tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80431139427042976972024-03-12T20:20:39.114-04:00Carolina KnitsTalking entirely too much about knitting . . . Liz Washburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06301166562236914187noreply@blogger.comBlogger212125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8043113942704297697.post-19593863048395748462021-05-30T12:42:00.010-04:002021-05-30T13:15:10.349-04:00<p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRqSxtQUKYQM27eKpEzVM0nfRr6f6sn4rK0ppzx_-adawxrsOUBQxXMDk_VRgvvCf_ddouWysH0x1o5cFRZ6tC4EIc2Hia2gtZB4dcG8s7O6PtQpRqZMKphudv-BPvELsDdpQr6M7Pjes/s2048/bonnet4.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1645" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRqSxtQUKYQM27eKpEzVM0nfRr6f6sn4rK0ppzx_-adawxrsOUBQxXMDk_VRgvvCf_ddouWysH0x1o5cFRZ6tC4EIc2Hia2gtZB4dcG8s7O6PtQpRqZMKphudv-BPvELsDdpQr6M7Pjes/w514-h640/bonnet4.jpg" width="514" /></a></div><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: georgia;"><span face=""Ubuntu Condensed", sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 24px; text-align: justify;">“I don't need </span><span face=""Ubuntu Condensed", sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 24px; text-align: justify;">insuring. It's like the van, I'm insured in heaven."</span></span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #0b5394;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia; font-size: 24px; text-align: justify;">--Miss Shepherd</span></span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: verdana; text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #0b5394;"><span face=""Ubuntu Condensed", sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 24px; text-align: justify;"><br /></span></span></i></div></span></span><p></p><p></p><p></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span> </span></span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">During the period from March of last year until just recently, writing was difficult for me.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">The ideas that flowed from my brain to my fingertips were cynical and negative, probably in response to the pervasive atmosphere of anger, fear, and outrage on social media or the nightly news.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">But a few months ago, I watched the film </span><i style="font-family: verdana;">The Lady in the Van</i><span style="font-family: verdana;"> and subsequently read Bennett’s memoir on which the film is based, and I was inspired not only to write but also to create a pattern based on a whimsical hat which caught my eye in the film. </span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span> </span>In </span><i style="font-family: verdana;">The Lady in the Van, </i><span style="font-family: verdana;">Alan Bennett recounts his relationship with Miss Shepherd, a cantankerous old woman who spent a large portion of her life living in parked vehicles.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">Fifteen of those years were passed in a van in the driveway of Bennett’s London home.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">In the film, Dame Maggie Smith plays Shepherd, and while it is easy to laugh at the actress’s depiction of the character’s eccentric behavior, it is also not difficult to be deeply touched, as the poignant back story of the character’s traumatic past colors Smith’s performance.</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>People who have dealt with individuals caught in the throes of dementia, Alzheimer’s, mental illness, or just general irascibility will find Miss Shepherd’s behavior—and Bennett’s reactions to it—hauntingly familiar.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>In the book, after Miss Shepherd imperiously orders Bennett to push her van for a long distance through busy London streets, she rewards him by shouting that he “had no business abandoning her” while she runs after him through the streets.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Of the incident, Bennet states, “One seldom was able to do her a good turn without some thoughts of strangulation.” </span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="375" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/OA8tMziteZM" width="450" youtube-src-id="OA8tMziteZM"></iframe></span></span></div><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;"><i>You can see Maggie Smith here wearing the inspiration for my pattern. </i></span><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"> </span></div></span></span><p></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><span> </span>Bennet’s sentiments are all too similar to those I’d held after shopping trips with my late mother.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>After the laborious effort of extracting her from her room at her “memory-care center” (a process which included numerous trips to the bathroom on her part to reapply lipstick), and tense driving while she gave orders (such as no doors locked, so rescuers could remove us from the car, if necessary, or a ten-foot stop before a red light or stop sign, so if we were hit in the rear the car would not be pushed into traffic), I would already be more than on edge before we’d even reached our destination.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Then after eons spent creeping along as my mother navigated a shopping cart down each aisle in a big-box store, I would stand at the check-out line reiterating to her that I would <i>not</i> be returning any of our day’s purchases. (Returning items had been a part of her daily routine when she’d lived on her own in later years before the dementia diagnosis.) Inevitably, though, a day or so after our shopping excursions, my mother would decide that most of her bounty had to go back, usually to a store 15 or 20 miles from my home.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>A throw blanket was “too fuzzy” or, for some mysterious reason, a jacket tried on numerous times in the store was “not right.” <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>While I commiserate with Bennett’s feelings of frustration, I also view Shepherd’s mental illness with compassion and empathy. She experiences a traumatic event decades earlier and has been homeless since that time.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Again, her story makes me think of my own mother.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>She could be a maddening individual, one whose exquisite taste, artistic abilities, sense of injustice, and sensitivity made life in this world difficult for her.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>But she was also a woman who had been the victim of a violent attack when she was a teenager (a time when the notion of PTSD was not a part of the common consciousness), a woman who had suffered at the hands of an abusive husband, a woman who, in middle age, had lost her twenty-nine-year-old son. Miss Shepherd, particularly as she is portrayed by Maggie Smith in the film, illustrates how vulnerable we all are and how so many of us do not bounce back with aplomb (in the manner of all those Pollyannas on Facebook who revel in posting cheery memes about how the best times are yet to come).</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"> So, in honor of Miss Shepherd, former nun, talented pianist, crusty old lady, I recreated a hat she wears in the film.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>She sports this accessory when she paints her van a canary yellow color.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>She covers the entire vehicle . . . including most of the windows.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>She then affixes numerous British flags to the van, in honor of the Queen’s Jubilee.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>(In his book, Bennett notes that Miss Shepherd is the only person in his gentrified neighborhood to decorate for the occasion.)<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>She looks like a pixie in the hat (which resembles a baby’s knit bonnet) and is so joyfully engaged in her task that she appears almost carefree.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Wearing her hat, wielding her paintbrush, Shepherd is a reminder of how creative endeavor and childlike engagement can offer moments of respite from past trauma. I hope that when I don my hat this coming winter, I smile and think of Miss Shepherd and sunny yellow paint. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisgTE3tgvtUg8A7hoUY3glm9d7EMrpAO8Xs_BsA4HpFaFXhSBfuBW0zs5U7TUo-xciQ0N1wQQ-FfN3uC2GtWmhTbFRr2qTIt3OTp9DNtWBTwxe7hScRjw9QxtPKhYQ7zKvED8jMvl6oDo/s2048/bonnet3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1809" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisgTE3tgvtUg8A7hoUY3glm9d7EMrpAO8Xs_BsA4HpFaFXhSBfuBW0zs5U7TUo-xciQ0N1wQQ-FfN3uC2GtWmhTbFRr2qTIt3OTp9DNtWBTwxe7hScRjw9QxtPKhYQ7zKvED8jMvl6oDo/w566-h640/bonnet3.jpg" width="566" /></a></span></div><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><br /></span><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"></span></span></p><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Pattern is available for free on <a href="https://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/miss-shepherd" target="_blank">Ravelry. </a> </span></span></div><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><br /></span></span></span><p></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"> </span></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4cWlUEBgCdFbRswNYKiTRBNunHX5RIUdjMvu7UnzdBFZ8B_hnXzagGsq92y4f09k5mPTWhFWyHYWRbnqIJJknM9cy6CrLirmQGf5h7hlm9X89vodWJ2PAfo7v6bWBk1pZCFmv0O55mu0/s2048/bonnet1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1997" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4cWlUEBgCdFbRswNYKiTRBNunHX5RIUdjMvu7UnzdBFZ8B_hnXzagGsq92y4f09k5mPTWhFWyHYWRbnqIJJknM9cy6CrLirmQGf5h7hlm9X89vodWJ2PAfo7v6bWBk1pZCFmv0O55mu0/w624-h640/bonnet1.jpg" width="624" /></a></div><br />Liz Washburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06301166562236914187noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8043113942704297697.post-31687541427612081672020-02-10T10:27:00.000-05:002020-02-10T18:00:05.664-05:00Rising Strong<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>“In order to rise from its own ashes, a Phoenix first must burn.”</i></span></h1>
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<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i><span style="background-color: white;">― <span class="authorOrTitle" style="font-weight: bold;">Octavia Butler</span></span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s1"> In her book, <i>Rising Strong, </i>researcher Brene</span><span class="s2">´</span><span class="s1"> Brown explores overcoming and emerging from shame.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>She asserts that an individual must navigate this journey by bravely facing personal misconceptions and by choosing to be vulnerable enough to reenter the "arena" of life.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Ultimately, Brown outlines methods to gain the resilience that allows one to thrive, despite setbacks and failures. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Several years ago, I took a class, led by an Episcopal priest who had been trained in Brown’s methods.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I'd hoped this experience would help me work through the emotional fallout from a job I'd recently taken. For the first time in a 23-year teaching career, my status as an accomplished and effective educator was called into question in my workplace.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Plagued by nightmares, consumed by self-doubt, and shaken to the core, I made the decision, after two years at this post, to retire early.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I did so because I believed that I had lost the self-confidence necessary to even interview for another teaching job, let alone to tackle the task of starting over again at another school. </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigigaBTPoYXern3jSYsclfV7g0jvB5_pLCI8WHnHeriYYeIv2GhbSt7DZwGKmYSo08Gz_mZLspyQwcXgh3YKVQrp4yVb_ZITyuCFvy8k44rzPHBvRXBeYb_io4j2CrUI9tQJChYJvErEE/s1600/fullsizeoutput_23ae.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigigaBTPoYXern3jSYsclfV7g0jvB5_pLCI8WHnHeriYYeIv2GhbSt7DZwGKmYSo08Gz_mZLspyQwcXgh3YKVQrp4yVb_ZITyuCFvy8k44rzPHBvRXBeYb_io4j2CrUI9tQJChYJvErEE/s640/fullsizeoutput_23ae.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The pattern for this new design, entitled "Rising Strong" may be found on <a href="https://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/rising-strong" target="_blank">Ravelry</a>. </td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> What I learned about Brown’s methods helped me a great deal, but, at the time I studied her techniques, my eldest son, Jonathan, was struggling with substance abuse and addiction.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>It was a gargantuan task to wrestle my own demons, while </span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">simultaneously</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> coping with </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">his illness and caring for my mother, who suffered from dementia.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">During the same period, my husband, when not ministering to his mother's needs himself, managed her caregivers, as she suffered from Alzheimer's disease, along with a host of other physical ailments. My younger son, too, didn’t fare well at navigating life during this season—it was difficult for him not to be angry and withdrawn.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> It is now a little over two years since Jonathan's death from overdose at age 20, as well as the loss of my mother and mother-in-law within the 10 months following this event. <span class="Apple-converted-space">I will never be the same. Current </span>Facebook photos--revealing a much older-looking and heavier woman--attest to the external ravages of trauma.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The inward consequences, though, while not always manifested, are more monumental and are not easily understood by others who have not trod a similar path. </span></span><br />
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Recently, though, after a rather impetuous move to the mountains of North Carolina last year and a period before this move when I threw myself into so many activities I had little time or attention for healing, I am beginning to sense a shift in my outlook. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> W</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">hile I will never move on to a place beyond longing for my lost son,</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> d</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">espite many setbacks, negativity releases its iron grip on me a little bit with each passing day.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">In addition, I have learned that if I can impassively note the absurdity of the situation that led to my decision to cut short my career in education, rather than questioning and reliving this time in my past, I may gain a new peace in my consciousness and learn to live in the present. </span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> As another season passes and as I continue to explore ways to hush the dark voices that have been my companions for so long, and, as I attempt to explore the deep reasons for the corrupting emotions of fear, shame, anger, and regret, there are more and more times when rising strong, albeit altered, seems possible. </span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> The hat pictured here is an homage to overcoming adversity.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The flames represent the source of the ashes from which a phoenix rises, reborn with strength and beauty, each time ready to face the challenges of a new life. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span><br />
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Liz Washburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06301166562236914187noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8043113942704297697.post-81979988913643311732020-01-24T14:36:00.000-05:002020-01-24T14:37:49.683-05:00Ashe County: Free Sweater Pattern<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> The world probably doesn’t need any more knitwear designs, at least not those that aren’t truly unique in some way.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>But the challenge of not only designing my own sweater but also grading it seemed like a necessary accomplishment for a knitwear designer who wants to grow in her craft, even though my finished product is perhaps a bit conventional. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span><br />
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> I have taken classes devoted to sweater design with knitting luminaries such as Patty Lyons and Amy Hertzog, studied books and magazine articles dealing with this topic, and have achieved a decent grasp of the requisite skills to envision a design, create a swatch, and then perform the requisite math to calculate stitch and row counts to write a pattern.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>But I struggle.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Designers blessed with an aptitude for math, especially geometry, would probably find my labors (and piles and piles of scrap paper covered with my numerical scrawlings) to be absurd and would consider my need to work so hard to be a shortcoming, but I believe that designing is a mix of skill and creativity, practice and innovation.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I hope that my limitations as far as mathematical and spacial ability are offset by my passion and determination.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Checking and double-checking my math helps, too!</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> While I designed and knit another top-down sweater for myself several years ago, the sweater pictured here is the first one I have graded.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>(Grading means calculating instructions for a variety of sizes. My pattern includes how-to steps for sizes extra-small to 4-X.)<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I have also knit samples in size medium and large.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Since I haven’t had this pattern tech-edited at this point and haven’t overexerted myself in my efforts to find test knitters—although one tester is working the size medium—I thought I would post the pattern here, for any brave souls who want to knit this design.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> The Ashe County sweaters I made for myself are now counted among my go-to winter wardrobe staples.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>While the traditional tree-of-life motif on the yoke isn’t anything new, it does give the design a pretty texture.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Its use was inspired by the fact that I recently moved to the Appalachian mountains of North Carolina, to Ashe county, a place where Christmas tree farming is a significant industry.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>So here is a free pattern inspired by my new home.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> You can find the link below the image at the bottom of this page. </span>Please contact me through <a href="https://www.ravelry.com/designers/liz-washburn" target="_blank">Ravelry</a> if you find any errors or have questions. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Go to <a href="https://drive.google.com/file/d/1BHh0gfmv6pdASnsv8m6vPKBddTzXxdKX/view?usp=sharing" target="_blank">Ashe County</a> for the pattern. </span></td></tr>
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Liz Washburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06301166562236914187noreply@blogger.com0West Jefferson, NC 28694, USA36.4037364 -81.49288289999998436.3526059 -81.573563899999982 36.4548669 -81.412201899999985tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8043113942704297697.post-9697731577619595482019-10-20T09:34:00.003-04:002019-10-20T12:40:11.827-04:00Climb Every Mountain<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="s1"><span style="color: #274e13; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>“Come Fairies, take me out of this dull world, for I would ride with you upon the wind and dance upon the mountains like a flame!”</i></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I've been out of the blogsphere since last April. Here's why:</span></span><br />
