FemiKnitMafia

It all started, innocently enough, with a beautiful photo of a wonderful friend by an excellent photographer:

That evolved into a simple conversation on Flickr:

And then my imagination ran away with me:

The take-away:
1) I miss these gals.
2) I am SO ready for festival season.
3) I can’t believe they still like me.

So, I’m curious — what do YOU think Manise was doing with the stick?

ETA: Perhaps I should turn this into a contest?  Since Cheryl, Manise, Beth & Laurie are such good sports (presumably… ), they can pick the best answer and I’ll send sock yarn.

Chapter 1
Little Man has been acting out a bit, so we had some serious Q.T. this weekend. Without fail, our Q.T. ends up being some variation of body painting, which is certainly encouraged in his new favorite book: I Ain’t Gonna Paint No More, a hilarious tale about a kid who’s seriously into body painting. Anyway … the design is 100% Little Man. I’m his ‘high level assistant’, helping here and there, mostly when he wants something to be “stripe-ity.” I paint a stripe, ask which color comes next, paint another stripe, and so on … I take no ownership of the design elements. This is pure 4.5 year old work.

Chapter 2
Dr. Hot and I went to the new Institute of Contemporary Art on Sunday. Strangely, I was petrified of spending time with another single lesbian. I wasn’t a total geek, but I wasn’t exactly Ms. Charming 2008 either. By way of explanation, I hid behind the fact that art makes me introspective. She was both charming and a little nervous, which was sweet. Nobody said the word “date”, but I believe it was one.

I loved this David Muller work called As Below, So Above, which chronicled the development of rock and roll and had an audio soundtrack of the artist’s music. The soundtrack was like an iTunes party shuffle on crack.

I did not enjoy Kader Attia’s work. So.freaking.creepy! I suppose it’s good art, because it evoked such a strong emotional reaction in me. But I didn’t like it one bit. {shudder}

Bourgeois in Boston was excellent. There was a description of spirals that I regret not photographing because I can’t find it online. Overall, I really like her work, except that I nearly walked out of the museum when I saw her room-sized bronze spider. I leaned over to Dr. Hot and said, “I’m going to have nightmares about this for a week,” and yes, they’ve already started. Fun times, arachnophobia. Fun times.

Chapter 3
I have been knitting on the Rhiannon sock here and there, and have completed repeat #2. I love it deeply and intensely. Cables make me so freakin’ happy. It must be genetic, because it’s completely irrational.

Chapter 4
With any luck, I’ll soon be able to blog about two mini-projects that have been flying under the blogdar for the last two weeks. I’m hoping for good news and once I get it, I’ll blog it. Oh the agony of waiting for news.

In looking through my ‘07 resolutions, I didn’t do too poorly. Especially when you consider the two huge life changes that were unexpected and largely out of my control: the divorce and being recruited into a graduate program. Still, as I look at the list, I feel a twinge of guilt for not achieving everything I set out to do. It’s silly, I know. But I’m a striver like that.

However, this year I pledge to be a realist. Life is short. Relationships are unpredictable. Everything can change in the blink of an eye. Therefore, I intend to focus more on the present, less on the future, and way less on what other people are doing/accomplishing. Accordingly, my goals are:

Human
… pay attention and go with the flow
… continue to be mindful of my body, fitness and health
… continue to love my little boy with all of my heart, and make all decisions with his needs in mind
… regularly tell friends and family how much I appreciate them

Employee & Student
… focus. focus. focus. produce. produce. produce.
… imagine. envision. create.

Home-owner
… buy a mattress & box spring
… buy a couch
… make wise financial decisions

Creator
… look to the stash (both fabric and fiber) before buying anything new
… finish some WIPs
… have fun

In looking back, I realize that I finished more crafty projects in 2007 than I thought.

It’s funny how you can forget about things that are finished and gifted away, temporary, perpetually in progress, or outgrown. If you ignore all of those items, that leaves 2 pairs of socks, one washrag, a pair of mittens, a hat, and my first skein of handspun. No wonder I’m forgetting my accomplishments!
I fudged the definition a little to allow the Dale to make the cut. After all, I finished the whole body. That’s a finished object, right?

Note to self: try to take more photos of completely finished objects before using/gifting them.

In a moment of crazy youthful impulsiveness, and thanks to blogless Deanna’s tip, I convinced Cheryl to drive across the state to Northampton tonight to see an incredible New Year’s Eve show at the Calvin: Melissa Ferrick, Erin McKeown and Alix Olson, together! There’s also talk of additional surprise guests, and I bet Pamela Means will be one of them. I am so f-ing excited I can barely contain myself!!! Happy Dance. Happy. Happy. Happy. Dance. After the show, we’ll drive east in the wee hours, crash hard, and then go to Danielle’s for the afternoon. What a way to welcome the New Year! Hoooooray!!!

