Talk About Race.

15. Annette Valentine, Eastbound from Flagstaff.

16. D.E. Stevenson, Anna and Her Daughters.

17. Victor Frankl, Man's Search for Meaning.

18. Don DeLillo, The Silence.

19. Joe Ide, Righteous.

20. Lydia Millet, A Children's Bible.

As I look at the list now, I see there was light, palette-cleansing, brain-resetting reading — fun escape reads. I always rate them higher than they deserve on a purely technical level, at least the Stone Barrington novels, based purely on enjoyment. These are fast, flippant reads offering a mindless escape, without placing many demands. I did think Stone showed promise in the early novels; but by volume 56 his appeal is growing tired, the promise of his youth having faded, at least from this reader's perspective. In this volume the violence was more brutal than in the past few years; alas it did not make up for boredom. Joe Ide's IQ novels are new to me and so far I have enjoyed them thoroughly. Isaiah is a fairly complex character, but although the writing still crackles, and Isaiah intrigues, and there are moments that are laugh-out-loud funny, number two is not quite as ridiculously infectious as was the first.

There were books that made me cry and books that made me think, sometimes both in the same book. I thoroughly enjoyed The Silence, far more so than While Noise, which I read in January. Both books are thought provoking, both books are more art than story, and perhaps I enjoyed the second more only because the sardonicism was slightly less pointedly cruel. But that is just me. Frankl made me cry, as did Oluo. So You Want To Talk About Race, reads like a brutally honest conversation with a friend, a book in which Ijeoma Oluo masterfully reigns in rage and emotion without hiding it, allowing it to pierce without explosion. It is, without question, one of the most powerfully mind-altering and moving of the recent crop of books I have read about race. Perhaps my reaction comes from already having read so many other books, perhaps it is just that I am drawn to the act of telling of one's story.

There was a book I intentionally reread, and I am happy to have done so. I listened to The Children's Bible on Audible for my December book club meeting and I was intrigued by the narrative voice enough that I wanted to hold the book in my hand and actually read the words. It is a book that is improved by reading, and a powerful story as well. I know these parents, I know these children, I know this world on the brink of natural disaster. Alas we all do and this future is unsettlingly close. The Children's Bible is a short novel and Millet takes on many broad themes. One might think this would weaken the story, but it does not. The author weaves the story together artfully in a way that makes all this stuff, stuff that we want to ignore and not take seriously, all the more powerful. The flattening of the narrative voice, the easy-breezy social commentary, the exploration of religion, both flippant and childishly serious, are deftly drawn; all are unsettling, and unsettling familiar. I found this to be another book that slips under the skin.

And there were some books that I would not have read. Admittedly I read both books, and they were well enough drawn and the stories compelling enough that I wanted to know what happened next, even if occasionally just barely so. Both were selections for my two very different book clubs. Both, surprisingly, led to significant and interesting discussions in which I was happy to participate. Didn't love the books; did love the discussion. I have read other books by D. E. Stevenson, but long ago, and I cannot say how much my own tastes in reading have evolved over those years, although surely they have. I would say that Anna and Her Daughters was enjoyable enough, but was not her best and there were times when the issues of format and the demands of genre chafed. I found the writing in Eastbound From Flagstaff to be sanctimonious, not to the point that I abandoned the book, although there were moments, but, as I said, I did want to see what happened, and so curiosity won out.

But the simple truth is I could have been just as disappointed in the two suspense/mystery novels that I discussed first as I was in these two, and the novels by both Ide and Woods require significant suspension of disbelief. Perhaps the only difference was in expectation, or my own inner biases. For me I could accept the flippancy, the very over-the-top ridiculousness of Hush-Hush and Righteous over what I perceived as earnestness in both Anna and Her Daughters, and Eastbound from Flagstaff. I do not think it is my place to judge, merely to admit that I am not perhaps the best fit for those books. Romance, crime/mystery, and Christian fiction are the three most profitable fiction genres today and I have read from all of them, perhaps in differing proportions in different stages of my life. At the moment I lean more consistently in one direction but perhaps it would serve me well to explore other genres a bit more fully. Looking at my own choice of words here, "flippancy", "ridiculous", "earnestness" it seems I am looking for something more of a romp, wicked or not, in my escapist fiction, over the treacly or soothing.

That may change next month however.

March 12, 2021
Progress

More coherent progress on the knitting front was made this week. The back of the purple cardigan is done.