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">If someone had told me a little over a year ago that I would now be living in the mountains with two horses in my backyard, I would have been a bit incredulous.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>At that time, my younger son had recently left for basic training for the Marine Corps, and my husband and I were left alone in the wake of family tragedy. For too long, we had been accustomed to living in a state of fight or flight, </span></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">not contemplating a move or even our future at all, </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">as we dealt with one crisis or another.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">In the months following this heartbreaking time, we made a couple of trips to the Blue Ridge Mountains in North Carolina, where we stayed in Banner Elk, a village nestled at the base of ski slopes.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The mountain scenery struck a chord with me and took me away, albeit briefly, from grief, shock, and confusion that were now components of my daily life.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span><br />
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I began to contemplate a move, but I am always inclined to want to live wherever I have passed a pleasant time—which means nearly every place I’ve every vacationed has become a candidate for a future residence.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> If I'd had the resources, I'm sure my family would have moved to some charming beach town or country locale long ago. </span>But the logistics of this type of big change were always overwhelming, and finances and concerns about building up retirement years (as state employees) made for a life that would seemingly continue on indefinitely in a subdivision in the Charlotte suburbs.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Plus, with the rapid growth of our community and neighboring Charlotte, I enjoyed all sorts of amenities—organic juice shops, ethnic restaurants, multiplex movies, a luxury shopping mall, Whole Foods, Trader Joe’s, wine bars, craft breweries, etc.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> These offerings </span>made me take pause when pondering a move to the mountains. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Although originally a Jersey girl, I had put down roots in the Charlotte area.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I’d taught in local high schools for 24 years, raised my children there, and had numerous acquaintances and some dear friends in the area.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> I was in knitting groups and a local garden club. I'd taken part in an ongoing book study and had organized fundraising events for the Alzheimer's Association in my community. When I'd worked full-time as a teacher (until June of 2016), I'd often lamented the lack of time for meeting with friends and getting involved in my community, and I did find that, when no longer spending my days in the classroom, it was easy to fill my time with lots of activities and companionship. </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">But<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>the reality of crippling traffic, growing numbers of impatient drivers expressing road rage, brutally hot days that seemed to go on for months, and the realization that many of my shopping trips were now virtual ones made the thought of a move easier.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> But probably the most compelling reason for this change, for me, was to escape places that triggered my sadness and grief at the loss of my son, who died from an overdose in the fall of 2017. </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">So we made the move to West Jefferson, two-and-a-half hours away from our previous home. With a population of roughly 1,300 people, it is a slow-moving place, but there are also numerous part-time residents adding to the population and a thriving arts community. </span></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I've already found a knitting group and plans for a county fiber arts guild are in the works. Q</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">uaint shops and a smattering of restaurants can be found downtown, and outdoor activities, such as kayaking on the New River or hiking, can be accomplished just outside of the city limits. </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">It's still a bit of a drive to get to a yarn shop, but maybe that's a good thing! I certainly have a stash of yarn up here in the mountains that should see me through the harshest winter and will probably exceed my needs for this lifetime. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This lake is located off of the Blue Ridge Parkway. You can see the edge of my kayak in the right-hand corner. </td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The addition of two sweet Icelandic horses to our new household was not something we’d planned on, but this pair, owned by my sister-in-law and her husband, have health issues that make living in the hot climate of their previous home in eastern North Carolina detrimental to their health.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> In a cooler climate</span>, Kola (Icelandic for "coal") and Loftur (Old Norse for "air") can receive some mountain rehabilitation.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>If she’s feeling well, I may just get on Kola one day and go for a ride. Loftur is 25 and has some back problems, so he will enjoy a leisurely retirement, free from too much exertion under the saddle. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kola, the mare, looks sweet in her pink halter. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Loftur, the gelding, has soulful brown eyes and a docile nature. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The hat on my head is a new design, one which should be published soon. </td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Since we bought the new house at the end of this past March, I’ve had less time to work on knitwear designs, but do have a few items in the wings.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Progress has been slow, but with the winter months just around the bend, I’m hoping to hunker down inside, away from cold mountain temperatures, and get to work. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKRDVhUwx6QWfDN9dtkfQ8lX_4wx0kqcbmJEMjqp895TFR7zekHEV48eWUKuqcjEIXNim-A2YQ-TNcu8FkByuDV4MTa0bZdr6Mu91yiS5o8gPE3CiA_xj_3xziDD50SSFK2TcIMFNVCic/s1600/IMG_4538.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1266" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKRDVhUwx6QWfDN9dtkfQ8lX_4wx0kqcbmJEMjqp895TFR7zekHEV48eWUKuqcjEIXNim-A2YQ-TNcu8FkByuDV4MTa0bZdr6Mu91yiS5o8gPE3CiA_xj_3xziDD50SSFK2TcIMFNVCic/s640/IMG_4538.JPG" width="506" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I did publish this design, entitled Firebranch, a couple of months ago. <br />
The pattern is available on <a href="https://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/firebranch" target="_blank">Ravelry.</a> </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here is a sneak peak at a new design of mine that is currently being test knitted. <br />
Its name is West Jefferson, because of the Christmas trees on the yoke. West Jefferson's<br />
biggest industry is Christmas tree farming. </td></tr>
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Liz Washburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06301166562236914187noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8043113942704297697.post-56605948436142480802019-04-12T08:22:00.000-04:002019-04-12T09:24:11.133-04:00Faerie Frollick<style type="text/css">
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<span class="s1" style="color: #38761d; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">The "Faerie Frollick" shawl and story were inspired by Alice and Lisa Hoffman's beautiful collection of fairy tales and knitting patterns, entitled, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Faerie-Knitting-Tales-Love-Magic/dp/1507206550/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=faerie+knitting&qid=1555070692&s=gateway&sr=8-1" target="_blank"><i>Faerie Knitting. </i> <span style="font-size: large;"> </span></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Once upon a time there was a widow. For many years, she had raised her two sons on her own. On the brink of manhood, they were handsome and witty lads, who lightened her spirits with their boisterous antics and good humor.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">They truly were her solace, though she struggled to provide for them.</span></span><br />
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Her older son eased some of her burdens by earning money laboring in the fields.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>One day, as he made his way home to the village after a day’s work, a troll approached him.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The ugly creature held out a bottle containing a potion that he said would make the youth feel like a king.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The boy had been taught to avoid trolls but was aching from his toil and downhearted at the prospect of never-ending days in the fields, so he asked the cost of this magical substance. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">“One mouthful is free,” the troll said, for he knew that he had much to gain if the boy took even one sip.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The youth took a swallow from the bottle, and immediately the pains from his work disappeared and he was filled with a sense of his own superior power and judgment.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">He returned home to the widow's humble cottage and saw his brother at his schoolwork. </span></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“What’s the point of those books?</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">You are useless," he said. </span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">His mother scolded her son for his hurtful words, but his only retort was a<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>barrage of insults aimed at her. </span></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Scenes such as this one were played out for several years.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">At times, when the effects of the potion had diminished—just before the young man would seek replenishment from the wicked troll—the youth would soften a bit into a vestige of his old self.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">During these moments, the widow begged him to cease drinking the potion. Her son, though, never heeded her words, and would seek more of the vile liquid and once again transform into a glaring monster.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Ultimately, a dose of the potion, which contained deadly compounds, killed the boy.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The woman floated through the days immediately after his death in a state of numbness.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Initially, the villagers were kind to her, but the widow soon isolated herself from them and their pitying expressions, for, as grief set in, she came to believe that she was to blame for her son’s death.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"> </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Had she been a good mother, her boy would not have succumbed to temptation. This guilt, like permafrost, threatening below the earth’s surface, lurked under her composed demeanor. </span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"> </span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Her remaining child, eager to make his fortune, left home to join an army fighting a war in the East.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Soon after, the woman left the village and moved to a cottage, on a slope of a nearby mountain, taking only necessities, including her spinning wheel and knitting needles. In her aerie in the sky, she felt close to eternity.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>She could scan the hills each morning, looking upward, aware of the vastness of the universe and of her own insignificance. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Each day the widow attempted to avoid thoughts of the past.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>There were moments when she was released from her regrets. As she witnessed the burgeoning blossoms of spring or the first snowflakes of winter, she reveled in nature's raw beauty and escaped her thoughts. And busying herself spinning fleece that she had purchased provided distraction as well as a source of income. She sold the yarn in the village market, which was reached after a hike down winding trails.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span><br />
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">The widow yearned for the time when she would be reunited with her son, who was miles away in a mysterious land. </span></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">One autumn afternoon, she walked to the post office in the nearby village, where she found an envelope waiting for her. Tucking it into her apron pocket, she headed back up the mountain but stopped at a farm halfway along the track to buy milk.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"> </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">The dairyman walked with a crooked gait, and his clothes, with missing buttons and gaping seams, were threadbare.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"> </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">The woman, eager to read her son’s words, waited patiently for the man to fill a small pail with milk and avoided making eye contact with him or with his small son, who peered at her from behind the wooden slats of a milking stall. </span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"> </span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">The widow, carefully negotiating the steep path to avoid losing any of the milk, set off for home.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>She only walked for a brief while, however, as there was a sunny glade not far from the trail, a place to rest and read the letter.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>She placed the pail on the ground and sat down, bending her legs under her skirts.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>She read her son's words: <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Dear Mother,</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><span class="s1"><i></i></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">The war is over, and I am released from my duties. Weeks ago, I headed for home but stopped to rest at a settlement along the coast, a place with sand the color of milk and a sea so clear, one can see into its depths.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>There, I met a young woman of great beauty who brought me water and fruits and offered me shelter. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I intend to marry her. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Her father and five brothers make their living by diving into the sea for black pearls, which they sell for a great price. I have been welcomed to join them in their labors and in their home, where we spend evenings partaking of olives and other delicacies, which grow with ease in this sunny clime. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><span class="s1"><i></i></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">I plan to remain here, but will, as always, write to you . . . .<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><span class="s1"><i></i></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Stricken, the woman dropped the letter. She looked up and noticed that the sun was now hidden behind a foggy veil.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The glade no longer seemed warm and inviting.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The moss on which she sat, once a soft carpet, was now a source of damp that seeped through her dress and chilled her skin.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Intent on hurrying home, where she might knit and spin--so as not to dwell on the words she had read--she retrieved the letter and gathered her skirts in her hand, preparing to rise to her feet.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>She knew life made no promises. She would console herself by imagining her boy as part of a sun-kissed, white-toothed family who basked in warm seaside breezes. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">As she stood up, though, she upset the pail of milk.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The sight of its contents pooling on the moss released something in her.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>For the first time since she was a girl, who had just lost her mother, she sobbed deeply, releasing a torrent of tears.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Her beautiful boy and her husband were dead, and her remaining son would not be returning home.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Faeries, who lived in at the base of a nearby tree trunk, took pity on her.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>While, at times, they could be mischievous, reveling in playing pranks on humans, the woman’s display touched their hearts, which were made of sparkling light.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The woman’s keening, too, was beginning to upset them, as fairies have finally attuned hearing and are capable of perceiving frequencies which mere mortals cannot.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>One particularly tenderhearted sprite sprinkled faerie dust over the woman, who soon fell fast asleep on the ground. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">The sun began its descent beyond the mountains, the hoots of owls resounded through the woods, and the padded steps of the bears could be heard by keen faerie ears.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>In this dusk, the wee creatures set to work.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Using the bit of milk left in the bottom of the pail, bark from the trees, wild blue sage, nettles, and even a bit of copper from a nearby stream bed, they spun gossamer fibers from which they created a shawl, which they placed over the sleeping woman’s shoulders.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghzabmUw_aWwMKVOTVrQwhhIQZaHtiUu0_am4_2JxMdDLueNwgx5ZL3rsdgsiRqSj0hrHIIh6LR5Y_rS9Zt5AfomtFgVSSr9ThJ3HiiTgZd-Ry7jq0tPjVYJwCp9z_R09vM1nBXwsd35Q/s1600/tiafairy1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1415" data-original-width="1600" height="566" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghzabmUw_aWwMKVOTVrQwhhIQZaHtiUu0_am4_2JxMdDLueNwgx5ZL3rsdgsiRqSj0hrHIIh6LR5Y_rS9Zt5AfomtFgVSSr9ThJ3HiiTgZd-Ry7jq0tPjVYJwCp9z_R09vM1nBXwsd35Q/s640/tiafairy1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Faerie Frollick is available on <a href="https://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/faerie-frollick" target="_blank">Ravelry.</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">As she slumbered, the woman dreamt of her dead boy, dancing in a field of waving daffodils.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He no longer had an ill and sullen appearance but glowed with the look of solid health and good humor.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Upon waking the next morning, she saw that her pail was overturned but, oddly, she did not fret.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>She felt well-rested and lighter somehow.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Noticing the shawl, she was intrigued not only by how it had come to rest over her but also by its airiness and beauty.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>She thought how she had never spun any yarn so fine as that used to work this gossamer concoction.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">The woman's mind soon turned to home, so she rolled up the shawl and placed it in a small sack which hung from her waist. