Blowing Off Some Dust

Hah! Here it is! I found it. I knew I had a blog around here somewhere....!

I've been going back and forth about whether I want to start blogging again. It's kind of hard to be decisive when there are other platforms that could serve the purpose of sharing my thoughts with the universe whether you all care or not, and each one has its own merits. I think the appeal of this method is that I can fit more thought into a post than Facebook or Instagram or whatever other media there may be. It's a little more invested than "liking" or double tapping photos or commenting.

I liked having a knitting blog and reading knitting blogs. There was a sense of community that feels more tangible than any other online interaction.

I think I really need to invest in blogging again. It isn't the most convenient, but it was the most satisfying.

I am pretty sure this is going to morph back into a knitting blog, but I'll be sure to sprinkle some non-knitting related stuff in here.

Not today, though.

To date, I've gotten back into making. I've been good starting this year with a steady pace of finished objects and knitting from stash yarn. However, I fell completely off that wagon as of this month. With renewed interest in knitting, I started a separate IG account for the knitting and exposed myself to the latest generation of what's trending in the online knitting world. I got a bonus at work and have been under a lot of stress, which create the perfect conditions for retail therapy. I've ordered no less than ten skeins of sock yarn, two sets of Signature Needle Arts needles, and an Akerworks spindle. I've also started four different projects this month and finished three. I'm averaging four projects finished per month. At this rate, I may see a dent in my stash by the time my kids graduate from high school assuming I don't buy any more yarn. Fat chance of that happening, though.

Ahhhh...blogging about knitting....it's gonna be like riding a bike. And just as much fun as a T-Rex can have knitting a sweater.

Can't Remember

I remember years ago that I was really into knitting, crocheting, knit blog reading, blogging, and all kinds of crafty things. 

I realized today that I forgot a lot of it because I haven't done much, if any of those, in the last four years since my son was born. 

I barely remember how to make socks. I don't remember more than three of my favorite knitting blogs - though I am grateful that those bloggers are still there and posing steadily. 

I don't remember my favorite online yarn store...not that I need one as I still have a stash in my house and my parents' house. 

My daughter will be born any day now. I haven't made her anything. I didn't even make my son anything. We are moving into a new house soon and I realize how much I would love to have handmade things to fill it with and make it "HOME." 

I need to remember these things. I need to be able to do them again. I need them because memories of my grandmothers are tied to them, and to my mom, and to a lot of other things I held dear that I can only remember if I knit and crochet again. And people will remember me because I made them something. 

Those were important things. They ARE important things. I just have to remember. 

Traditions

Being that we are entering the prime of the holiday season, it makes sense to start talking about traditions.  I'd like to start with the presentation of Exhibit A:

To some, this may appear to be just an unassuming ti leaf plant.  Let me assure you, though, that this plant was not there as little as two weeks ago.  I saw it today during my afternoon inspection and was rather surprised to find it.  You see, the trench right in front of it was home to a large Kimani tree that had since been removed in the course of construction.  I could even verify from photographs I'd taken that there was no ti leaf to be had in this area.  You can imagine my surprise to find it sprouting in that spot out of the blue.

Upon inquiry, I was pleasantly enlightened in learning that a worker had planted this ti leaf merely a week ago.  It was a lot smaller, he said, and he makes it a point to water it every day to keep it healthy.  The worker also confided in me that he plants ti leaf on every jobsite he goes to - "for luck," he says.

It was in the immediate moments after that conversation that I felt impelled to write about it.  I've encountered so many small traditions in my line of work that I can't help but pause and reflect upon them.  On another project, I met a worker who writes his name somewhere in the walls - such as where the wall will be boarded up or the drywall painted over.  Another worker I know throws money into a concrete slab pour as a gesture of well-wishing and good luck for the structure that will eventually stand upon it.  And there are others who take a piece of the project with them - such as a piece of tile - and build it into their homes.

These traditions are endearing, and I understand to some level why it is done.  People want to leave their own mark upon the world.  They want to leave behind evidence that they were there.  They want to take with them memories and moments of places and things to which they made a contribution. 

I often talk about the way each person in their own way contributes to the successful construction of a place.  I love to see the different skill or tradition each person brings to the project.  I also try to think about what my tradition will be, what token I will leave behind or take with me from all these places I've been. 

I don't have one.

No "More"

One day a woman's husband died, and on that clear, cold morning, in the warmth of their bedroom, the wife was struck with the pain of learning that sometimes there isn't any "more."

No more hugs, no more special moments to celebrate together, no more phone calls just to chat, no more "just one minute."

Sometimes, what we care about the most gets all used up and goes away, never to return before we can say “good-bye” or say "I love you."

So while we have it, we must love it, care for it, fix it when it's broken, and heal it when it's sick.
This is true for marriage.....And old cars... And children with bad report cards, and dogs with bad hips, and aging parents and grandparents. We keep them because they are worth it, because we are worth it.

Some things we keep -- like a best friend who moved away or a sister-in-law after divorce. There are just some things that make us happy, no matter what.

Life is important, like people we know who are special.. And so, we keep them close!

I received this from someone who thought I was a 'keeper.' Then I sent it to the people I think of in the same way.  Now it's your turn to send this to all those people who are "keepers" in your life, including the person who sent it, if you feel that way. Suppose one morning you never wake up, do all your friends know you love them?