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

This may come as a surprise to you, but I am a deeply spiritual person. I’ve tried and tired, but I can’t find an appropriate label for my beliefs. Also, with an occasional exception, I don’t talk about it publicly, because it’s a long and hard conversation fraught with assumptions and prejudice. Even as I write this, I’m realizing that for the past 8 years I’ve kept it tucked away in my head and in my heart. Silent. Hidden. Protected from the dismissive reactions of those closest to me. But through the discouragement and without an appropriate name, my spirituality is still there. At my core.

I believe in fate. I believe that some force(s) larger than me controls much of our world. I believe in free will. I believe that if you are doing what you’re supposed to be doing, that life will flow. The flow is not always easy, but the flow is gentle and comfortable and even in the challenging times, it has a familiar rhythm and always returns to center. I believe in deep connections between people; connections that stretch across lifetimes. I believe in karma. I believe that trees are more alive than we realize. I believe that the natural world is more beautiful than anything humans could ever create. I believe in the ebb and flow of our world, on the largest scale and the most miniature. In spiritual moments, I experience a fullness in my chest that matches the fullness I feel in love. That feeling tells me to stop, be silent and look around. There is something afoot. Something bigger than me. Something important. But only if I stop and acknowledge it will I learn the lesson, notice the sign, see the connection.

This weekend, between Cate’s always-incredible Solstice post, much time alone, a relaxed afternoon with a dear friend and her wonderful husband, a couple of intensely meaningful emails with a fabulous friend, and a moment of kismet in the knitblog community, I have noticed that my life is indeed following the path of the sun.

As I commented to Cate’s post the other night:

“I intend for this longest night to also be my darkest night, so that tomorrow’s sun will bring the strength I need to create peace, security, safety, and stability in my world, as well as to protect myself and my boy from the harsh winds. To take this unexpected turn of the wheel and use the opportunity to see who I am, who I am alone, who I am without the trappings, and to love that woman. To pour all of my love into myself and my child. I’m ready to emerge from this darkness and walk that path, slowly and with a full heart.”

Already, it feels that I’m on the right path. For the first time in years, I feel content. At peace. Aligned.

Which is why earlier tonight, when I read the most recent post from Celtic Memory Yarns, I immediately clicked through to the live webcast of the Solstice ceremony at Newgrange. The webcast is nearly an hour long, but worth every minute. If you’re impatient, you could scroll to about 1/2 way, but you’ll miss the building excitement and the sense of relief when the sun shines down the passageway into the tomb. For the last couple years, I’ve entered the lottery to be invited into the tomb on the winter Solstice; but with 28,000+ applicants, it’s really just a pipe dream. And yet, I apply. Because someday … someday … I will be there to see the dawn sun shine on the ancient stone spirals that are tattooed over my spine, and illuminate the tomb of my ancestors.

I have no idea why, but Newgrange is an intensely spiritual place for me. I stumbled upon it in early 2002 and from the moment I entered the Bru na Boinne, it gripped my soul. I’ve traveled a bit, and been awestruck by many natural and human wonders, but Newgrange is different. Something draws me there. I will probably never understand it, and perhaps that’s for the best, but it is powerful and mystical.

Which is why tonight, as I look back on the past couple months, I can see that my life is flowing again. I have beautiful, meaningful experiences every day. My heart is full of hope and wonder. This Solstice is my time of rebirth, relief, peace and joy.

If you made it this far and my vague ramblings didn’t quite add up, perhaps these three solid facts will make it clear:

1) Just when I started to get bored of the Solstice webcast and was about to click away, the announcer mentioned that two bats have taken up residence in passage chambers at Newgrange (yeah, I smiled and then I cried a little. thank you, bats);

2) I’m back on the moon cycle, and

3) Yesterday, at Alison’s house refuge, I defeated the evil set-up row on the Rhiannon sock, and then knit an entire repeat of the charts.

Welcome back, mojo.

And to welcome Yule, I leave you with one of my favorite Solstice poems. Xifey was a member of the Revels cast for many years, and this poem is something beautiful she introduced me to:

The Shortest Day
By Susan Cooper

And so the Shortest Day came and the year died
And everywhere down the centuries of the snow-white world
Came people singing, dancing,
To drive the dark away.
They lighted candles in the winter trees;
They hung their homes with evergreen;
They burned beseeching fires all night long
To keep the year alive.
And when the new year’s sunshine blazed awake
They shouted, reveling.
Through all the frosty ages you can hear them
Echoing behind us - listen!
All the long echoes, sing the same delight,
This Shortest Day,
As promise wakens in the sleeping land:
They carol, feast, give thanks,
And dearly love their friends,
And hope for peace.
And now so do we, here, now,
This year and every year.
Welcome Yule!