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Thinking about the hollow-eyed cat who had recently appeared on her doorstep, she decided to return to the farmer for more milk.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>When the man’s daughter opened the door, the woman was surprised by the damask roses in her cheeks and the golden loveliness of her hair.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>She had never before noticed the young woman's beauty.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The boy, not much older than a toddling baby, approached her and, rather than looking the other way as she was wont to do, the widow bent down and asked him his name.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The boy was happy to respond and to clasp the woman’s hand. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">“Please sit down and have a cup of tea, while I fetch the milk," the daughter said.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">The widow accepted this invitation, one which had been issued and turned down on previous occasions.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>She crossed the threshold of the farmhouse and sat at the table, the boy lingering at her side, his hand in hers.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He soon scrambled onto her lap, and the widow found the feel of the squirming body, with its slightly sour smell, pleasing. Holding him evoked memories of happier times.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">The farmer’s daughter returned with a pail of milk and smiled at the sight of the widow holding the boy.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He soon tired of sitting still, though, and was off to find his dog.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The widow took her knitting out of her sack and began to ply her needles, working a sock heel.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> The young woman </span>was intrigued and said that she had never learned to knit and was a poor cook and seamstress as well, as her mother had been ill for so long before her death that she had not been able to teach her these skills. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">“I will help you,” the woman said, unsure of what prompted this seemingly automatic response. “We can work a little bit each morning, after I have done my chores, if that suits you.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Through the long winter, the woman did not dwell on her feelings of guilt or inadequacy, as she was too busy teaching the girl how to knit, cook, sew, and keep house. She also baked sweets at her home to bring to the family, and shared her small collection of books with the boy and young woman.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The farmer himself, a taciturn and wary man, grew a bit more at ease in her presence, and his formerly gaunt appearance softened a bit from the much-needed weight he was gaining from his improved diet.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">One morning, when the crocuses bloomed in the valleys and the snow on the mountaintops had nearly melted away, the widow received a letter from her son.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He told her that he would be returning home, that he had suffered at the hands of his wife-to-be.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> O</span>n the night before their wedding, she had come to him and had removed her clothing, revealing a covering of scales.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>She—along with her father and brothers—was really a serpent, feeding on the blood of humans.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>She had attempted to use her beauty and the promise of riches to lure the young man to an ultimately death.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He had fought her with all of his will and had managed to escape, but he was weak and had suffered a large wound on his leg.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">She awaited patiently, until one day the farmer's daughter approached her door and informed her that the youth had arrived in the village and that her father was fetching him in his donkey cart.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The widow hurried down the mountain path to find the cart stopped on the path.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>When the donkey had attempted to climb to the woman’s cottage on the mountaintop, he had faltered and balked.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The steep ascent was too much for the animal, the track too crooked and narrow for the cart. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">The dairyman managed to turn the cart and donkey around and took the youth to his farm, just a short distance down the path. The young man was placed in a bed in the corner of the kitchen, where he fell into a deep sleep.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>When he briefly awoke in the middle of the night, he thought for a moment that he must be dead, for the farmer's daughter, clad in a white nightgown with her waves of gold hair streaming around him, seemed like an angel as she stood at his bedside. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">He fell back asleep, and, when he woke in the morning, he assumed that the beatific vision was a dream. He accepted the healing broth the girl offered to him and let her place a poultice of herbs over the wound on his leg.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span><br />
<span class="s1" style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">For several months, she and his mother, who visited every day, tended to him.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> During much of that time, t</span>he little boy made it a habit to sit by his bedside, enthralled by the young man's tales of his wartime adventures.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Late at night, the farmer's daughter would creep out of her bed and go to the kitchen, so that she might gaze at the sleeping young man’s beauty.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> Often</span> she would<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>hold a cool cloth to his brow or rearrange his bed covers, but he never woke at these times, so was unaware of her tender <span style="background-color: white;">ministrations</span>. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">In time, the young man's wound healed and he grew stronger.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>While he was thankful for the tender care his mother and the girl had lavished on him, his thoughts soon turned to leaving once again, to seek his fortune by finding work on a merchant ship. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Upon learning of her son's intentions, the widow felt the old darkness within her rise to the surface. She had hoped her son would settle nearby but had always known, deep down, that she was not worthy of such a gift. She occupied herself knitting socks for him and tried not to dwell on her negative thoughts.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> He son was alive and strong, and she must be thankful. </span></span></span><br />
<span class="s1" style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="Apple-converted-space">The night before her son was to depart, </span>moonlight guiding her steps, she walked to the dairyman's farm and stole into the kitchen.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>She had brought the faeries’ shawl with her, and she placed the delicate garment over her boy’s sleeping form. </span></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In the morning, the young man, who had slept long past dawn, </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">packed his belongings for his journey and picked up the shawl that he had found covering him.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">He walked outside and saw the farmer's daughter, her hair a golden halo, approaching with a basket of eggs she had gathered.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">He saw the boy tossing a stick to his dog and the farmer busily loading milk jugs onto his cart to take to the market.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">As she came closer, he saw tears coming from her eyes, and he was overcome with tender love and longing.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He walked to the girl and placed the shawl over her shoulders.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He then touched a droplet on her cheek with his fingertips and attempted to wipe it away.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He felt something cold and saw that the teardrops on her face had turned into diamonds. The gems fell onto the grass at her feet, creating brilliant shimmers of light.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> The young man embraced the girl. </span></span></span><br />
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">The couple lived happily ever after. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>They used the riches from the diamonds to grow the dairy farm into a thriving operation and to purchase a flock of sheep, which provided the widow with soft and lovely fleeces.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The couple blessed the widow and the dairyman--who were now dear friends--with several grandchildren.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> T</span>ending her sheep, spinning, knitting, sewing, cooking, and caring for young ones kept the widow’s mind and hands busy.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> She rarely focused on regrets. </span>There were moments, in the evenings as she sat knitting by the firelight, when she mused about the shawl’s transformative magic, but, at other times, she wondered if such powers weren’t within the reach of each one of us, if we could only see that we possessed them. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8043113942704297697.post-2663556990222043672018-12-03T15:14:00.001-05:002018-12-04T04:35:46.589-05:00Saluda<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">“You can’t use those two colors together.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>They have different color values.” The woman behind the register delivered these words as she looked at the two skeins of yarn I'd placed on the counter.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>One was an earthy green color (I'd brought this one from home); the other an icy blue. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Confused, I immediately responded, “They need to be different values for stranded colorwork.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>One color needs to pop.” <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Thus I unleashed an explanation from the yarn shop employee on how color values need to be the same to make a work appear harmonious.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I was a bit perplexed, as her comments were contrary to everything I’d learned in my reading and in classes I’d taken, including one from Mary Jane Mucklestone.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I knew that choosing colors of similar value (or the same level of light and dark) would result in what the author of an article entitled <a href="https://www.brooklyntweed.com/color-theory-for-stranded-colorwork/" target="_blank">“Color Theory for Stranded Colorwork” </a>published on the Brooklyn Tweed website describes as a “muddy motif.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I should have stopped there.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>But my pride—and the teacher in me who often can’t quell her instinct to instruct—wouldn't allow me to put on the brakes.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I pulled my work in progress partially out of the knitting bag I toted and said, “See. The yellow has a lighter value than the brown background, so it stands out.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The dark orange also contrasts with the lighter yellow.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>With a sour expression, the woman peered over the counter at the yoke that peeked out of my bag.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love the contrasting color values of the yarn used to work the Latvian Braid and corrugated <br />
ribbing. Webs has a great <a href="https://youtu.be/Mr9lWsalYJc" target="_blank">tutorial </a>for working the braid.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My test knitter made her swoncho with a fuchsia background and the same yellow<br />
yarn I'd used to knit my swoncho.<span style="font-size: 12.8px;"> For a helpful tutorial on the two-color long-tail cast on,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;"> go to </span><a href="https://youtu.be/OkjKak6Bx1o" style="font-size: 12.8px;" target="_blank">Marlene Dysert's YouTube video</a><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">. </span></td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">“I don’t like that,” she stated.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Needless to say I was quite taken aback.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>She’d insulted my latest design.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Plus, isn’t the customer always right?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>But I also had to chastise myself a bit for needlessly contradicting someone who probably had good intentions and who probably didn’t appreciate instruction from someone at least a decade younger than herself. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">“I’ll take these,” I said with a smile and purchased the blue yarn along with some other colors of fingering weight yarn.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">As I drove away, I was pleased that my response to the odd interaction in the shop was one of amazement and wry humor.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>In the past, I might have been subject to sadness or even tears, resulting from all sorts of negative self-talk about the experience, including questioning whether I had some kind of sign on my head (only visible to others) that said, “Kick Me.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> I might have also spent time bewailing the fact that I hadn't just kept my mouth shut after the woman had spoken about my color choices. </span>Now, older and wiser—or probably just more accustomed to public humiliation—I could laugh, but I still couldn’t entirely fight the twinges of regret at my lack of self-control. I should have said nothing. I also couldn't help but question why someone trying to make sales would insult a customer’s work.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I didn’t frog my project, and the final result, with its popping patches of lavender and orange, is what you see here, the Saluda Swoncho.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>This past September, I had participated in the <a href="http://www.charlotteareayarncrawl.com/" target="_blank">Charlotte Area Yarn Crawl</a> and had experienced a bit of a revelation, one which resulted in my swoncho design.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I walked into a fun new shop with lots of whimsical notions and pretty yarns and saw hand-dyed Hedgehog yarn in a DK weight.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I have lately fallen into the costly habit of purchasing single hanks of hand-dyed fingering weight yarn.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>In the manner that other women sort through vegetable bins to find a good looking tomato, I have spent many hours fondling piles of brightly colored hanks and have amassed quite a collection, really an art installation, as I have my most prized purchases in a curio cabinet.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>While I love knitting with fingering weight yarn, finding some DK with the same speckles and vibrant colors seemed a bit liberating, as using this DK weight might result in working a project fairly quickly.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The fact that I was (and still am) in the throes of knitting the last couple of inches on a fingering weight sweater dress probably had something to do with my pleasure at finding some novel DK yarn. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I named the swoncho after a mountain town that is a little over a hundred miles from my home.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Saluda is a Cherokee word that means, “Green corn.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>It is also the name of a river in South Carolina.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The swoncho is warm and cozy, so I wore it to Saluda on a day trip there on Black Friday, as it was gray, misty, damp, and cold. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Because of the weather, I decided to forgo a hike in the mountains, but I did wander about the town, where I visited a train depot museum and some shops and galleries.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I also enjoyed a salad and a cup of soup at the <a href="https://www.purpleonionsaluda.com/" target="_blank">Purple Onion</a>, a local restaurant. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span><br />
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">On that day, I walked into a gift shop filled with handicrafts, and an employee there looked at me as I entered, smiled brightly, and said, “I love your sweater!”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">“Thank you.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> It's a swoncho. </span>I designed and knit it myself,” I replied with a smile, happy that I'd ventured out on a gloomy day. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These winsome kittens were in a vintage shop. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I enjoyed the Saluda Station Historic Depot & Museum.<br />