Once I finished the scrolled diamond stitch pattern at the bottom, the rest of the piece moved quickly. That doesn't mean that I did not make errors. In fact I grow annoyed myself over that very issue. At one point I accidentally picked up two stitches in the middle of the back, from wraps that I did not completely transfer, creating two holes. I am not beating myself up about that as I had a pretty bad sinus headache that day and was barely able to move. I kept dozing off, even while knitting, and I eventually figured out I should not be knitting at all. Alas I didn't figure that out until after I was a few rows beyond the mistake. In my pain-induced fog, I told myself it didn't matter, and did not rip.

The next day I picked up the sweater and just blithely started knitting without even looking at my progress from the day before. I was almost finished with the back, about 6 inches above the armhole shaping, when I noticed the holes and had to rip back a good 5 inches of knitting. I am not annoyed with myself for the mistake. We are all human and all humans make mistakes after all. I am annoyed with myself for lying to myself about not caring, for that is exactly what denial is, self-deceit. I do care, and the mistake was both preventable and fixable. I can forgive myself for mistakes, but I can also learn from them, fix them whenever possible, and move on.

So often I fail; the point however is not about success or failure, rather it is about the journey itself. In the end however, it was only the ripping I resented. The knitting itself was, as always, soothing and calming. More time knitting is more time self-soothing. Much as I love pattern work and intarsia, I have to admit that there is something almost spiritually present about knitting stockinette, at least for me. Knitting is about living in the moment; yes it is creative and making something is a creative act, but it is also about being present in the process, present in the physical act, physical with the state of the body in space, as well as with the spirit, the urge to create. My mistake was a mistake brought on by denying that I did not feel well and was ignoring my physical presence, but not acknowledging the mistake was also a sign of disharmony. The pain is not in the ripping or reknitting but in the fragmentation.

I have also acquired a couple of small improvements to my knitting arsenal.

This little knitting tape bracelet arrived in my life in mid February, shortly after I started the purple cardigan. I have been wearing it consistently while knitting since its arrival. It is such a simple thing and it brings me so much joy. I usually have a ruler and/or a measuring tape around, but it often feels like I spend more time searching for either one than I spend actually measuring. This makes life so much easier, and it feels both handsome and functional.

The bracelet was part of my first box of goodies in a mystery-box knit-along. I intended to blog about the box contents at the time, but that was the week I felt overwhelmed, the week Poncho was ill, and so never got to it. I haven't started anything from that box yet, entranced as I have been with the purple cardigan. Perhaps I will post about both boxes when the second one arrives. In the meantime, I love the bracelet, and am more than likely to forget to take it off.

Finally, with this project I have started using the Knit Companion app and I love it so far. As I discovered and purchased the app, I also signed up for a zoom class offered by A Good Yarn in Sarasota, Florida, on using its various features. The class and the cardigan started simultaneously, and after the first week I was forging ahead, using the app to set up counters, highlight the appropriate counts and rows for my size, and adding notes and revisions to the pattern. I did jump ahead and figure some things out long before we covered them in the class, and the website has great support features, but I learned a great deal as well. As a person who tends to revise patterns to suit me, and often rewrites and reorders parts of patterns simply to make them easier for my brain to follow, I do think I will be getting a lot of use out of this app. The modifications needed for this pattern were small, but I see potential. I love the setting-up stage of a project anyway. Putting time into planning usually means less time making mistakes, at least planning mistakes. There is no accounting for, or apparently any way around, those pesky mistakes due to absentmindedness.

March 6, 2021
This and That

I have been a bit under the weather this week, battling a sinus infection that probably rolled in with bad weather Sunday night. The sun is shining today, and my sinuses are better. I am still moving more slowly than normal but whether this is due to the lingering effects of a massive sinus headache or just the routine purling of my own thought-processes and temperament, I have no idea.

I will at least get this post up this week, although it is already apparent that I have failed in my goal of three posts per week, one to each of three blogs. I am less inclined to fret about this than perhaps I was in bygone years, and I think this is actually to the good. A goal is something to work toward, as I recall, not a hard and fast rule, and at this stage of my life I am inclined to think that meaning simply comes from being present, rather than from branding or accounting in any market-place sense of the word. As I write that I feel brave. It will not be long before I am once again plagued with doubts. It seems to me that the doubting, the questioning, the challenging, all of them building up to communing, which must be in some way related to communicating, both with ourselves, with the world, with others.

I don't know where I am going with this. Perhaps I had better stick with the accounting.

On that front I can't say that I have accomplished much. On Sunday, I disassembled and cleaned out the coffee grinder, the first time I had done that since probably around Thanksgiving. Usually this is a monthly task, but well, sometimes even the best routines fall by the wayside.

