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Archive for August, 2009

Passage

A couple of weeks ago I was honored to attend the 40th birthday party of a dear friend.  She  hasn’t been in my life very long, and most of the people there were friends she’d had for decades.  But I was welcomed into the group with the same warmth that she always welcomes me.

She is one of the few people who has unfailingly extended sympathy and care to me during the hard times of the last few years, and she told me that as she herself has struggled with caring for her aged father for the last several months, I was the one who always called or emailed during the dark moments.

So many people I’ve known have moved through my life, usually for better and sometimes for worse.  It’s what I’m used to.  And I know that sometimes I move through someone else’s life when they might have been willing to keep me.  So when someone moves into my life, and I move into theirs, it is a blessing that can take me by surprise.

My best shot – being disorganized trying to get a group picture. That’s her with the beautiful smile, the fourth from the left.
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Visit Tracey for more of what’s meant to be.

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Strange but True

There is something very very odd going on around here. The knitting black hole is well documented. The one where you knit and knit and knit until your fingers are cramping and there’s nothing to eat in the house; your kid is saying she’s tired of watching Sesame Street and your hair smells funny – and yet there is no change in whatever accursed project you’re doing. That one. I, however, seem to have stumbled upon a new phenomenon.

There appears to be some kind of knitting wormhole in the vicinity. On screen! The shawl has gone from not quite 1/3 done to just a couple of rows shy of halfway done without any real effort on my part. It is not a trick of the light, it is backed up by careful measurement and my husband’s opinion (although that last is perhaps not the most reliable gauge of anything knit). I mean, I’ve been spending a bit more time knitting, but all of a sudden it is just flying by.

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It couldn’t be that I’m getting better at knitting lace with practice or anything. That there’s crazy talk.

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The Shawl that Would Not End

I am about one third of the way through the shawl. The date for the baptism has been changed several times and is now not set. I am hoping for April. Not really, but at this rate I’m falling behind on Christmas presents. And people continue to insist on having more babies, with no regard whatsoever for my ever-expanding To Do List of Dooooooom.

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I really do love it, though, and I’ve shown it to my brother and sister-in-law, for whose daughter I’m making it. And that means I have powerful motivation – I will be embarrassed if I don’t finish after bragging and carrying on about it.

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Until forever

Oh child,
My wild thing,
Baby monkey, scary monster, honey bear.

You wear me down
Smooth out my edges
With your love and with your tears.
Your soul, so gentle and so strong,
It takes me by surprise.

My prayer, my hope
Is to be the kind of mother
Who will dance with you
Through thick and thin.

And when your arms twine round my neck
As I cry
Because harsh words were used
I know
We were made for each other
And I will love you
Until
Forever.

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Calm

The tot and I went home for a funeral last week, to say goodbye to a friend of my dad. I’d known him since I was four. The story he told many people of our first meeting was that as he was about to leave, I reached down, picked up a rock from the gravel driveway, and handed it to him. He said I was so solemn and serious as I did so that he knew this was no ordinary present. He kept that rock for the rest of his life. He said it was his good luck charm. We rarely saw one another, but every time we did, he pulled the rock out of his pocket and reminded me of that gift long ago, that connection.

Just before he got sick, I had a dream about him. I can’t remember the details of that dream, but something was wrong and I knew that it wasn’t just a dream. The truth is that he didn’t have an easy life. I can only hope that little pebble that he never lost or left behind, that smooth and worn little memory, a funny gift from a serious little kid, did bring him some kind of luck, some kind of peace.

These are the pictures I took at my folks’ house. They soothe me, and I hope that means something.

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My Best Shot
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Visit Mother May I for more messages.

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The Farmers’ Market is the place to be on a Saturday morning.  I never get tired of going.

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My Best Shot
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Head over to Tracey’s for more Best Shot goodness.

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Wordless Wednesday
I know. I never post these on Wednesday.

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