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Liz Washburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06301166562236914187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8043113942704297697.post-6786876827154416882018-10-10T15:37:00.000-04:002018-10-10T20:36:28.176-04:00Valle Crucis<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><i>All time is unredeemable.</i></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><i>What might have been is an abstraction</i></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><i>Remaining a perpetual possibility</i></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><i>Only in a world of speculation.</i></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><i>What might have been and what has been</i></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><i>Point to one end, which is always present.</i></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">TS Eliot “Burnt Norton,” from Four Quartets</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"> Autumn is not particularly glorious in the Piedmont area of North Carolina.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>In the mountains of my state, fall garbs itself like a flamenco dancer, in a fiery riot of passionate hues.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>But this time of year can be a bit dismal in the flat, central place where I reside. Here this season presents itself, more often than not, like a<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>soldier rigged out in olive drab, with only intermittent punches of color, like his shiny buttons, to signify the time of year.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Days can be hot and dry or rainy and dull, and it is only on the off year or so that the leaves even approach radiance.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Despite its sometimes uninspiring nature, however, autumn has always been a time of energy and inspiration for me.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"> Until last year, however.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>September 30, 2018 marked my son Jonathan’s one-year “Angelversary,” so the approach of the new season is now a painful and poignant reminder of what is lost to me.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>At at time of year when I am typically cheerful and energized, busy working on wooly and warm knitting projects and turning my gaze and creative efforts in the kitchen and sewing room to the looming holidays, fall is now a sombre reminder of the passage of time—hours and days I have spent in the manner of someone who has recently lost a limb.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Despite swathes of time where my mind is busily engaged elsewhere, that phantom limb does not let me forget and chooses to ache at the most unanticipated moments, sending stabbing pains that wrench me back to the reality of grief and loss.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Yet, despite having a heart that sometimes seems pushed to the limits of what is humanly endurable, this fall I still find myself buying mums and pumpkins, planning Christmas sewing projects, and eagerly anticipating the return of sweater weather—an event which may never occur this year in the Carolinas, a year with a record slew of over 70 days with temperatures over 90 degrees.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"> I recently finished a new design, for a stranded colorwork cowl and hat.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I’ve named the project <i><a href="https://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/valle-crucis" target="_blank">Valle Crucis</a>.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></i> This Latin name, which means “vale of the cross” may seem strange to those of you not familiar with the North Carolina mountains.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>It is a reference to a valley in the area where three streams meet to form a shape similar to that of an archbishop’s cross. It is a place I have returned to several times, a locale which seems to appropriately represent the changing of the seasons, times of loss but also times of renewal.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I took this in Valle Crucis last November, after the leaves had fallen. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This cross is located outside of an Episcopal church in Valle Crucis. </td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"> Cardinals are incorporated into this latest design.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The cardinal is the state bird of North Carolina (the legions of them that frequent my bird feeder attest to their ubiquitous nature in our state). These birds seem to represent the traditional values that are held dear by many North Carolinians, and perhaps that’s why they were chosen to represent the state.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>They are non-migratory, so they remain in one spot and are very protective of it.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>They also mate for life, and, when they become parents, cardinal couples work together to raise their offspring.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Cardinals also have less mundane symbolic meanings to some, including a popular belief that they represent spirits of the dead.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span><br />
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"> I used Brooklyn Tweed’s Loft yarn for my projects.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Pictures cannot do justice to the visual impact of this yarn.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Some of the hues emit an almost iridescent glow, and the natural imagery of fall is mirrored in the yarn colors and the color way names, such as Bale and Hayloft.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The yarn strands do seem to have an airy loft to them, giving the fabric of my work a rich texture. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I am holding the wrong sides of the project together to work the kitchener stitch here, in order<br />
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"> As I sat in air conditioned rooms knitting these projects, on day-after-day with temperatures in the high nineties, the rich strands I worked seemed like forerunners of fall’s beauty, and the cardinals made me smile as I thought of how each of the birds is a reminder not only of past losses but also of present beauty and joy, whatever the season, spring or fall, times of loss or times of abundance. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">THE LOVE FOR OCTOBER</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">A child looking at ruins grows younger<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />but cold<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />and wants to wake to a new name<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />I have been younger in October<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />than in all the months of spring<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />walnut and may leaves the color<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />of shoulders at the end of summer<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />a month that has been to the mountain<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />and become light there<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />the long grass lies pointing uphill<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />even in death for a reason<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />that none of us knows<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />and the wren laughs in the early shade now<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />come again shining glance in your good time<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />naked air late morning<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />my love is for lightness<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />of touch foot feather<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />the day is yet one more yellow leaf<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />and without turning I kiss the light<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />by an old well on the last of the month<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />gathering wild rose hips<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />in the sun</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">-W.S. Mervin</span></div>
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Liz Washburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06301166562236914187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8043113942704297697.post-72152916436288110852018-08-26T14:07:00.002-04:002018-08-26T14:53:37.289-04:00Purls of Light<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> Local knitters and crocheters came together on June 30, 2018 at the second annual Purls of Light: Knit to End Alzheimer’s fundraiser in Lake Park, North Carolina.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>One would think that, as the end of August is rapidly approaching and days are already shorter, I should have posted about this day long before now.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>But since my mother’s death on March 29 of this year and my mother-in-law’s passing on July 30, life has been a bit hectic.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>There have been two long drives to New Jersey—one to travel to my mother’s memorial service and another to retrieve my car, which I’d had to leave behind on the first trip.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>(Do be sure to check your license plate periodically to make certain that someone hasn’t switched it with one from a stolen vehicle!)<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Other changes have occurred as well.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>On July 23, my younger son left home for basic training in the Marine Corps. We also had quite a bit of water permeate the kitchen ceiling, a leak requiring a large hole (patched now) to be cut to inspect its source, and endured installation of a new washer and dryer, a process which merited three visits from the folks at Lowes and some tears on my part.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Ah, the joys of domestic life. . . .<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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I designed this pattern, entitled <a href="https://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/wisteria-cottage" target="_blank">Wisteria Cottage,</a> available to purchase on <a href="http://ravelry./">Ravelry.</a> All proceeds </div>
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go to The Alzheimer's Association.<br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> So I’m only sitting down now, a week or so before Labor Day, to give an account of the Alzheimer’s <a href="http://act.alz.org/site/TR?fr_id=10935&pg=entry" target="_blank">Longest Day</a> fundraiser. </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I gave the opening talk below, before Alzheimer’s Association volunteer, Kara Lemon, educated us about Alzheimer’s and dementia and Lyn Hamilton Milward of Cottage Yarn gave a presentation on color theory and knitting.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Here is what I shared that day: </span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> </span><br />
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span"></span> Despite having a busy and daunting day ahead of me, I woke up super-early this morning and decided to cast on a new project.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>There is something rejuvenating about winding a new skein of yarn and putting needles to it that I couldn’t resist.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>First I wound several skeins of Cumbria fingering that I’d bought some time ago.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I cast 124 stitches onto a long cable and proceeded to join the cast-on stitches in a circle, but an unpleasant bulge appeared where I’d pulled the cable out in the middle, in preparation for working the magic loop technique, and it was difficult to see if the knitting was twisted at that place.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I then went to another room and dug through a large drawer of needles and managed to exact some 2 1/2 needles, ones which were the perfect length for working a neck band in the round, without having to use magic loop.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I then noticed that the needles I’d just retrieved appeared thicker than the ones I’d used to cast on.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>A needle gauge confirmed that I’d used size 1 1/2, not 2 1/2 for my initial cast on.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I proceeded to frog the row and cast on with the new needles, and I felt quite satisfied.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>There is something so neat and pleasing about stitches that fit perfectly on a circular needle, even after some initial hurdles. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></i></span><br />
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span"></span> I placed a stitch marker at the beginning of the round and proceeded to work Row 1.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>After having knit and purled about 20 stitches, I realized there was a problem—my circle was not joined.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>So, after more ripping and some maneuvering of the needles, I was set to go and began my first row.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Experiences like this one are typical for me when I begin a new project.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The instructions are unfamiliar and I am typically so eager to get started that my focus isn’t 100%.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Ultimately, however, most projects turn out well, even if they entail going backwards, deciphering brain-stretching instructions, or seeking help from others.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>If only my experiences dealing with my mother’s dementia had been so straightforward. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></i></span><br />
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span"></span> I lost my mother at the end of this past March, and I am a bit frazzled today, as handling her affairs and her memorial service, which was held last weekend in New Jersey, have been more complicated and convoluted than I had ever imagined.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The same adjectives, along with confusing, can also describe the last couple of years, as I dealt with my mother’s care.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>At the time,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I felt as if I were<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>a driver experiencing delayed reflexes. It’s as if I didn’t see stop signs until I had run through them. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></i></span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-style: italic;"> We are all familiar with the memory loss and difficulty in completing household tasks that go along with Alzheimer’s and dementia, but my experience with my mother has taught me that in their own comfortable and familiar environment, individuals can hide symptoms and “hold things together” for long periods of time.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-style: italic;"> </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-style: italic;">Before their ability to dress, cook, or bathe has been seriously compromised, those with Alzheimer’s and dementia often manifest symptoms that can be misread by friends and family. </span></span><br />
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> Anxiety, withdrawal from social events, a tendency to be easily upset at home, at work, or with friends or a change in eating habits often appear long before a diagnosis.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>But, probably, more often than not, the inclination of friends and family when faced with this unappealing behavior is to become critical, frustrated, and angry or to try to fix the problems by giving advice that never seems to be taken.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>It is only now, as I look back at the phone calls and visits to my mother in Arizona over nearly a decade before she passed away from late-stage dementia, that I can read the clues and signals.</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-style: italic;"> </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-style: italic;"> Photographer Ansel Adams stated, “I have often had a retrospective vision where everything in my past life seems to fall with significance into logical sequence.” As I review my mother’s life, there does seem to be a progression of this illness that led to her death and I can see how the seeds of this mysterious disease were, perhaps, sown in childhood trauma and family tragedy, as there is clinical evidence that stress contributes to many diseases, including Alzheimer’s and dementia, but even if I could have had this acute insight a decade ago, there was very little I could have done to help my mother, as she did not want my assistance.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-style: italic;"> </span><span style="font-style: italic;">And herein lies the problem.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-style: italic;"> </span><span style="font-style: italic;">I watched my mother stubbornly hole up in her spotless house, engaging in a variety of routines that ensured that she could function on some level of normalcy, as she lived thousands of miles away from her family.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-style: italic;"> </span><span style="font-style: italic;">I watched my mother-in-law, in her 90s now, obstinately refuse to leave her home in the country, one that was becoming more-and-more cluttered and filled with dangers inside and out, especially since she liked to venture onto her large property alone to gather pecans or pick blueberries.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-style: italic;"> </span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i> Before a diagnosis is made, such maddening willfulness, gloomy depression, obsessions with things such as politics or disasters can push friends and family to erupt or to withdraw.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The research funded by the Alzheimer’s Association and the education it provides can help prevent such scenarios.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>With earlier diagnosis, friends and family might better understand their loved one’s behavior and might not confuse the illness with bad temper.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Earlier diagnosis and education might help them better put plans in motion for their loved ones’ care years before it is necessary.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></i><i><span class="Apple-tab-span"></span> </i></span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> On a final note, there is no definitive answer about the cause of Alzheimer’s, even if genetics can play a part.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Poor diet, lack of exercise, trauma and stress, loneliness, physical illness—there are many possible causes being posited.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>There is much research to do.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I have had numerous people, who are not scientists or medical professionals, after I’d shared my mother’s diagnosis with them, glance at me with pitying looks and state, “It’s hereditary,” and then proceed to tell me about how their 90-year-old mother is still healthy and sharp as a tack.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The general public needs to be made aware that just because a person has a parent who suffers from Alzheimer’s or dementia does not mean that he or she is sentenced to the same fate.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>More research needs to be done to explore causes of these conditions. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> <span style="font-size: large;">Just like cancer, Alzheimer’s is a disease, but, as of yet, there is not a cure. I watched an attractive and energetic woman lock herself away from the world for many years, while other people her age and in her circumstances were<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>enjoying travel and times with family. I am supporting the Alzheimer’s Association because it is leading the way in Alzheimer’s research and education.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>While finding the cure is, of course, the ultimate goal of research, educating people about preventative measures and methods of early diagnosis are equally important so that others don’t travel down the rocky and circuitous road that I did with my mother. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></i><br />
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span"></span> The luncheon/fundraiser was a booming success, garnering a $940 donation to the Alzheimer’s Association.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>My friends and acquaintances in the knitting and crafting community donated both time and goods, so there were pretty decorations--such as handmade paper flowers--a delicious cake, and a plethora of door prizes and silent auction items to appeal to knitters and crocheters.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>One local knitter donated a large number of gently used designer handbags that were a big hit with the few attendees who aren’t in the habit of putting needles or hook to yarn.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>But most of the prizes consisted of gorgeous yarn and accouterments to go along with it, some of it provided by yarn manufacturers and sellers and some by local knitters.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Generous and charismatic VA nurse, Ginny Szura, donated enough yarn to adequately stock the barren shelves of a new yarn shop. Other donors included</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">Alicia Hathcock</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Betty Richards</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Cindy Pagano</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Thank you, everyone.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Please forgive me if I left anyone off. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Debbie Eckstrom and Kim McKenzie Withey were my amazing test knitters. We all used <a href="https://thefibrestudio.com/collections/fifty-shades-of-gradient" style="font-size: 12.8px;" target="_blank">50 Shades of Gradient</a><span style="font-size: 12.8px;"> yarn, from a Charlotte-area independent dyer.</span><br />
