11 June 2011

everything emptying into white

Did you knit in public today? I did, while sitting in the friendly
cafe at Barnes & Noble, listening to Glazunov through headphones
attached to my lime-green Nano. I completed nearly two repeats of
Falling Water between the beginning of spring and the Baccanalian end
of autumn-- appropriate for the grape-harvest purples-and-green
colourway. This pattern + this colorway = knitting intoxication.

**longer boats are coming**

I shall be sorry to give up this scarf, but I have to, since I'm
knitting it as a sample for Moose Manor Handpaints. The pattern has
given me the confidence to tackle a more intricate lace. It includes
yarn-overs before, after, and between purls and knits, left- and
right-facing decreases, and other little maneuvers that always had
intimidated me.

Actually, that's one of the reasons I chose it: to stretch a little as
a knitter. My retirement has been all about elasticity. Some of the
new maneuvers are tiny, like learning to spin on a tiny Kuchulu
Jenkins spindle. Other stretches are long, like getting myself out of
the house to meet with friends old and new.

**everything emptying into white**

The latest stretch is huge: my husband and I have purchased a slice of
land high on a hillside, so high you barely can see the main road
below. The land is thick with trees, much of them protected. They may
not be cut down. Not that we want to - we will only clear enough for
the house that my husband and the architect designed, and a small area
for ourselves. If all goes well, the house will be ready next spring.

Yes, this is a big stretch, more so for me than for my husband,
because I never, ever imagined leaving our tiny house, never mind
building another. He is the visionary, and I have been - I'm not sure
what I've been, but I shall lace up my sneakers and keep up. It's a
good thing.

Another good thing: the book What Should I Do With My Life by Po
Bronson. My friend Rachel lent me her copy and said it would change
how I think. She was right. Unlike self-help books, this is a peek
into the lives of people who have made changes that succeeded or
failed, or failed to make changes, and therefore stalled. These are
real people, and I see myself in them all. (Like everyone, I contain
multitudes. I also live one-half mile from Walt Whitman's birthplace.
Handy, that.). Thank you, Rachel.

**on the road to find out**

Today's soundtrack has been "Tea for the Tillerman" by Cat Stevens. It
may not be a roadmap, but one could do worse than dreaming of a house
built from barley rice with a protective red-legged chicken.

6 comments:

KSD said...

What a grand, grand adventure! And I love your choice of the word "slice" --- cutting off just enough of the world to claim as our own. I look forward to updates.

KnitNana said...

Oh how exciting!!! I'm so glad you have this lovely stage ahead of you.
(((hugs)))

Nicole said...

Sounds like fun! And I like the idea of "stretching" oneself s lot better than the thought of "pushing".

Stacey said...

updates must be forthcoming. This slice sounds like an absolutely delightful adventure.

PS I too knitted in public.

Carrie K said...

The new home sounds wonderful.

I did not knit in public. I thought about it but I'm still happy to not have masses of work to do and able to stay at home.

Lost City Denise said...

The new house amongst the "safe" trees will be an exciting adventure!

(yes I knitted in public!)