I’m trying to knit the set-up row on the Rhiannon sock, and it’s kicking my ass. It looks about the same as it did last week:

Perhaps I should stop knitting while inching along in rush hour traffic? Or maybe stop knitting while watching The L Word? Especially during scenes that make me cry like a little baby, like this one. [stupid wordpress won't let me embed this video, so you'll have to click over. argh.] But let me be clear — crying like a baby is a strange reaction — everyone else will think this scene is hot-hot-hot! You’re gonna click over now, aren’t you?

So my break from grad school apparently means knitting, beautiful actors doing lesbian sex scenes. Oh yeah, and a quiet peaceful home stocked with lots of red wine. Does it get any better than this? Seriously.

-photo by Boston Globe/David L. Ryan

There’s one good thing about stand-still traffic during daylight: I knit!

Allow me to present a completed TUBULAR CAST ON and 3/4″ of 1×1 ribbing!!!

I tried Francesca’s Italian tubular cast on approximately 7 times, and could not master it. Clearly those Italians are way smarter than me. Or perhaps I’ve been a little tense lately. In any case, I finally gave up and tried Anna’s. Though now that I’m googling for links, I think Knitty’s article might be more precise, and I’ll likely use that one next time.

I’ve barely knit, or more accurately, I’ve only done frustrating knitting (7 tries and failures), for weeks and was starting to wonder if the mojo left with Xifey. Thankfully it hasn’t. Phew!

Now pardon me while I spend the break between semesters clicking my sticks. ‘Member when this was a knitting blog? Me neither. It’s good to be back.

You suck.

I hate you.

And your little dog too.

I will not be defeated by your pointy-headed bean-counting algebraic formulas.

I’m going to kick your ass tonight.

Because, I’d like to KNIT again!

T-minus 5 hours to stitches, wool fumes and vanilla vodka.

Lest you think I’m miserable all the time, I have happy stuff planned for Favorite Things Monday. But today is My Knitting Sucks Sunday. See … I signed up for a swap thinking that I’d need something complex to keep my mind off my life. (red flag #1) I selected a pattern. I ordered yarn. I bought the pattern. I swatched. I got gauge. And I cast on. Again and again and again. (red flag #2) Each time I got the wrong number of stitches. I was getting discouraged, so I left the knitting alone (red flag #3) and bought a condo and a car.  The deadline passed. I felt guilty. So I tried again tonight.  I poured a glass of wine. (red flag #4)  I cast on properly with the correct number of stitches! But ( … wait for it … ) it’s too big. As in, I’m trying to knit a knee sock, not thigh highs.

Frig a dig!  I should rip it out, right?

It was my first Rhinebeck. And with all that’s going on, I was bouncing around in anticipation. Danielle and I rode together and shared a hotel room, and met up with MafiaMom, who shared a bed with me.

[sidenote: alas, there was no chance of a torrid Rhinebeck love affair for the Mafia, what with my work-wife in the next bed and my Mom snoring away at my side. not that I was hoping for a torrid love affair or anything. nope. not me. ahem. argh. and a little grrrr. and another apology to everyone i flirted with over the weekend. it can't be helped. terribly sorry. I will not be better behaved next time. i lie promise.]

Anyway … back to the beginning … Danielle and I dashed out of the office a wee bit early on Friday evening, so we could compensate for Danielle’s slow ass driving - sit in traffic with 1000 of our closest friends get a head start. I loaded all my gear, and got in the passenger seat. On the floor was an enormous bag with a fat envelope that said, “open the bag first, then this.” I opened the bag. I saw miles of knit squares. I read the letter, and the spreadsheet(!) of names and blog addresses. And I said:
Holy Shit.
Oh my God.
Are you Kidding?
Are you Serious?
How the Hell?
Oh my God.
This is Incredible.
Did you really?
What?
How?

I was in total and absolute shock. The best kind of shock. The kind of shock that says I’m being held up and surrounded and loved and snuggled by this not-so-imaginary crowd of generous friends, many of whom I’ve never met in real life. How can this be? How can I be so lucky? Really? What have I done to deserve this unbelievable expression of support:

-a mere 2/3 of the Maf-ghan seen here, being held by my favorite LYS maven-

I wanted to roll around in those miles of wooly squares. I wanted to wrap the blanket around and around and around me, like a shield. An amulet. A protective coating. A skin. Giving myself a layer of lanolin that would keep the rain drops from reaching me. And then sit in front of a fire, knees drawn to my chest. Let the heat penetrate the knit stitches and get trapped in there. And watch the flames dance in the fire. And see the flames morph into lovers-to-be and adventures-to-be and learning-to-be and Little-Man-growing-older and my-whole-life stretched out in front of me. Knowing that each of those stitches, trapping heat against my body, represents the kindness of people in far distant homes.