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Liz Washburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06301166562236914187noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8043113942704297697.post-67199343928571278902018-06-14T16:36:00.001-04:002018-06-16T06:58:03.430-04:00Grandfather Mountain<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">A month or so ago, while visiting my local yarn shop, my eyes lit on a multi-colored braid of velvety soft alpaca yarn.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> To me, t</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">he heathery tones plaited together evoked the verdant landscape and blue lochs of Scotland, while the lone brown hank added an earthy richness to this combination.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Soon a shawl inspired by Shetland haps came to mind.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">The Old Shale edging is a traditional hap feature, but my shawl features a circular cast on for the center back, a beginning which is a twist on the classic diagonal or end-to-end knitting of the hap center square.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is Superfine 400 yarn from <a href="http://www.yarnandsoul.com/" target="_blank">Yarn and Soul,</a> Deep Forest, Color 90, Lot 7. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the beginning of the center square. I began on DPNs, then switched to a circular needle and used the magic loop method. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">With its long triangles on each side, this shawl can be worn tied in the back,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> in the manner of traditional haps. Pattern is available on <a href="https://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/grandfather-mountain" target="_blank">Ravelry.</a></span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(68, 68, 68); font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I named the shawl Grandfather Mountain, because, while this locale may not have a direct connection to Shetland, the western Appalachian mountains are deeply influenced by Scottish culture and tradition. Tens of thousands of Scottish immigrants made their way to this area during the 17th through 19th centuries. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">In the 1880s, there was also a scheme thought up by Scottish Americans living in the Sandhills region of North Carolina to introduce Scottish Highland crofters, who were enduring maltreatment at the hands of their landlords, into Highlander settlements in North Carolina. Crofters settled in Laurinburg (a place where Flora MacDonald had sought refuge after helping Bonnie Prince Charlie escape Scotland), Cameron, and Richmond County.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>However, assimilation was not successful, as the crofters were often treated as cheap labor by their Scottish American hosts.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>By the late 1800s, most of the crofters had returned to Scotland.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Alexander MacRae was one of the few crofters, however, who remained.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="color: #444444; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">His employer sent him to the western Carolina mountains to act as foreman in building the Yonahlossee Turnpike, and he and his family remained in the region, where they operated a guest house on what is now known as </span><span class="s2" style="color: #444444; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">MacRae Meadow</span><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> near Linville, the location of the </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Highland Games at Grandfather Mountain.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">This event includes a haunting fireside calling of the clans, a rowdy Celtic rock concert, and a vast array of tents, each representing various clans.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="color: #444444; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">My family attended the Games in 2010, a time when the boys' squabbling on the car ride there was maddening, but the festival proved entertaining and enjoyable.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="color: #444444; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">My husband, son (James), and I plan to make another trip there</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="color: #444444; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">this July, two weeks before James heads off to the heat and humidity of Marine boot camp at Parris Island, South Carolina—a place with a sweltering climate that is a far cry from that of the highlands of Scotland. </span></span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="color: #444444; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white;"> I hope that there will be an opportunity in the future to travel to the mountains again as a family, at a time when the weather is perfect for wearing this alpaca shawl, and when the rigors of boot camp are in the past. </span> </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">This photo of James was taken at the<a href="http://www.gmhg.org/homepage.shtml" target="_blank"> Grandfather Mountain Highland Games</a> in 2010. (He was attempting to look like a tough warrior for this photo.) His enthusiasm for armor and swords hasn't waned since that time. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">James and his girlfriend, Shannen, are ready for the senior prom here. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The sword </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">remained at home. </span><span style="font-size: 12.8px;"> </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">My Thursday night knit-and-crochet group friend, Michelle, had fun </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">shooting these </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">photos on my mother-in-law's property in the </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">country in Wingate, NC.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Michelle's best friend, Delle, joined us for the photo shoot. The inseparable duo met through our Thursday night knitting/crochet group. </td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Sources </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; text-indent: -16px;">“Crofter Immigration.” </span><i style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: -16px;">Neuse River | NCpedia</i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; text-indent: -16px;">, www.ncpedia.org/crofter-immigration.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: #333333; text-indent: -16px;">“The Migration of the Scotch Irish.” </span><i style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #333333; text-indent: -16px;">Digital Heritage</i><span style="color: #333333; text-indent: -16px;">, 6 Nov. 2015, digitalheritage.org/2011/12/the-migration-of-the-scotch-irish-from-ulster-to-western-north-carolina/.</span></span></div>
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Liz Washburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06301166562236914187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8043113942704297697.post-59150475854398432882018-04-12T07:09:00.003-04:002018-04-12T07:20:00.365-04:00Eternal Spring <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="s1" style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>“Spring drew on . . . and a greenness grew over those brown beds, which, freshening daily, suggested the thought that Hope traversed them at night, and left each morning brighter traces of her steps.” </i></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s2">― </span><span class="s1">Charlotte Brontë</span><span class="s2">, </span><span class="s1"><i>Jane Eyre</i></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Since my last post, I have been busy picking up pieces, tying up loose ends, and attempting to begin life as a very different person.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>At the end of last month, nearly six months to the day that my son died, my mother passed away. Loss and trauma have radically transformed me.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>In some ways, I find myself calmer and possessed of a deeper spirituality and a greater appreciation for natural beauty, but, sometimes, out of the blue, I am blindsided by grief and uneasiness about what catastrophe lurks around the corner, and it is at those moments that I realize that I am in some ways more fragile than in the past, although few people might recognize this fact as this trait is hidden under a veneer of busyness and business as usual.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Thankfully, though, knitting, designing, and gardening have been sources of comfort to me (perhaps there may be some truth to the cliche´ that artists and creative types are tormented souls).<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>While in the aftermath of recent losses, I approach mundane tasks such as cleaning the bathroom or filing bills with a sense of dread—and often procrastinate in executing these matters—I seem to eagerly, and sometimes obsessively, work on my yarn-related endeavors or dig in my garden. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">One of the latest design projects is my “South of Broad” shawl, inspired by a trip I took to the Charleston area in February of this year.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I went alone on this get-away, one where I basked in the sun on days that were unseasonably warm (suitable for shorts and sleeveless tops).<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>While I spent most of my time on the beach, I did make a foray into Charleston, where I leisurely meandered through the historic district located south of Broad Street.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The area South of Broad is considered to be quite posh—a cut above its northern neighbors.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I named my shawl South of Broad not due to any sort of snobbery, however, but because I’d wanted to create an accessory that was, like the hidden gardens, trailing Spanish moss, and pastel-colored anti-bellum mansions found South of Broad, romantic and elegant.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I also thought the name suited a shawl that eschews modern asymmetrical, and multidirectional design.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even in February, flowers were in bloom during my visit to Charleston. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Loropetalum, or Chinese fringe flower, has such cheerful, fluffy blossoms. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love romantic lace. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqPZX7_IUuHIHZJ1PbV0BPPon6ewKsS3IVw6Ib6mliNJX7khNIuxQVLT5pHUbPCtftgdL_yZEsdY1qYAzagURWQ-IJaIh6h6IbY1D1w7CCQ6aVyijipJJ3Dj1Ajy4AjhQtBJd5Yi0lDMY/s1600/ib6E%2525Sa3RJuxPZORi2IzDg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqPZX7_IUuHIHZJ1PbV0BPPon6ewKsS3IVw6Ib6mliNJX7khNIuxQVLT5pHUbPCtftgdL_yZEsdY1qYAzagURWQ-IJaIh6h6IbY1D1w7CCQ6aVyijipJJ3Dj1Ajy4AjhQtBJd5Yi0lDMY/s640/ib6E%2525Sa3RJuxPZORi2IzDg.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One day, I will go on a garden tour of Charleston, so I can visit these hidden spaces. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinJusPLLk63OONK3kvMXTVcKWAV_yK2nVsuNkXJZssLGBW_dAAeSbYMP6o02A9xDyhfG1NyNqgnJlyD909yYi64FyPNNZNICo8WRT5oboswfyITRP2an_9SlZbDAkqW0X8QBRnYObYTnI/s1600/stairs.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1597" data-original-width="1600" height="638" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinJusPLLk63OONK3kvMXTVcKWAV_yK2nVsuNkXJZssLGBW_dAAeSbYMP6o02A9xDyhfG1NyNqgnJlyD909yYi64FyPNNZNICo8WRT5oboswfyITRP2an_9SlZbDAkqW0X8QBRnYObYTnI/s640/stairs.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here's South of Broad in a more rustic setting. </td></tr>
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<span class="s1" style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The shawl is made with two skeins of fingering weight yarn from Delicious Yarns.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>If you aren’t familiar with this company and its products, you’re in for a treat—albeit not a tasty one but most definitely one that satisfies a knitter’s appetite for colorful and engaging fibers.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Delicious Yarns plays on the food concept with its clever names for its products—such as Sprinkles, Frosting, and Sweets—and its delightful staging of its products to look delectably edible.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Be sure to check out the clever photography on the Delicious Yarns <a href="https://www.deliciousyarns.com/" target="_blank">website</a>. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I’ve also recently completed designing an asymmetrical triangle shawl, a shape that is definitely <i>au courant.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></i> I designed this project to highlight some beautiful <a href="http://www.gerschubie.com/" target="_blank">Gershubie </a>yarn.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>This yarn was hand-dyed to celebrate the 13th anniversary of my local shop, <a href="http://cottageyarn.com/" target="_blank">Cottage Yarn,</a> so the design will be posted on <i>Ravelry </i>on April 21, the day of the anniversary celebration (and also Local Yarn Shop Day).<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I am also in the throes of designing another shawl with an interesting construction, one that begins with a square that is knit from the center out, with triangles radiating from each side.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>A lace border will be picked up around the bottom. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This asymmetrical triangle shawl is over 100" along the top edge. It wraps nicely, though. </td></tr>
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<span class="s1" style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I took time out the other day to visit Daniel Stowe Botanical Gardens in Belmont, NC.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The early spring flowers on the grounds and the lush orchids in the conservatory inspired me to think about bright colors for future projects, although I will probably be finishing up these designs and knitting them in the heat of the summer.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>It seems that each new season brings the gift of its unique beauty which works as an impetus to creativity, but this blessing is bittersweet, as each season also brings forth memories of loved ones and a keen awareness of how time and life continue, heedless of our losses.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This bromeliad was growing in the orchid conservatory, as were the air plants below. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These snowball trees were so fresh and white. I have to plant one in my yard.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The conservatory is so peaceful. </td></tr>
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Liz Washburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06301166562236914187noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8043113942704297697.post-45497775494577281372018-02-05T11:26:00.000-05:002018-10-10T21:00:37.112-04:00Trials and Tribulations: Knitting Has Its Day in Court<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I haven’t posted here in many months, the longest break I have taken since I began this blog back in 2011.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>My twenty-year-old son, Jonathan, passed away last September at a party at a student apartment on a local university campus.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Toxicology reports haven’t been released yet, but, for me, the exact cause of his death isn’t paramount in my concerns.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I know he struggled with alcohol and drug use.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>In the past, I have taken unpleasant and sometimes painful situations and written about them through the lens of humor and irony.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Whether discussing students, children, housework, or knitting dilemmas, I found the process therapeutic, cathartic, and, well, entertaining.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>So it’s been almost impossible for me to sit down and write, since a lighthearted take on much of my life situation eludes me, and deep, dark, reflective words about loss and a world turned upside down seem inappropriate for a knitting blog.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>But this past week, for the first time in what seems like ages, I found myself reflecting with humor on a knitting situation that required patience and self-control on my part.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>This past Monday, I had to report to our local county courthouse to<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>testify against a man who exposed himself when I’d been distributing flyers in a subdivision last March, as part of my recent short-lived real estate career.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>This was the third trip I’d made there since last fall and the entire process of giving evidence, identifying the suspect, etc. had stretched out for nearly a year.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I was beginning to feel like a character in Bleak House, taking part in the interminable and dysfunctional Jarndyce and Jarndyce proceedings. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>The first time I’d reported to the courthouse was sometime before my son had passed away, and the experience was nothing short of traumatic.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The courtroom occupants had haggard appearances that belied their often young ages.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> S</span>eemingly terrified to make eye contact with anyone around them, young women with lanky hair and tight leggings hunched over their cell phones.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Young men with red, rough skin wore disheveled and inappropriate clothing, such as one fellow whose T-shirt featured drew connections between deer hunting and women. It featured several, double entendres related to females, including, “I like a big rack.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>These individuals did not follow directions, even after the judge bellowed three times how each should respond when his or her name was called. It seemed that nearly all were repeat offenders, and most had failed to complete their requisite drug education classes in the time allotted them.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>A deep sense of sadness overcame me that day, as I reflected on my son’s issues and the condition of the other occupants of the courtroom—most of whom seemed lost in some profound way.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>It turned out, though, that the young woman who checked in witnesses was a former student, and she and I were happy to reconnect.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>A few hours into the morning, she informed me that the defendant hadn’t turned up, so I was free to go home.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>But my depression from that day lingered for quite some time, as I pondered how ineffective the efforts of teachers, drug counselors, law enforcement, etc. are against the forces of addiction. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span><br />
