Missing Dad

My father died earlier this year.  A good and brave man, he faced his illnesses and life in general with the same courage he faced battle in WWII and with the honesty and integrity that had marked his life.

I got the word of his final illness while I was at work and left to be with him and my mother as quickly as I could.  I had to return briefly, and he slipped into the next world before I could get back.

The next weeks were a blur, as we moved through all the things you have to face when a loved one dies.  So many of my friends and my family were wonderful in their support of my mother, brothers and sister as well as me and the love and support was truly welcome in that time when the pain was at its most raw.

But a strange thing happened.  My co-workers, people I've known and worked with for years, ignored it. As if it had not happened.  I came back to work, and we had lavish baby and bridal showers.  But nothing was said to me.  With time, and with people asking about my "vacation" I began to learn that really, no one was told of the death of my daddy.

I was hurt; I still am.  You see, I was told that when one of the people who did know asked if they were going to send a card, they were told it really was none of the company's business.  A wedding is the company's business, it seems, as is a having a baby (a very intimate act, I would have thought) but not a death in the family of an employee.

I bless and thank those of my coworkers that found out and sent me their personal notes.  I've told the ones who learned late and were upset that it was not their fault.  I hope in time to forget.  But this night, as I approach my first Christmas without him, I'm having a little trouble letting go of my anger.

My loss is not as tragic as some of the things I have seen in the news: while you never are ready for the death of a loved one my father lived a full life and was much loved.  So I ask you to remember all who are grieving and keep them in your prayers, and I wish you all remain, in this season, surrounded by those you love and who love you.

Merrily we steek along

I love stranded knitting.  Or any other charted knitting, for that matter (lace, cables...)

So over the past few months I've been working in a sweater for me. I started with this pattern:



Kauni Rainbow Cardigan, per pattern

...but of course I can't knit anything normally, so I tweaked it.  On the fly.  While I was knitting it.

I added a picot cast-on, converted it to V-neck, and inset the sleeves more.

Then I realized that I didn't know what the heck I was doing

The V-neck started too high, so I ripped it and put it to one side.  My cat claimed it as her bed for a few days. 

I wrestled it back from the cat and finished the body.

Do you know how much fun it is to freak out your coworkers?  Just pick up a pair of scissors and cut apart your knitting.  There were a few anguished NO!s, until I explained that I was supposed to cut it open.

I picked up the stitches for the sleeves and the button band:





And finally I completed the sweater:


I may go back and add toggles, but for now I like pinning it.

 

NaNoWriMo

Okay, I've been absent.  I've been working on a stranded sweater in Kauni, of my own desing, that I finished this week.  Picture to follow tomorrow night.  But tonight, after a month of effort with a week off for Thanksgiving I did this.   And I'm pretty pleased with myself.  Now I can cast on the standed mittens for my mother!

Work - the curse of the knitting class

It's early in the morning.  The house is filled with the sounds of a household preparing for the day's work.  My tea is beside me and my cat is on my lap.  I have a quick shawl on the needles beside me and a complex stranded sweater opinion my knitting bag.

I really don't feel like working after the day I had yesterday.  Some days are like that,  I know, but dealing with a few irrational folks have me wanting to just hunker down with a fire in my wood stove and knit until I'm serene (or as close as I ever am to serene) again.

Why wasn't I born a Astor?  Never mind, I wouldn't have had the parents I had or the childhood I largely enjoyed.

Off to figure out what to wear for work.

Why I don't have as many finished projects as I would like

I have pest - I mean pets.  I love them all.  Jesse pesters me to get exercise (after all, a dog needs a walk).   

Orlando reviews my work: 

Which may explain all the spelling errors.

It's DaeDae that is my real problem.  In her eyes any knitted object has to be intended as a cat bed.

 And if not, why not?

Mittens

I lost my father this summer: he died as he had lived, with courage and stoicism.  One of the many things we did to help mother was to begin the task of sorting his clothes and uniforms and taking them to charity.  Dad, as retired Navy and a retired practicing attorney, had many lovely suits, shirts and ties.

Summer had transitioned into fall, so we went through his coats, hats and gloves .  And I found the mittens.  In the teeth of a hurricane my mother and father had traveled to Virginia Beach to attend my sister in law's father's funeral.

Dad, who was frail, got out of the car in a downpour to ask directions.  He lost his balance on wet grass and rocks, landing on his hands.  The rocks were sharp and damaged his hands badly.  Surgery couldn't fully correct them, and he could not wear his gloves that year.

He complained that when he went outside he was always very cold; he had no way to and keep his hands warm.

So I went to Webs and bought some heathered navy worsted weight yarn.  I  Found a simple pattern and knit that yarn on needles meant for sock weight and presented him with gloves so thick they may as well have been felted. There they were, obviously well used, in his favorite coat's pockets.

I cleaned them up a little and sent them in with the coat.  I hope they get a chance to keep someone else's hands warm

Rhinebeck (a/k/a theNew York State Sheep & Wool Festival) 2012.  Mecca for the fiber arts.

My sister and I hadn't been for a few years so this fine sunny with patches of fog Saturday morning we loaded the car and took off.  As it had been some time since we had gone I looked up the address and loaded it into my cell phone. 18 Nevis Road, Tivoli NY.  Plugged it into Googlr maps on my IPhone and we went bravely off where thousands of people were already heading.

We had to recalculate, as my sister had left her phone at her office, but we tooled along the Barkhampstead reservoir to 44 west to 199 north to Mountain Ross Road...sort of.  They don't do road names in NewYork or New England:  if you don't know where you are you shouldn't be here.  After 4 retracings we finally arbitrarily decided that the winding barely paved road had to be it, as the little red ball on my google map was right over it, and turned.  Up the hill and through numerous twists we went, coming to a T intersection which I didn't recall seeing on the map.  Checked the phone again and all was blank.  No cell reception.

Tapping the phone, shaking it, and cursing did not restore it, do we took our chances, knowing we needed to head North and West, and took the westward fork of the T, which suddenly turned profoundly South East about 2 miles later.  I checked the phone and Bingo! We had a signal: I asked it to calculate for 18 Nevis Road from the current location while my sister kept her eyes on the road.  Directions appeared and, just as I started to tell her where to turn, well, all went blank again.

"What do I do?"

"I don't know, the reception is gone..."

Rinse and repeat 8 or 9 times , but we did make it to Nevis Road.

And discovered this was not where the festival was.  We had been puzzled by Tivoli, NY but figured the show grounds had crossed the boarder.

Sis, thoroughly disgusted by the phone and probably me, stopped at a Citgo and got correct instructions.  We arrived about an hour later than we planned.  Once we got into the swing of things we had a blast: perfect fall weather, lovely projects, games for children to keep them happy, llamas, alpacas, cormu and Corriedale sheep, sheepdog demonstrations...and the best French fries on the planet.  We even bumped into two of our favorite spinners!  And on the way home we fell into a state of Silly Amusement picturing what would have happened if we had rung the bell at 18 Nevis and asked where the vendors were...

Pictures of my haul will follow later but there are 2 footnotes to this tale: we also got lead astray on the way home (one of the signs for a turn on 44 was missing) and I did locate the listing that put the NY SS&WF at 18 Nevis Road.  I showed it to my sister and we laughed like fools.  Next year, we remember The Dutchess County Fair Grounds and bring a back up, low tech, map!