A decade

Just FYI: there's no actually knitting in this post. So maybe come back in a couple of days, if that's more your cup of tea.

Ten years ago today, I was sitting in a waiting room in a Boston hospital, waiting for my mother to come out of surgery. A few weeks before, she'd called me at my aunt's house in DC to tell me that her GP had found a lump in her breast, and she'd been diagnosed with invasive breast cancer. I was in the midst of finishing my dissertation, and it felt like someone had just pulled the rug out from under my feet. Thankfully, my thesis was mostly written, and I submitted it and flew to Boston the day before my mom had a lumpectomy and further biopsies to see if her lymph nodes were involved.

Thankfully, the cancer was localized, the lumpectomy was successful, my mother took Tamoxifen for five years and has been cancer free ever since. Seven days after her surgery, she and my father were in the audience for my dissertation defense. It was one of the most amazing things I've ever had the privilege to witness.

My mother's cancer was my first experience with my parents' mortality. Since that time, I've moved across the country, gotten married, had two children of my own, and then moved across an ocean. My mother has retired, moved from the city to mostly rural Maine, and jumped in to grandmother-hood with her full enthusiasm. She gave my Dad a puppy for his birthday this year, and he arrived a few weeks ago. She has more strength and love and determination then almost anyone I think I've ever met. And I am so grateful to her doctor for seeing what was there on her mammogram, and recognizing it for what it was. I am grateful to her for getting the mammogram in the first place. And I am so grateful that my daughters have the opportunity to experience what a fabulous person their grandmother is.

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This post was inspired by the people who should be here this spring, and aren't. You are so very much missed.

No, I'm not dead yet

Many apologies for the extended absence of new posts, but life has been a bit crazy of late. For one thing, my kids are now in school, and are completely exhausted/deranged when I pick them up, so computer time is somewhat scarce. And when they finally go to sleep, my only sanity-saving measure is sitting in front of the TV with the wheel or some mindless knitting and zoning out for a while.

You might be wondering why, if my kids are now both in school, I don't just blog merrily away while I'm relaxing at home eating bonbons. And the answer to that is, well, I started working last week.

Only part-time (which I think is going to work out really well), but it's a wee bit draining going back and forth to the end of town, trying to get back in time for tea (or picking Devil up, which occurs just prior to tea). I drop the girls off, hop on the train (I just notice yesterday that the Putney train station has a 4+ parked in a flower bed, in homage to this I suppose), go to Waterloo, get on the Tube, go to work for 5 hours, reverse the trip, pick up Devil, distract her for a while and then pick up Boo and truck everyone home. The last two nights I've voluntarily gone to bed before 11:00, which hasn't happened in 5 months.

Unlike Houston, my commute is much less knitting-friendly. I'm usually standing up, and it's only a 15 min ride on the train and 5 on the Underground, so by the time I've gotten things out, it's time to get off again. So production is certainly going to drop off a wee bit. But I have things to show you, like a finished/blocked Aestlight, an amazing sock book I won in a contest, a new sweater half-way done, and some spinning.

Just as soon as I take the pictures and upload them and write the entries. Hmmmm...maybe by next friday?

The end of an era

I was clearing out a box of my old papers in my parents' garage this afternoon, and I came across a framed letter that I had saved from 1990. It was from Senator Edward Kennedy, congratulating me on receiving the John and Robert Kennedy Book Award, which I vaguely remember was for being a science geek. In light of his recent passing, it was all the more poignant to find a letter from a man I had never met, wishing me success in college, and saying "I know that this honor, and all the others you've received...are well deserved,...,and I'm confident you have a very promising and exciting future ahead of you."

Having spent most of my childhood in the Boston area, Ted Kennedy was one of the political figures never in doubt. Regardless of what you may think of him, his politics, and his somewhat tumultuous personal life, he was a great and effective legislator, who accomplished remarkable things. It is a tragedy that he did not live to see a health care bill passed, but I hope that it won't be by very long.

Thank you Teddy.

No fiber this Friday

Last weekend, I did something I've only done once in the last two years.

I folded up my spinning wheel and put it away.

There was a good reason. We were having company for dinner (and I try not to scare the Muggles too much if I can help it), the bobbins were empty, I wasn't going to have a chance to spin much before we left, and I didn't want to start something, take a two week break and come back to it. So the wheel is folded down in the gear/stash room, and I have no fiber to show off today.

Instead I will share another example of how I have corrupted my youngest child (in a good way, I promise). Devil has been at day camp for the last week and a half, so Boo and I have been hanging out together. One of the bonuses of just having one urchin to look after during the day has been getting out for some nice runs. Last week we went up to the Heath with some containers and our run lasted an hour, half of which was spent picking/running quality control on the wild blackberries.

This week, we spent one afternoon at the 1 o'clock centre in town, a wonderful London invention - a free play area for kids up to age 5. So there we were. I was sitting on a bench, zoning out a bit while Boo played with some animals. Next thing I know she comes zooming past me, pushing a small stroller crammed with a naked baby doll, a stuffed lemur, and a dinosaur.

"Mama! I running!" she said as she went by.

Fantastic.

Oddy

Last month, my grandmother, Oddy, passed away after a short illness. She was 95 years old. When I was 5 or 6, she taught me how to knit. I can remember perfectly the yarn I learned with - it must have been Red Heart (or some similar 80s option) in what I thought was a perfectly lovely red, white and blue ombre. I don't remember the actually learning of the stitches, but I can see perfectly in my head the hideously uneven, messy scarf-like thing I made with it, all garter stitch, with tons of dropped stitches and yarnovers and such. It was horrific. But it was also the first step down a road that has lead, 30 years later, to my current pursuits at spinning and designing, and knitting socks for my husband, and sweaters for my daughters. She gave me the ability to keep my loved ones warm with the work of my hands. And given that I come from a long line of intellectual-type folks, being able to make something, to create, is a phenomenal gift. We leave today to go up to Maine for her memorial service, so it seems fitting to write a bit about her here.

When I was pregnant with Devil, I got a blanket in the mail from Oddy. Although she'd been living in a nursing home for quite a while and was clearly fading, she'd started a baby blanket for her first great-grandchild. I believe my aunt finished it, but it's always been a gift from my grandmother, and both of the girls have slept with it.

Baby Devil

Last Christmas, we were home in New England, and she got to meet the girls, Boo for the first time. Devil was a little concerned about being in a place that looked and felt to her like a really, really big doctor's office, but Oddy gave her a present and they bonded. On our way out, she walked down the hallway next to Oddy's wheelchair, holding her hand.

My grandmother had a phenomenal memory (she was the defacto family historian because she remembered everything), she could out-etiquette Ms. Manners herself, and she was a terrible cook. She once asked me if I wanted to "come out", which meant something entirely different in 1988 then it means now. And she taught me to knit. Thank you Oddy. You are very much missed.