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>The second time I was summoned to court was immediately after my son’s death.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I dreaded going.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Thankfully, my former student was there, and she knew about my loss.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>She told me to go home and that someone would call me to appear at another time.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I am so grateful to her, as I shudder to think of the emotions that would have rocked me had I sat there in the courtroom for any amount of time.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>On last Monday’s visit, as I had on the other two trips to court, I brought a knitting project with me.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I’d been working on a swatch for a sweater I am designing, and I was using metal needles.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Earlier that morning, I’d hurriedly dug through bags and zippered pouches, looking for size 5 wooden needles, but had to go with the metal ones, as my search was to no avail, and I didn’t want to be late for court.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>(In the past I’d brought wooden needles with me.). Surprisingly, my knitting bag traveled on the conveyor belt through the x-ray machine in the lobby of the courthouse without a hitch.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>When I got upstairs and took my place at the end of a bench in the packed courthouse, I took out my needles and got to work.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>By now, I knew the drill.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The defendants each had to report to a bailiff at the front of courtroom, and I had to wait for my former student to arrive and then check in with her.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>But before this process began, I sensed a presence lurking over my shoulder.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>A female deputy in a tan uniform was gazing down at me, and she was not amused.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>She asked me to step into the hallway, where she and a male deputy examined my needles as if they were evidence that was part of some forensic investigation and informed me that I could not knit in the courtroom and that I shouldn’t have been allowed in with my needles. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>I stated, “I’m using these for my job and they’re not as sharp as a ball-point pen.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>(I’d known enough not to bring Hiya Hiyas with me!)</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>“We shouldn’t have let you in here with those.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>You will have to put them away,” the female detective responded as she gave me a stern look. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>Maybe she’d seen the same British mystery I had, one where the victim had been impaled through the neck by a knitting needle.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Resigned, I sullenly went back to the courtroom and took out a pad of graph paper and a pencil.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>But shortly after, the female deputy returned and summoned me once again to exit the courtroom.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>She informed me that I would be given a private room in which to knit.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I would be called when I was needed.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>She was kind, almost deferential, and I sensed that she now knew of my recent loss.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>When I was called into the courtroom for the my case’s trial, I was greeted by a tall, handsome African American assistant district attorney.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He would be acting as prosecutor.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He said, “Hi, Mrs. Washburn.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I can’t do this.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I’m a former student.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He added, “I like you, and I’d be biased.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He announced to the judge that I was his former AP English teacher.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Initially, I hadn’t recognized him, as over a decade had passed since he’d been in my classroom, and his face had matured and was now graced with a beard.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He was also dressed in a well-fitting black suit, rather than the athletic gear he’d sported in high school.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He told me that he would try to find another attorney to take the case that day and that I should go back to my private room and continue knitting.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I had to wonder what the judge, attorneys, and other onlookers thought about my special privilege and about the whole “knitting” business. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>After more time spent working on my swatch and a two-hour lunch break, when I ate at a nearby deli and then stowed my knitting bag in my car, I returned to the courthouse.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I was ready to get this show on the road and didn’t want to deal with any potential mishaps going through security for a second time.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Rather than return to my private room, I took a seat in the now sparsely populated courtroom, where a young, tall, and smiling female attorney introduced herself and took me to a private room for a few moments to ask me a few questions.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>She also informed me not to be nervous about speaking in public.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Not a problem for someone who had taught high school for 24 years.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I was just a little unsure about what words I would use to discuss anatomical details, but I kept my concerns to myself. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>The young attorney whom I’d taught, stayed in the courtroom for the proceedings, and as I identified the defendant as the perpetrator and discussed his drive-by exposure, I kept calm and composed on one level, but on another I was anticipating that he would interject with some humorous and inappropriate remark—as high school students are wont to do. I knew that he was now a grown-up, but I when I gave descriptive details about the incident, images of him in his desk in my classroom, where seats were arranged in a U and where humorous retorts ricocheted around as we discussed literature and life, crossed my mind. It was difficult to refrain from looking at my former student or from adding a humorous quip to my testimony.<span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>Despite the defense attorney’s efforts to flummox me by questioning small details, the defendant was found guilty. My knitting needles and I had their day in court.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>A sense of exhaustion from that Monday at the courthouse lingered throughout the whole of last week, but I’ve also experienced a sense that I can still find humor and human connection in difficult situations. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span><br />
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I've been busy with knitting and knitting-related activities since last September. I designed and knit three projects for a yarn company that kept me quite busy, but I'm not allowed to post pix here. Here are some highlights of other activities:</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #741b47; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">October</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEije6Nba9EYBXkypNgcxtDPFL5uveKGZ7gz8Y2Vf7s7ueGlW7geOzzFJqUZzZWdQWrAoM9ROlDcwn2OhEyHg9mJhJZUeXHaINGNDaeM3iOZ3gUkReJSoT8Vu1qiAeWmzD0SSDfZ65WwKq4/s1600/fullsizeoutput_aa7.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEije6Nba9EYBXkypNgcxtDPFL5uveKGZ7gz8Y2Vf7s7ueGlW7geOzzFJqUZzZWdQWrAoM9ROlDcwn2OhEyHg9mJhJZUeXHaINGNDaeM3iOZ3gUkReJSoT8Vu1qiAeWmzD0SSDfZ65WwKq4/s640/fullsizeoutput_aa7.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Completed this <a href="https://www.ravelry.com/projects/lizwashburn/karen-hap" target="_blank">Karen Hap</a> shawl. I'd bought the yarn at the Oxford Yarn Shop last July. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaeUN9tH89WyhxBVOMYnrOGpV-KA5wnf7LeOizKR-SuMLC_WPzvagAbWmKv_aHDuPkIjdKT7IMTwpmeoYyXFpu3v4MhJBrgMnEcEEntZMp5ycJR4X646HTBRVfqc3PnT_n-1f_wbBRZBY/s1600/IMG_7676.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaeUN9tH89WyhxBVOMYnrOGpV-KA5wnf7LeOizKR-SuMLC_WPzvagAbWmKv_aHDuPkIjdKT7IMTwpmeoYyXFpu3v4MhJBrgMnEcEEntZMp5ycJR4X646HTBRVfqc3PnT_n-1f_wbBRZBY/s640/IMG_7676.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Designed this <a href="https://www.ravelry.com/projects/lizwashburn/ancient-amber" target="_blank">Ancient Amber </a>capelet/poncho and posted design on Ravelry.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguAvXU_j5Rh3Y6gNWe12Omz_ieWFl8DQO_kel2X5zqKIOFUbtjvQDOl096BxR3dkcI2ZymuM3Xo4yJA3m88rZpEoDKJ-bnjNWfKao0xqHw5jtDLLGBUVpRKmNSv5r3aOtHB5VzMzWFd_I/s1600/IMG_7747.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguAvXU_j5Rh3Y6gNWe12Omz_ieWFl8DQO_kel2X5zqKIOFUbtjvQDOl096BxR3dkcI2ZymuM3Xo4yJA3m88rZpEoDKJ-bnjNWfKao0xqHw5jtDLLGBUVpRKmNSv5r3aOtHB5VzMzWFd_I/s640/IMG_7747.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picked up pecans on my mother-in-law's property. I've found great <br />
solace in nature in the past few months. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieANvfyjHBDvMVYyaHRktrH7EvYX0pkwuH9EKz5XRvDPvIpPld_nzF3lQyUM6ncNBaL2wheXCCgN5Cw3KVd6EOiu7h09zRsjm_Z_qJ03R3cGcw4BAfEZmASzeM1d5QpcskHh0JqxDcdNk/s1600/fullsizeoutput_abe.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieANvfyjHBDvMVYyaHRktrH7EvYX0pkwuH9EKz5XRvDPvIpPld_nzF3lQyUM6ncNBaL2wheXCCgN5Cw3KVd6EOiu7h09zRsjm_Z_qJ03R3cGcw4BAfEZmASzeM1d5QpcskHh0JqxDcdNk/s640/fullsizeoutput_abe.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My haul was pretty large on this and a subsequent trip. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3UOdaJfJmYXq35_Aey-KxoesoiAVx-zYEFpXCez_atqNbkLZI_HrTGL-QJtKnVop3H8ZwEWFG9I8S7jMCee4iYoKMs9DzF_Sg9TbtsD-TKf5TEd5g2V9Yv7Koi27EZe_h-svDuPk1cnk/s1600/shenandoa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1451" data-original-width="1600" height="580" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3UOdaJfJmYXq35_Aey-KxoesoiAVx-zYEFpXCez_atqNbkLZI_HrTGL-QJtKnVop3H8ZwEWFG9I8S7jMCee4iYoKMs9DzF_Sg9TbtsD-TKf5TEd5g2V9Yv7Koi27EZe_h-svDuPk1cnk/s640/shenandoa.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Designed and knit my <a href="https://www.ravelry.com/projects/lizwashburn/blue-ridge-cap" target="_blank">Blue Ridge Cap</a> and posted it on Ravelry.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQpubT3ZZf2Mdva1szrisCLxm89pdVoWr4M_D1Vq_DQrq-4OBAABiaf-rdg3tdrI5XDpMZSLln3eQrcU0NuHh2GeSRKs1KD2Gi4XQQUkenGm8uTIWGKAI-LpohaoFq2UerpmxjP43TVhA/s1600/fullsizeoutput_e6d.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQpubT3ZZf2Mdva1szrisCLxm89pdVoWr4M_D1Vq_DQrq-4OBAABiaf-rdg3tdrI5XDpMZSLln3eQrcU0NuHh2GeSRKs1KD2Gi4XQQUkenGm8uTIWGKAI-LpohaoFq2UerpmxjP43TVhA/s640/fullsizeoutput_e6d.jpeg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some kind knitting friends invited me to <a href="https://saffsite.org/" target="_blank">SAFF</a> for the day with them. SAFF is a fiber festival<br />
in Asheville, NC. </td></tr>
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<span style="color: orange; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">November</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgllbs1sczSjFEx9k82CugHOKg_u81HlRjS6R3ver7J8E4_GQa5IpMpo9d4aRAqETCgzsV6dgRrU8IydYdKhcNsO0fhYe4eOnmcEwqMa0aSVMO4gwZwNrOKpw4Vr6qOvk1raqOK1Ewj0iE/s1600/fullsizeoutput_bcf.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="997" data-original-width="1600" height="398" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgllbs1sczSjFEx9k82CugHOKg_u81HlRjS6R3ver7J8E4_GQa5IpMpo9d4aRAqETCgzsV6dgRrU8IydYdKhcNsO0fhYe4eOnmcEwqMa0aSVMO4gwZwNrOKpw4Vr6qOvk1raqOK1Ewj0iE/s640/fullsizeoutput_bcf.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A wonderful, supportive friend in England sent me this beautiful leaf garland for my Thanksgiving table. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibymF4pJ-Jo-EMsrZDyi3esCo2jw-ZpnAfJOYAVW_0p9Rv2wT0SkjVHXvePg0-E2P4ll1oWuVYwl6-X199iO8rTraemgtvlI9iWK9XUazqcpv-uLpdsg4dey2Ui1Z5oNaPZd8FqpRLKsA/s1600/IMG_7822.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibymF4pJ-Jo-EMsrZDyi3esCo2jw-ZpnAfJOYAVW_0p9Rv2wT0SkjVHXvePg0-E2P4ll1oWuVYwl6-X199iO8rTraemgtvlI9iWK9XUazqcpv-uLpdsg4dey2Ui1Z5oNaPZd8FqpRLKsA/s640/IMG_7822.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A trip to Banner Elk in the North Carolina mountains was balm for my spirits. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW-vAb9p3cLk0u-d_QdLRa5lKIwAkx0bSp_1CAIObhTkXtPGqK9uPr6wgJ9z9oF60nmiWEOBJZtAgnwzrEkEq_TVf-kR5Q50QI2Gfu8K1mQEqFlYkhrv2NkGUrFrJIWn9PcYQ7Q12Kps4/s1600/fullsizeoutput_e71.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1415" data-original-width="1600" height="564" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW-vAb9p3cLk0u-d_QdLRa5lKIwAkx0bSp_1CAIObhTkXtPGqK9uPr6wgJ9z9oF60nmiWEOBJZtAgnwzrEkEq_TVf-kR5Q50QI2Gfu8K1mQEqFlYkhrv2NkGUrFrJIWn9PcYQ7Q12Kps4/s640/fullsizeoutput_e71.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finished Kate Davies' <a href="https://katedaviesdesigns.com/2013/10/11/tea-jenny/" target="_blank">Tea Jenny</a> hat and designed my own tea-themed hat. Project will be posted soon. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBmp_TOtIvY5MYZ559cRDpOPZvnLOV6hhK56E1M7ATDrDPvGXY1w817IIYAcE6xPAV4aGvxc_C_sjF8NckbzULTV2_pL35K0JfSxUJ44yyAtsLyB-YH7kDyEcwvUTxJFiW2ndiiDjFNw8/s1600/7rreZVy%252BQc%252BRK%252BPQ3K%2525pTg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBmp_TOtIvY5MYZ559cRDpOPZvnLOV6hhK56E1M7ATDrDPvGXY1w817IIYAcE6xPAV4aGvxc_C_sjF8NckbzULTV2_pL35K0JfSxUJ44yyAtsLyB-YH7kDyEcwvUTxJFiW2ndiiDjFNw8/s640/7rreZVy%252BQc%252BRK%252BPQ3K%2525pTg.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Made trips to mother-in-law's property to gather greenery to use for decorations<br />
for the Lake Park Garden Club's Christmas Tea. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_on9I_5D_zj1KMqYPoFOjcjSDM8ybVPjzxJfuz1jSRslPIcuio3T0o9Hvck0vvXTsjYGTQ3dUSY4wDI0pqANfdmeu0Rl4aKRoyyGbn0fCynwBMWAR2zuZHRkWBmyoc5DxBSRCD0KtGXw/s1600/fullsizeoutput_e76.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1319" data-original-width="1600" height="526" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_on9I_5D_zj1KMqYPoFOjcjSDM8ybVPjzxJfuz1jSRslPIcuio3T0o9Hvck0vvXTsjYGTQ3dUSY4wDI0pqANfdmeu0Rl4aKRoyyGbn0fCynwBMWAR2zuZHRkWBmyoc5DxBSRCD0KtGXw/s640/fullsizeoutput_e76.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A little bit of the greenery was used in the centerpiece for the table I decorated. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO7yaWqXNtPSItNMlo1A_zoXU_1tQ_NFhjbtmLUNO-2xdzKlbDhnLwFFZ3zaikVN_TbiKcb88hj1JozunxVwwAWgJGldUq1ZBzS1EWdX31KTHjG3V1kam-dI6nGdk-zXEdLxr0i1e1PFI/s1600/mEw7%2525lWNQfWWmA2FLPEQjQ.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO7yaWqXNtPSItNMlo1A_zoXU_1tQ_NFhjbtmLUNO-2xdzKlbDhnLwFFZ3zaikVN_TbiKcb88hj1JozunxVwwAWgJGldUq1ZBzS1EWdX31KTHjG3V1kam-dI6nGdk-zXEdLxr0i1e1PFI/s640/mEw7%2525lWNQfWWmA2FLPEQjQ.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I made these <a href="https://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/sidecar-mittens" target="_blank">Sidecar Mittens, </a>designed by Thea Coleman, as a present for talented<br />
jewelry designer Delle, a member of my Thursday night knitting-and-crochet group.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Made five pairs of pajama pants and appliquéd long-sleeved T-shirts to match for Christmas gifts.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiebCKGD3h5G2ICUCNFyRlXoSXkb92oCQp2scPaX0KFfnjtN6r97VzJ0p581sW22DfLmjNrTPbF2TScdKZvb84NovatAHMP2RUWVjtXVmLdgU2XPf3JNMVi9e4R7lJI8hfJprOH7eZ_kWQ/s1600/hTIj9aroQVav%2525Vu0%252BvoWEw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiebCKGD3h5G2ICUCNFyRlXoSXkb92oCQp2scPaX0KFfnjtN6r97VzJ0p581sW22DfLmjNrTPbF2TScdKZvb84NovatAHMP2RUWVjtXVmLdgU2XPf3JNMVi9e4R7lJI8hfJprOH7eZ_kWQ/s640/hTIj9aroQVav%2525Vu0%252BvoWEw.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We made another trip to the mountains the day after Christmas. Weather was a bit chillier than back in November. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Attended Vogue Knitting Live. Here is the start of a shawl I am<br />
designing, using techniques I learned in Susan B. Anderson's <br />
three-hour class, "Exploring Shawl Shapes and Design."</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV8aSDOOqblXRhCT4apGxUBVqMsdifrfdlgdt7DKzJEVIXwM6Lt-B-SCzWmIXWa5m_SZP4kp4hctBfXn8G1I94_KG6BLTh4khO-9KxiG5jZQn4gvI0Yetwe8ccRXfyghjhCaccIk4IZxI/s1600/kj%2525%2525L1SlRRqETj8ut%2525Nx%252BQ.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV8aSDOOqblXRhCT4apGxUBVqMsdifrfdlgdt7DKzJEVIXwM6Lt-B-SCzWmIXWa5m_SZP4kp4hctBfXn8G1I94_KG6BLTh4khO-9KxiG5jZQn4gvI0Yetwe8ccRXfyghjhCaccIk4IZxI/s640/kj%2525%2525L1SlRRqETj8ut%2525Nx%252BQ.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Amy Herzog's six-hour "Advanced Sweater Construction" class taught me so much about sweater shapes. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4BYQLjauIsyKjWO_ZPga8HeiUhKRXLDT-Q2gi7UEeL66upcf8AIuf4OT3mWNTe8nE_uSAvf5d106s-fZAvoNrwYJ58Zh1W_MNe9ycfeZ_txLVwJbRzHbkWmsDopEUQkGODahcWtXgeQQ/s1600/6kW7aTlYTQicJ0kSIWVvsw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4BYQLjauIsyKjWO_ZPga8HeiUhKRXLDT-Q2gi7UEeL66upcf8AIuf4OT3mWNTe8nE_uSAvf5d106s-fZAvoNrwYJ58Zh1W_MNe9ycfeZ_txLVwJbRzHbkWmsDopEUQkGODahcWtXgeQQ/s640/6kW7aTlYTQicJ0kSIWVvsw.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Loved the items for sale at Knittenjen's Beads. Check out her Etsy shop <a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/KnittenJensBeads" target="_blank">HERE. </a> </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw5Fywf3BzhuaoEVCHGjSItRRkZz8mq4JuYKErh7FcRITzTVlbVGc72JayCM-kXxOmQONK1cotzZWpH2wkwfxx5ANnUBzbx2CoAbXkU_-FavXuqiByJc_aMvqFXbEbr-h4hTA2tBUmXCY/s1600/JdBP8%25253WS%2525aRJRTQ8LaSGA.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw5Fywf3BzhuaoEVCHGjSItRRkZz8mq4JuYKErh7FcRITzTVlbVGc72JayCM-kXxOmQONK1cotzZWpH2wkwfxx5ANnUBzbx2CoAbXkU_-FavXuqiByJc_aMvqFXbEbr-h4hTA2tBUmXCY/s640/JdBP8%25253WS%2525aRJRTQ8LaSGA.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Steven Be is such a friendly designer that I had to buy yarn from his booth. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizA1rvjZLgoEm4T5_2MWY7EEj9xSS4fUUOS7c5mgGbUTNU53hcdycpvrhTcPc1f7eMeww7FDsnAR0bRCo22SR-MOSBigayoKLwxrLVCDyVdaCJ-bCtmA4jYTJAC7KpYNr91_Kb924J8_8/s1600/t1Huy2J0TH2Kg5oYWuhJJw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizA1rvjZLgoEm4T5_2MWY7EEj9xSS4fUUOS7c5mgGbUTNU53hcdycpvrhTcPc1f7eMeww7FDsnAR0bRCo22SR-MOSBigayoKLwxrLVCDyVdaCJ-bCtmA4jYTJAC7KpYNr91_Kb924J8_8/s640/t1Huy2J0TH2Kg5oYWuhJJw.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yoked sweaters are the rage this winter. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Afsup9pUW0iIZaUCFUGZiSFJwSU9qx-5S0rXGF40J4DF_l3mCw8QNvpDId9UYW_xJo-d_LT5xNkxRmBgpqD6o73imqnfPUzpYSVtXWeRRMBFbqd81nT-j4ZJqbbLvDfwiuaIyEnN5_s/s1600/qiB1mKe0RxC72bo9By6K8A.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Afsup9pUW0iIZaUCFUGZiSFJwSU9qx-5S0rXGF40J4DF_l3mCw8QNvpDId9UYW_xJo-d_LT5xNkxRmBgpqD6o73imqnfPUzpYSVtXWeRRMBFbqd81nT-j4ZJqbbLvDfwiuaIyEnN5_s/s640/qiB1mKe0RxC72bo9By6K8A.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Attended <a href="https://www.downtonexhibition.com/" target="_blank">Downton Abbey The Exhibition </a>while I was in New York. Loved the detail<br />
on Lady Rose's dress she wore to be presented at court. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrJ6jWcqnAM9qryJDP163zlP6DEzHO6vXBAqhX0lnfKlptAjA_i4s5AUC_yTEvQglfHb-UVR9VteDGDcSvmsmO1QRncEmkO3-BzPE2fx-9i-rVqGezLjRNc78ponkFapSDH_ebYJlKFts/s1600/FVrgiBb1QIi5%252BbLi%2525NsbrQ.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrJ6jWcqnAM9qryJDP163zlP6DEzHO6vXBAqhX0lnfKlptAjA_i4s5AUC_yTEvQglfHb-UVR9VteDGDcSvmsmO1QRncEmkO3-BzPE2fx-9i-rVqGezLjRNc78ponkFapSDH_ebYJlKFts/s640/FVrgiBb1QIi5%252BbLi%2525NsbrQ.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh, to have these in my house, with servants in the basement! </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwkCW61Q4uXRuyfubeToSahWDFt3H3Mv4lrU-4IaYHgEQPgmfjLEHnSFwtei1evC0h04MNg1vcpPlldime6Mp7qX0vkF5hCnB2oamin2lWzrEw478HQbQfkovL08-4dGRfIJGA8Q9gSiE/s1600/48%252BJ3UjgS3%252BHUaFApQcjMw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwkCW61Q4uXRuyfubeToSahWDFt3H3Mv4lrU-4IaYHgEQPgmfjLEHnSFwtei1evC0h04MNg1vcpPlldime6Mp7qX0vkF5hCnB2oamin2lWzrEw478HQbQfkovL08-4dGRfIJGA8Q9gSiE/s640/48%252BJ3UjgS3%252BHUaFApQcjMw.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunset view from Lower Manhattan. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI2vhI5Ekk3jwtd8Udbr3Ai16-ti_IS_FKH0Ng8kh9diK8iK1L1F1hM9DDFHz0Mt4sujLuaaFq7h5KIUzrXkd3mSX9ZcOhWnE6GybsSRQLh5qYC5TiyWl7ccCFUFTenzsfrL80PA4DWVs/s1600/cIhyrm2xQHCTX58sJ0aVPg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI2vhI5Ekk3jwtd8Udbr3Ai16-ti_IS_FKH0Ng8kh9diK8iK1L1F1hM9DDFHz0Mt4sujLuaaFq7h5KIUzrXkd3mSX9ZcOhWnE6GybsSRQLh5qYC5TiyWl7ccCFUFTenzsfrL80PA4DWVs/s640/cIhyrm2xQHCTX58sJ0aVPg.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Designed this <a href="https://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/fat-city" target="_blank">Fat City</a> hat using Hedgehog Chubby yarn I'd purchased at Steven Be's booth<br />