I must admit that the quality of my espresso improved noticeably. I had avoided espresso over the last couple of weeks, mostly making Americanos, because there was a tinge of bitterness and weakness in the espresso. What a joy it was to sit in the sun Sunday morning, espresso in hand. The timing was fortuitous as that espresso was greatly appreciated on Monday when I was felled by a sinus headache so severe movement was an issue. After the first two espressos I staggered upstairs for a nap. I managed to get back down to the kitchen for an Americano in the afternoon before curling up with a book, my head cocked at just the perfect angle, the one where it did not feel like it would explode and fall to the floor, grateful for good coffee, good books, a blanket, a comfy sofa, a cat by my side. I was reading Ask Again, Yes by Mary Beth Keane, which I thoroughly enjoyed: A slow, thoughtful, and lovely novel and a read filled with characters drawn with compassion. Now I am on Brit Bennett's The Vanishing Half which has been on my stack forever. I am not yet far enough along to tell you what I think, just that I have been drawn in.

I have been feeling increasingly better since Tuesday, but I have remained in low gear. I did organize the hall linen closet, which remains somewhat bare. I need to buy new sheets for the guest bed. I need blankets as well, but I would rather knit those. There is no accounting for that. I could buy something perfectly functional for less money, and certainly less time, but that is not what interests me and what I have will do. I see no need to fill the space just because there is space to fill. As you see from the little hollow he made in the yellow cashmere throw, Moisés took a nap when I wandered away and left the door open. I also seem to have a lifetime supply of Kleenex. Somehow after the surgery to repair my broken nose, I have tended toward far less sinus congestion and Kleenex use than previously. I suppose there is a gift in everything.

The camellias began opening on Monday and the one shrub is filled with blossoms. There is another that has been struggling; it has buds but they have not yet opened and its ultimate fate is as yet undecided. I planted peas on Tuesday. I have cleaned out the herb bed in preparation for planting some sorrel and some lime balm, although I suspect it remains too cool for the balm to germinate. Other spring greens also need to go in the ground, but whether my timing is right or not is always a guess. I haven't yet settled into the groove of Tennessee gardening. But then a garden is always an experiment, a learning experience, and a reminder that much as we may prefer to pretend otherwise, we are not in control.

The sunshine and the advent of warmer temperatures seem to have sparked some kind of latent urge to clean and refresh, odd enough for me, and also an urge to sort through stuff and declutter (less unusual), as evidenced in the closet cleaning above. I cleaned the glass in the front door and the side windows, and then sat down in the living room to sort through the mail and admire the afternoon light in the entry hall. It seems like I have been fascinated with the entry hall lately, posting a couple of photos on Instagram. Perhaps I am simply in the mood for welcoming others in, inviting life in, although quite frankly I don't see that actually happening all that soon. There is something about spring however and the seasonal urge to blossom-forth I suppose.

I was talking to an acquaintance the other day, we ran into each in line at the hardware store, and she was complaining about how her son had painted his living room a color she did not like, how she hated homes where she noticed the colors of the walls, and in her opinion walls should all be neutral. This was shortly after I took the above photo. I think I smiled to myself and thought she would hate my house. That is not unusual; many people feel. they could not live with the color. Obviously I am a different sort of person. This bothers me not a whit. I should love my house, you should love yours; we should simply learn to find our commonalities and accept our differences, especially perhaps when our children disagree with us.

As I was cleaning the windows I noticed that I should really clean the window sills and the corners that stay in the shade in the winter but it is too early for that. I would clean and they would just get all nasty again after pollen season. Better to wait. The same thought occurred to me regarding some of the bedding plants. My neighbors have been out cleaning out their beds, and although I admire their industry, and their manicured and mulched beds, although I acknowledge that it all needs to be done, and chastise myself for my lack of ambition, it still feels too early to me. The nights are still too cold; creatures still take shelter, tender leaves and buds need protection. The time will be soon, but not yet. Of course what usually happens is that I think it is too early and then suddenly it is late and I feel rushed. The flower heads are still on my hydrangeas, the nuts I left on the ground have provided food for birds and squirrels. I think of myself as living in a conversation with my house, with my garden, with my place on this earth. Whatever I don't get to, Mother Nature will handle in her own way. In fact the bed which I am not going to landscape this year, where I planned to put in some buckwheat, currently looks lovely with a nice crop of lush, low growing weeds. I feel no need to disturb them at this time.

I suppose there has to be one of us in every neighborhood.

March 4, 2021