Then Danielle started telling me the stories. And I read the cards and the tags. And then I came upon Danielle’s square, which looked so familiar. I saw the yarn at her house, she explains. It was the first yarn she spun on her new Schacht! Oh my god, the first yarn from the wheel? That’s seriously important yarn! With that realization, I lost it. The floodgates opened and I cried (and I.do.not.cry.I.just.don’t.). Deep heaving sobs. All over Danielle’s handspun square. All over the Maf-ghan-in-progress. All over every single one of the 80(!) squares sitting in my lap. [sorry guys]

While driving, she hugged me (thank you Cambridge traffic). After getting it together, ahem, I spent the next hour fondling each and every square, reading every single card and tag and present, and listening to stories about how I almost discovered the project on countless occasions, and how many people were involved, and about various seaming parties and conversations and well-wishes. And I cried a little more. That’s how the rest of the trip to Rhinebeck went — I fondled, I cried. I fondled, I cried a bit. I fondled, I teared up. And so on. Until we stopped for dinner and I got it together. Then the clouds broke open and the sky cried on my behalf, while I drove white-knuckled through torrential downpours toward the Hudson River Valley.

At Rhinebeck, I hugged a LOT of people. And thanked them. I occasionally checked the spreadsheet (that Danielle … she is seriously organized) to see if so-and-so participated, to be sure that I wasn’t hugging and slobbering all over someone who had no idea what I was talking about. For someone who.does.not.cry, I told a LOT of people about the crying. I bought fiber, two of Maryse’s cards (including the one featuring her Maf-ghan square), and a Golding spindle. I spun. I knit. I met and hung out with a whole cast of incredible people. I misbehaved. I drank at every opportunity (thank you yarn-company-sponsored open bar at the Ravelry party). I spent some hardcore Q.T. with some of my favorite people on earth, including MafiaMom, who wore the poncho I finally finished. I taught MafiaMom to spin on Julia’s wheel. Julia’s wheel was clearly built to teach; it’s the Jonathan Kozol of wheels.

She took to it, but the fiber complained a little — Mafia on the right. MafiaMom on the left. Telephone cord: like mother, like daughter, even the same fiber.

I got an early birthday present from MafiaMom, who found his beautiful antique yarn winder at an estate sale

I brought some beautiful Cider Moon sock yarn from the stash, promptly tangled it, was thankfully rescued by the ever-generous Team Cheryl and Terry …

only to wind it into a center-pull ball so tightly that no amount of tugging would release the center. Even Sara couldn’t pull the center out with a crochet hook. Perhaps that’s a sign that I need to relax?

I watched Cate cut her Autumn Rose.

Which is when I met the awesome crazy Canadians that I tailed for the rest of the weekend.

And, since it is now 1:59am, the Sox have won the World Series again (yeah Sox!) and Xifey has finally returned from her nightly jaunt to the next door neighbor’s house, I need to sleep a bit before I’m expected to act like a professional human being in a few hours.

There will be more blogging about Rhinebeck, because I still need to do the link-fest. As well as more blogging about the Maf-ghan, including links and pictures and the stories behind each and every square. And there are a couple of other AMAZING bloggy prezzies to post about. But right now, I’m going into radio silence as I:

1) wait to hear about the used car that I’m trying to get at auction (i.e. half price), and

2) wait hear if my offer was accepted on a very cute condo. gotta get outta this place, if it’s the last thing I ever do**.

Please send some of that amazing loving energy to the condo deal. Remember how we got Ms. 1890 together? Let’s do it again. If the Maf-ghan is any indication, then clearly my peeps are capable of incredible acts.

*extra points to the person who can identify the post title without googling it. big points to the person who can say the next line. kisses to the person who knows this one**.

*** ETA: Danielle would like me to add … if anyone is still interested in knitting a Maf-Square, there are a couple open spots. Email her at ASwimInKnits AT yahoo DOT com.

*** ETA #2: Danielle says that the remaining spots are now taken. Thank you to everyone!!

Wednesday night, I had a nightmare. In the dream, I woke up and went to my stash wall to grab a specific WIP bag. I needed a quick and easy project because I finished the Stripey Mittens and needed something to bring to my Thursday lunch with the MIT SnB. Despite how neat the stash looks in this picture:

those top bins (designated as the WIP bins) are perpetually overflowing with bags. And at the top of that pile, sits the bag I was looking for — my mother’s poncho, which is 98% done.

So … in the dream, I walked over to the stash wall and noticed that it seemed terribly neat and tidy. Then I tipped one of the bins toward me, and noticed that my stash was gone. I dropped to the floor and thought, “holy shit, she took my stash!” Then I woke up.

Prior to that moment, I always thought of myself as a lower-case-k-knitter. But if I’m having anxiety dreams about Xifey stealing my stash, clearly I’m a capital-K-Knitter.