at VKL. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge8QYVwmZ4LaCGusVshcYySoH3VwYVct5v_gKnqR2mrLFZ_23f_0_kZ2_dufF9yjlZPTyj6PGa1-j1773nrSxn5RHjUTSWjhgFACvxBurq8ItHN6CSrW5uPGATd8pBb-HveavUEqXRCC8/s1600/8W7gmuDkSLyzo%2525WDVm4a%252Bw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge8QYVwmZ4LaCGusVshcYySoH3VwYVct5v_gKnqR2mrLFZ_23f_0_kZ2_dufF9yjlZPTyj6PGa1-j1773nrSxn5RHjUTSWjhgFACvxBurq8ItHN6CSrW5uPGATd8pBb-HveavUEqXRCC8/s640/8W7gmuDkSLyzo%2525WDVm4a%252Bw.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Had snow at my home in North Carolina for my birthday. </td></tr>
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<span style="color: #45818e; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">February</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfrvrpv3z1Syb82FsV3vnDBtFmlxlyMatSMz3ChLTHrDECvUdEvFvDTgY78bTocjdHRIDDa24GoPT33ysqnkhub6okooYkooYdIwvsu4kAqIAfCttNOSf7PM5WGp8AIAlI1UnJbthl8mc/s1600/fullsizeoutput_e6c.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfrvrpv3z1Syb82FsV3vnDBtFmlxlyMatSMz3ChLTHrDECvUdEvFvDTgY78bTocjdHRIDDa24GoPT33ysqnkhub6okooYkooYdIwvsu4kAqIAfCttNOSf7PM5WGp8AIAlI1UnJbthl8mc/s640/fullsizeoutput_e6c.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trying to finish up Kate Gagnon Osborn's <a href="https://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/clawthorpe" target="_blank">Clawthorpe, </a>so that I can get back to designing. </td></tr>
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Liz Washburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06301166562236914187noreply@blogger.com3Indian Trail, NC, USA35.0768141 -80.669235234.9728531 -80.8305967 35.1807751 -80.5078737tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8043113942704297697.post-58738840101816924402017-09-26T10:22:00.000-04:002017-09-26T10:31:02.094-04:00In Stitches: Laughter, Healing, and Knitting<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">“I did this scene in Lars and the Real Girl where I was in a room full of old ladies who were knitting, and it was an all-day scene, so they showed me how.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">It was one of the most relaxing days of my life.” </span></i></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span> From delaying or preventing the onset of Alzheimer’s Disease, easing depression, reducing the symptoms of Parkinson’s Disease, raising self-esteem, honing motor skills, to helping people with OCD channel some of their obsessive behavior, numerous studies have linked knitting to health benefits.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>There is also a slew of anecdotal evidence from knitters themselves related to how knitting has played a key role in overcoming personal loss and how belonging to a knitting group is invaluable to easing loneliness and preventing isolation.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>My experiences, too, confirm those conclusions. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span> </span></span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Fo</span></span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; color: #666666; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">r several years I have attended a Tuesday night knitting group at my local yarn shop.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; color: #666666; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; color: #666666; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Despite different backgrounds and stages of life, we are joined together by our shared “constructive addiction.” (The phrase “constructive addiction” is</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; color: #666666; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; color: #666666; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">a term coined for knitting by Betsan Corkhill, a British physiotherapist who is discussed in a June 2, 2015 article entitled “Knitting is Good For You” in </span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; color: #666666; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Psychology Today</span></i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; color: #666666; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">).</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; color: #666666; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; color: #666666; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">It is interesting that knitters in my group used the words “Therapy Night” to describe Tuesday night meetings long before research was published on the mental and physical benefits of knitting.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; color: #666666; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; color: #666666; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The meetings help keep us abreast of new patterns, techniques, and yarns, and, I have to confess, they sometimes serve to help alleviate my sense of “stash guilt.”</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; color: #666666; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; color: #666666; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">When I observe other women, with the fervor and frenzy of shipwrecked passengers on a desert island finding a crate of food washed up on the shore, scrambling to grab skeins of a new yarn from a big box (the latest delivery brought out by the shop owner), it is heartening to think, </span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; color: #666666; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">I’m not so bad. My stash can’t be as big as some of theirs.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; color: #666666; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">My self-esteem is raised, too, when members compliment my latest finished object, and I love to see and gain inspiration from the work of these women. And I can relate to their plights.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; color: #666666; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; color: #666666; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">One of them, a retired elementary school teacher, recently expressed the stunned surprise she experienced when she was getting undressed before bed and “a cable needle fell out” (from her bra where she had stashed it).</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; color: #666666; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; color: #666666; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Such anecdotes are reassuring that one isn’t alone in experiencing such odd knitting-related moments. </span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; color: #666666; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is <a href="http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/clawthorpe" style="font-size: 12.8px;" target="_blank">Clawthorpe, </a><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">made with Cumbria worsted, on display at my LYS, </span><a href="http://cottageyarn.com/" style="font-size: 12.8px;" target="_blank">Cottage Yarn</a><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">. </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These colors will make up the yoke of my Clawthorpe. The body will be the teal shown in the<br />
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<span class="s1"><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> I also belong to a Thursday night group I founded by posting information on Nextdoor.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Most Nextdoor posts seem to be related to missing animals, rude drivers, and suspicious characters, such as one recently described as a "middle-aged" man with glasses "walking his dog," while “looking into yards and property.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Comments following such posts can quickly devolve into rants about sex offenders and lurking homeless men, should someone question the wisdom of singling out potentially innocent people and describing them in detail online.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Rather than inciting this type of discord, however, by using Nextdoor I was able to connect with a group of local women who are a joy to know.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Not die-hard addicts, most members of the group are crocheters who enjoy their craft but aren't able to recite a litany of designer names and yarn brands and are not in the habit of making every family road trip include stops at yarn shops.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Of course, after their initial mouth-gaping response to the price tag on a skein of yarn (a blend of cashmere, merino, and silk) I was working with at one of our initial get-togethers, some of the women are beginning to come around.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>A field trip to our local shop for some exposure to beautiful yarn worked its magic on them, too.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>There’s nothing like making new converts to one’s obsession. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> I sometimes feel like the serious one in this group.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I typically come rushing in, hyper and stressed out about something, and am greeted with playful comments and laughter.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Our Facebook message group reflects this light-hearted dynamic.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>One of the members of the group is an accomplished crocheter who oversees a knit-and-crochet program for cancer patients at a local hospital.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>At one meeting she and I were discussing how a person can freeze hand-me-down yarn, to kill any potential stash-destroying moths.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The idea of freezing fiber evoked some incredulous laughter from the group.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>A week or so later, on our Facebook message group, where we touch base about who will be attending each week’s event, one of the other members, a New Englander with blunt conversation style, shared how her daughter had shown up at her house along with her grandson, with head lice.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>She then posted the following:<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>“So I’m at CVS checking out with $40.00 worth of head lice shampoo and a bottle of wine (for me).<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The guy says have a nice evening.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Sure will, we’re have a lice party.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Feel free to stop by.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Bring your own nit comb.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Immediately, another member commented, “Just remember.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>If you catch it, you can always stick your head in the freezer.” I had to chuckle at this exchange.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Such levity is good for my serious soul.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFvjdombud4Dl1HWthQ1lWe1_j7j4-o0Q_elQXbWpC4BzRCGNsDj1qHKImVXFDYL58M7uGUW_oyC2GIxSvtsa7jwMXBdqTeomwhlStobrePuhzpPcf4SKUPbAw2HJHwm72dU6ieAdzsWM/s1600/IMG_7537.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFvjdombud4Dl1HWthQ1lWe1_j7j4-o0Q_elQXbWpC4BzRCGNsDj1qHKImVXFDYL58M7uGUW_oyC2GIxSvtsa7jwMXBdqTeomwhlStobrePuhzpPcf4SKUPbAw2HJHwm72dU6ieAdzsWM/s640/IMG_7537.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">During the Charlotte Yarn Crawl, held this week, <a href="http://cottageyarn.com/" target="_blank">Cottage Yarn</a> in Mint Hill, NC had samples<br />
from the Fiber Company on display. These garments and accessories are made out of Cumbria<br />
Worsted or Arranmore Light yarns. The yarns' soft texture is so enticing. </td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span> There is also a Thursday noontime group, which I visit infrequently due to scheduling conflicts—and maybe the need to at least go through the motions of housekeeping and working on weekdays. This group typically meets at a member's house, a relaxed place decorated with an eclectic collection of artwork and sculpture.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Just plopping myself down into a chair in this environment probably reduces my cortisol level to minuscule levels.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>And I have benefitted not only from humor and creative inspiration but from the sage advice of the women who meet there who have years of life experience amongst them.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>From the world travelers in the group to the woman in her sixties who last year took her first flight (to Rhinebeck Sheep and Wool Festival, of course), knitting is the common denominator that makes the group cohesive. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> Social knitting, despite squabbles and differences of opinion that pop up from time, is a way to bring a little Danish <i>hygge </i>into our fast-and-furious American lives.<i> </i><span class="Apple-converted-space">In the blog <a href="http://www.itsmecharlotte.com/blog/lets-get-danish-hygge-straight-once-and-for-all" target="_blank">It's Me Charlotte</a>, Charlotte Dupont<i> writes, "</i></span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.66px;">But in all honesty, </span><em style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0.66px; word-wrap: break-word;">hygge is a very social word.</em><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.66px;"> It is generally a word used to describe cozy times with friends and people you love. <i>Hygge</i> </span><em style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0.66px; word-wrap: break-word;">can</em><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.66px;"> be used to describe time alone, but more authentically, it's time you spend with people and the coziness that company brings." </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHdwbNhEFXmOy_DzjExTyMBNgbLQi90PZjQTveRp5yv5AyK9e4m8sRqZ1l-0Wd5C_w1Fvn_AOf8ULeiKVk_kmbZTaIDTvvTyvYEE4f3Lavz3W1h2PTXV22YeLucMGdGX97kwIt6Geg4_Q/s1600/IMG_7539.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHdwbNhEFXmOy_DzjExTyMBNgbLQi90PZjQTveRp5yv5AyK9e4m8sRqZ1l-0Wd5C_w1Fvn_AOf8ULeiKVk_kmbZTaIDTvvTyvYEE4f3Lavz3W1h2PTXV22YeLucMGdGX97kwIt6Geg4_Q/s640/IMG_7539.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the <a href="http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/ultraviolet-5" target="_blank">Ultraviolet</a> shawl made with Arranmore Light. This shawl seems to epitomize <i>hygge. </i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ls-C470u2c8C0_9HFnk1k9jKWXBJcR3Vg4ru66lYrU0vxD6TaH02OY_kAjffWbEwXZLg0x9aDxtFXz-fXutNG5YSIu0wnAoYCcV_XZQpd2z0gehtbEVjAC8BMLc6GmwdnM9nprdm1Rs/s1600/IMG_7550.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ls-C470u2c8C0_9HFnk1k9jKWXBJcR3Vg4ru66lYrU0vxD6TaH02OY_kAjffWbEwXZLg0x9aDxtFXz-fXutNG5YSIu0wnAoYCcV_XZQpd2z0gehtbEVjAC8BMLc6GmwdnM9nprdm1Rs/s640/IMG_7550.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Arranmore Light has a bit of a speckled/tweedy texture. </td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span> While I enjoy the camaraderie and <i>hygge</i> of my knitting groups, I could not survive recent stresses in my life without my solitary knitting.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>This week as I struggle with telling my mother that she is going to be moved to the Memory Care center at her assisted living facility, I especially need meditative knitting time.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>My mother has referred to the Memory Care building as “the Hole” and discussed how other people, including one particular friend, were “sent down,” when they were moved there, but, ultimately, I think she will be more satisfied and better cared for in this place. (I’ve been told by nurses at her current assisted living center that higher functioning residents can be cruel to their peers suffering with Alzheimer’s and dementia.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>One put it this way: “It’s like high school.” As my role has reversed and I tend to my mother, I can’t help but be sad at heart, in the way that the parent of a special needs child is painfully aware that each day at school is a potential opportunity for ostracism and bullying.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I am also aware that a new environment with peers who share her illness and with staff trained to give lots of hugs and direction is in order. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; color: #666666; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> As I prepare myself for my role as the bearer of news about this change, I’ve made three trips to my local yarn shop in as many days, bought gorgeous Cumbria worsted for a yoked sweater, and worked furiously on a new design. I know that social knitting, my splurge purchase, and my independent knitting are, if not lessening, at least stabilizing my stress and grief as I ready myself for this new season in my mother’s and my own lives. </span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; color: #666666; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So many colors of Cumbria on display at my LYS. So little time!</td></tr>
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Liz Washburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06301166562236914187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8043113942704297697.post-45352479100221458232017-09-21T11:18:00.000-04:002017-09-26T12:08:31.554-04:00Grove Park<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> About a month ago, around the same time that I decided to cut back on a frenetic schedule in order to regroup and figure out what to do with the rest of my life, I also began to design an original knitted project, using some of my favorite yarn, Vivacious by Fyberspates. This yarn that briefly hibernated in my stash, but I knew it wouldn’t lie dormant for long as its vibrant jewel-tone and beautiful texture enticed me.</span><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Vivacious was not new to me, as it has been a popular choice for knitters at my local yarn shop, several of whom, including me, have used it to knit the <a href="http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/marianne-cardigan" target="_blank">Marianne</a> sweater from one of the </span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Jane Austen Knits </i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">magazines. </span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span class="s1"></span></span><br />