Let every one of your friends know you love them. Even if you think they don't love you back. And just in case I'm gone tomorrow:

I LOVE YA!!!

Live today because tomorrow is not promised.

_______________________________________________________________________________

My Aunt Aida has been gone since May of this year.  And while I had only a few precious moments with her in my lifetime, enough to recall on two hands, I still grieve for her.  I remember her in my childhood before she and my uncle moved from the islands, and when I visited her, my uncle, and my cousins on the mainland.  The last time I saw her was a few years ago when my family and I took a trip to Georgia.  The woman of my childhood memories was even more fantastic now that I am an adult and can fully appreciate her.  The memories of her on that Georgia visit stand out most because they are most recent and because it showed me what I had been missing in those years between visits.  And now she's gone.  There is no "more."

For a long time, there's been a disconnect in my lifeline to family.  It's not that I didn't care or didn't know they were out there.  Mostly, the convenience of technology has made it so much easier to stay connected. 

I cannot fathom the void left in my aunt's absence, yet I still feel it.  It is there.  The absence of "more" despite the lingering existence of desire for that specific "more."  I guess that's what grief is.

Evolution

I've evolved. 

I think that's what's supposed to happen by the time you hit the big 3-0: you realize you really have learned from past mistakes and experiences.

I look back on my life and can really see how young, ignorant, and inexperienced I was in my career and extracurricular activities just a few short years ago.

I couldn't admit I was on a career path I wasn't passionate about and focused too singularly on what I did in one area of my life.  I needed balance.  I didn't know that was what I needed at the time.

I was talking to a good friend on the phone this afternoon about how passionate I was about coaching wrestling back in the day.  Wrestling was my life.  There were only two seasons of the year for me: wrestling season and the off-season.  There was nothing else.  I had to be involved in it and always have my finger on the pulse of the program to which I contributed.  That is, until work and other factors phased me out of participating.

If I were to go back to it, I would want nothing more than to be a head coach of a wrestling program so that I could take my experiences and implement what I know now.  I feel I am more than qualified to run a program based on personal experience and expertise, but I think what would set me apart now from the kind of coach I was then (other than me being the head coach rather than an assistant) would be the fact that I would have in place a disciplinary action program, as well as incident reporting and investigation procedures for the coaches and the athletes I would oversee.  I think those are key elements missing from coaching programs in sports today. 

As it is, I don't have the time to give to something like that.  I prefer to continue developing the balance I've created in my life.  The funny thing is that wrestling doesn't even have a role in that balance.  It was the absence of wrestling in my life that created peace for me.

Like I said: I've evolved.

Peeved

I can't think of a way to tactfully introduce what I want to say, so I'll get right to it.

With the upcoming seasonal change on the horizon (i.e. summer to fall), I cannot help but be keenly irritated at how freely clothing distributors, fashion bloggers, and people in general refer to a piece as being "knitted" or "crocheted" when it is not.

Having delved rather passionately into knitting, crochet, weaving, tatting, spinning, macrame...fiber arts, sewing, and clothing construction in general...I have a huge appreciation for all things hand made.  I also like fashion as much as any other girl, but I pay more than average attention to clothing design and construction.  Call it appreciation, education, or even dedication.  But whatever you do, call it by the correct name!  Dammit! 

A knitted piece is very distinguishable from a crocheted piece by the stitch structure if all you're doing is going by appearances.  Anyone who has actually done the technique would know better, and I feel anyone marketing a piece of clothing distinguished by those techniques should know, too.  I would think whoever designed the piece would definitely feel slighted that their design is not fully appreciated if it is referred to incorrectly.

I don't know.  I'm just very annoyed at the ignorance.  It's an annoyance similar to that experienced by fashion designer houses if you were to inappropriately use the phrase "haute couture" to refer to expensive, ready-made clothing in stores. 

That said, I still cannot reconcile in my head paying $154 for a locksmith.  I'm sorry.  I just can't.

P & S

I work with a romantic.

Since I've switched professions within my company in December of last year, I've had the opportunity to work with a lot of different personalities at a far more accelerated rate over a given time interval than ever before.

My favorite to date, though, has to be my current associate.  He is a very capable man with years of experience in the industry and a very amicable personality.  What I like most about him, though, has nothing to do with work.  This man LOVES his wife.  His love story with her is so endearing and enchanting that I cannot help but look forward to his recollection of stories about the two of them.  If it was a book, it would read like a romance novel, but without all the steamy scenes.

They met in high school.  He was a senior in high school.  She was two years younger and of a strict military upbringing.  Her father disapproved of the relationship and moved away to wherever the military took them.  They wrote to each other, but their letters were always intercepted by disapproving parents.  Years became decades.  They moved on with their lives and had families of their own. 

His wife died.  Her husband "came out of the closet."  Through serendipity and fate, they managed to find each other again after over thirty years.  They are together now.  Since reuniting, their love continued almost as if nothing else had occurred to disrupt that harmony.  The decades between them seemed almost to enrich the enjoyment they have of each other now.

And now, all they have is each other.  They're newlyweds with the growing pains already over and done with.

I like that.