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<span class="s1"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span"></span> When I conceived of my Grove Park capelet, I wanted something feminine, a project that wouldn’t look out of place in an Austen-themed collection, but one that would be practical enough to throw on over jeans for a quick trip to the grocery store. I think my final product meets both of my criteria, although I know some folks would think twice before wearing a “luxury yarn” item to the local Food Lion or Harris Teeter.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I think handmade knitwear, however fancy, should be worn and not stowed away for a special occasion, so I don’t share in this hesitation. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If you make the size medium, you will have a sizable amount of yarn left. You can leave out one pattern repeat of the chart, if you would like to use only two skeins. I'm happy that I have some left. I know I can use this yarn for something else. </td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> Despite the fact that I made my garment with fingering-weight yarn, it worked up fairly quickly, as it is knit in the round.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>But I do have plans to revamp the same pattern to accommodate DK or worsted yarn.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Folks in cooler climates or those who eschew working with anything lighter than DK might find this pattern more appealing that way.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>While there are plenty of gorgeous DK and worsted yarns on the market.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I know that The Fiber Company’s <a href="http://kelbournewoolens.com/arranmore-light-yarn/" target="_blank">Arranmore Light,</a> a DK yarn, or its <a href="https://www.thefibreco.com/product/cumbria/" target="_blank">Cumbria Worsted</a> would create beautiful capelets.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Arranmore Light is a rich mixture of merino wool, cashmere, and silk, while Cumbria Worsted is a combination of merino wool, Masham wool, and mohair. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Masham is the name for a crossbreed of sheep with lustrous wool.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>These sheep, hailing from the northern hills of England, get their name from Masham,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>a small market town in the Yorkshire Dales. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My beautiful (inside and out) friend, Dawn Raldolph, cheerfully agreed to model for me.</td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span"></span> I haven’t had an opportunity to see and feel any Cumbria Worsted yet, but I have been gazing longingly at the Arranmore since its recent arrival on the shelves of my local yarn shop, <a href="http://cottageyarn.com/" target="_blank">Cottage Yarn,</a> but I am holding off on my purchase until I finish knitting and writing the pattern for a cowl that is on my needles at present.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Also our local <a href="http://www.charlotteareayarncrawl.com/" target="_blank">Yarn Crawl</a> (held from September 22-30) is just around the corner, so I can keep my eyes open for worsted at local shops. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span"></span> Not surprisingly, spending hours and hours graphing, calculating decreases, writing, and knitting as I created Grove Park did not seem like work, although I did begin to think that the time and effort I had invested merited a professional and publication worthy pattern.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>So somewhere in the middle of the design and knitting process, I invested in a knitting chart generator program called <a href="http://stitchmastery./">Stitchmastery.</a><span class="Apple-converted-space"><a href="https://www.stitchmastery.com/" target="_blank"> </a> </span>This user-friendly program creates sharp-looking charts and it also has some impressive features, including the automatic production of written instructions as the chart is created!<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>When I saw on the Stitchmastery website that one of my favorite designers, Anniken Allis, uses Stitchmastery, I was sold.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>On numerous occasions, I have been drawn to a photo of a beautiful lace shawl in a magazine only to discover that it is one of Allis’s designs.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>When I have knit Allis’s detailed creations, I’ve never had any difficultly with her charts or instructions. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span"></span> My first design created using Stitchmastery gets its name from the Grove Park Inn,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>a grand hotel in Asheville, North Carolina. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Built in 1913, the luxurious inn seems a fitting place to wear a garment crafted with rich yarn.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>And my capelet’s blue-green color and botanical panel are evocative of Grove Park’s Blue Ridge Mountain setting. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>This pattern is written up, and I’ve proofread it, but it has not been test knitted by anyone other than me. I am posting a link to my pattern on this site until October 1.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Go <a href="https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B9MWNPvaUqEeSEp5RGlIMzk1LVE/view?usp=sharing" target="_blank">here</a> for your copy. If you have trouble accessing this, post a comment below and I can assist you. </span></span><br />
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<span class="s1"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> If you decide to knit my pattern, please let me know if you find any errors and feel free to contact me with questions. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>In October, the final pattern will go on sale. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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Liz Washburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06301166562236914187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8043113942704297697.post-64415779608851007632017-09-10T11:40:00.003-04:002017-09-12T08:58:43.328-04:00Weathering the Storm<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">Never cut a tree down in the wintertime. Never make a negative decision in the low time. Never make your most important decisions when you are in your worst moods. Wait. Be patient. The storm will pass. The spring will come.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span"></span> Charlotte, NC is an inland city, hundreds of miles from the coast, but that fact hasn’t stopped many locals from engaging in pre-storm shopping sprees.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Water, bread, and milk have disappeared from the shelves of local supermarkets, big box stores, and warehouse clubs. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Memories of hurricane Hugo, which hit in 1989, still linger, as this storm decimated coastal areas of the Carolinas and caused widespread power outages, fallen trees, and damaged roofs in my area.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I didn’t live in North Carolina at the time of Hugo, so I don’t have memories to spur me to action right now.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>But I do have a full larder and really need to stock up on ice, just in case.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> I hope that when rains and winds do move in, I will be able to spend time at home, ideally knitting or engaged in other quiet activities. Of course, I have spent some time there in the last few weeks, as I have been trying to rest and regroup from a frenzied last year, where every day seemed to bring a new adrenalin-inducing crisis. A 16-day trip to England and Scotland with my seventeen-year-old son in July involved so much train hopping that I returned home exhausted.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I then worked like mad for weeks, until I decided that I needed to stop running the roads every single day (in conjunction with real estate work and my mother’s care) and take a little time to spend on domestic duties and on my own health and well-being.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I also wanted some time to think about what to do with the rest of my life.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">My son, James, near Dunnotar Castle in Stonehaven, Scotland. We hiked from the train station<br />to the castle--a long walk that was well worth the energy and time. </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stonehaven harbor. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgClNuVKMgT1w6rk2Bvuq6Qs8lturZbB-dVWh47E_tsR1z9L14yUEfrO2wrjK6AtLR6R-Jc4wCwiwQJsQj5Kz-KYo-f9E2yl_oJrjMp6FOcDyrF0j4Nxx8Mc0dffVga1qSLBumsiwtH6-U/s1600/IMG_6528.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1069" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgClNuVKMgT1w6rk2Bvuq6Qs8lturZbB-dVWh47E_tsR1z9L14yUEfrO2wrjK6AtLR6R-Jc4wCwiwQJsQj5Kz-KYo-f9E2yl_oJrjMp6FOcDyrF0j4Nxx8Mc0dffVga1qSLBumsiwtH6-U/s640/IMG_6528.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is a capelet I am designing using one of my favorite yarns, <a href="https://www.lovecrochet.com/us/fyberspates-vivacious-4-ply?gclid=Cj0KCQjwxdPNBRDmARIsAAw-TUls5I5H_D-1xqgaWm2kzMtWqjNb00nNQiIGekyyk433HvIinXy6QjMaAggmEALw_wcB&utm_source=google&utm_medium=cpc&utm_campaign=US&currency=USD&sku=YFS004_602" target="_blank">Fyberspates Vivacious</a>. This floral-and-lace pattern will look crisp when the project is blocked. </td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> I have been contemplating my real estate career (still in its infancy), my knitting and designing hobbies, and my 24-year English teaching career, cut short before full retirement (for reasons too complex to enumerate here).<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>While during my recent three-week respite, I have enjoyed the luxuries of going for morning walks, having time to actually clean my house (although I’m still a bit of a slacker in this area and can’t seem to win the battle against dog hair), and cooking homemade meals at least sporadically, I still feel that I am not ready to embrace this way of life now and retire early. (Finances also make this decision prohibitive.)<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>But the fact that success in real estate seems to hinge on whom I know and how well I can deliver sales spiels is disheartening.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Hours and hours of study and training.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Thousands of dollars on marketing.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> And the grim cold calling practice. </span>Lots of people on the other end of the phone who are just looking.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>And everyone has a realtor in the family or knows one at his or her church. . . .</span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On a walk in my neighborhood, the stillness of the early morning . . .</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">helps me see little details . . . </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">and ponder the change of seasons and passing of time. </td></tr>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> So I have been resting and designing knitwear.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>And hiring a test knitter for a cowl project.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>And reading knitwear design books, watching a Craftsy course on pattern writing, and exploring stitch patterns.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Maybe my passion should become my career.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This Malabrigo yarn is going to be a cowl.</td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span"></span> Perhaps if I continue to spend some time knitting and working on pattern writing until the hurricane passes, I will have some sort of epiphany or maybe I will have my “aha moment” later on down the road.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Eventually I’ll have to make a decision, but in the meantime, I will keep knitting and designing and pondering. While so many motivational gurus (whose works I've read in conjunction with my new sales career) decry hesitating to make firm decisions and to set goals, I like the opinion of nineteenth-century novelist Margaret Oliphant, who wrote, </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">O</span><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">n the whole, embarrassment and perplexity are a kind of natural accompaniment to life and movement; and it is better to be driven out of your senses with thinking which of two things you ought to do than to do nothing whatever, and be utterly uninteresting to all the world.</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">While being driven out of my senses isn't an appealing prospect, I know that my dilemma could be worse.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> N</span>atural disasters such as Irma, a storm which has wreaked havoc and caused deaths in the Caribbean, make my consternation about life interrupted seem like a trivial first-world problem.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>So, I’m going to be thankful and </span><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">listen to the rain, cook some food, do some housework, tend to my mother, pull out my needles and graph paper, and hope this storm of indecision passes.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"></span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This <a href="http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/salt-ahoi" target="_blank">Salt (ahoi) </a>sweater is not an original design, but had to share my latest finished object. <br />
Sewing on the buttons was quite a chore! It's also impossible to find this number of matching<br />
buttons in local shops, so I ordered a large pack of<a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00KI7JRMC/ref=asc_df_B00KI7JRMC5163049/?tag=hyprod-20&creative=395033&creativeASIN=B00KI7JRMC&linkCode=df0&hvadid=193977307403&hvpos=1o2&hvnetw=g&hvrand=13066718267425715991&hvpone=&hvptwo=&hvqmt=&hvdev=c&hvdvcmdl=&hvlocint=&hvlocphy=9009920&hvtargid=pla-311297960523" target="_blank"> Pepperlonely </a>buttons from Amazon.<br />
They were very reasonably priced and look great, I think. </td></tr>
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Liz Washburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06301166562236914187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8043113942704297697.post-43160290908050763132017-08-27T20:28:00.001-04:002017-08-27T20:29:20.520-04:00Finishing Up and Facing It<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> Yesterday, I cast off my <a href="http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/uncia" target="_blank">Uncia</a> shawl, a project that had been on my needles for about a year.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>While it does not rank as the most challenging item I have even completed, it is probably the most tedious, as nearly every right-side row contains intricate and varied cable stitches.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Working these required innumerable trips to the abbreviation page, and, while I did eventually memorize a handful of the stitches, there were still so many new ones that cropped up, I could not commit them all to memory.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>So there was much starting and stopping along the way, pauses that interfered with the smooth, rhythmic ease that I love so much about knitting.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span><br />
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<span class="s1"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> The pattern for Uncia is found in <i><a href="http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/sources/the-book-of-haps" target="_blank">The Book of Haps</a></i> by Kate Davies, although this design was created by Lucy Hague.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Uncia<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>intrigued me because its lace and cable patterns were inspired by Gothic and Romanesque church architecture.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>(I love old churches and castles, and I’ve already knitted a tam modeled after a stained glass window at Christ Church, Oxford and a color-work vest reminiscent of Gothic stained-glass windows.)</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>While much of my initial infatuation with this design had cooled a bit after reaching chart G (the final chart is H), several weeks ago I made a decision to finish it up.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I’d worked on this project off and on, often letting it rest for long periods.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>It was time to move on. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>While completing this shawl during the last few weeks took many hours, I was able to maintain my motivation and not succumb to the temptation to squirrel my Uncia knitting bag away—out of sight, out of mind. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #444444; font-size: 12.8px;">I re-blocked my shawl when I realized it was quite small after the first attempt. The second time I used blocking wires, instead of pins. </span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> In a way, the process of knitting this shawl, with its many stops and starts and tedious cables, has much in common with my life of late, so I think it is fitting that I cast off this item at a time when I have made a commitment to break with the past.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Like the irksome cables that tried my patience and interrupted my serenity, for too long I have allowed stressful situations and people to get in the way of my maintaining an even keel. </span><br />
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<span class="s1"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>With a mother and mother-in-law with dementia, it is easy to constantly feel derailed and dismayed, especially since my husband and I are the only individuals managing their care.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>With a fledgling real estate career that demands spending a great deal of money and has, of yet, yielded few returns and some great disappointments, it has been hard not to feel discouraged.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>And with a twenty-year-old son who behaves badly, it is easy to feel despondent.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>The phone has rung incessantly for three years.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Nurses.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Caregivers.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Doctors.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Social workers.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> My mother </span>crying and screaming at 6:15 a.m. that I must come, “Now!” as she is dying, even though she’s visited two doctors and made a trip to the emergency room the previous week.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Calls from the sheriff’s office with a subpoena for me to appear in court as a witness against the man who indecently exposed himself while I was out distributing real estate flyers. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>And other stresses.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>At work.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The teaching job I took in 2014 at the school of my dreams in a different school district, a place where I soon learned I would not be celebrated (as I had been in the past) for the creative critical thinking activities I devised or the passion I had for my subject.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Rigidity and minutia ruled.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> The hard balance of daytime teaching with nighttime real estate classes, after I'd realized that a change was in order. </span>At home.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>My twenty-year-old’s cardiac arrest last May.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>His medically induced coma.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>His release from the hospital when he promptly reconnected with his wayward buddies. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>A 92-year-old mother-in-law living alone in the country, one who fires nearly every caregiver and makes certain to call my husband during the few-and-far-between times I spend alone with him.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The 41 days I passed in Arizona last summer and fall, first spent dealing with a malnourished mother who refused to eat and then, on a final trip, spent packing and arranging her move to NC.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>And, of course, the highway bypass being built through my mother-in-law’s front yard.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>And her daughter, who used to live next-door but who moved away two years ago with her husband, taking away any back-up support for her mother’s care.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Re-blocking really opened up the lace-and-cable pattern.</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> For me, navigating life these past few years in no way resembles knitting a pleasing project—it sometimes seems more like a tangled nightmare made using mohair yarn, an illegible chart, and size 0 double-pointed needles. And, as with sticky mohair, there is no easy path to frogging back to happier times.</span><br />
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<span class="s1"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>But, like the housewife, Evelyn Couch, in <i>Fried Green Tomatoes,</i> I’ve had a cathartic moment.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>In front of a supermarket, passive and unassuming Evelyn, played by Kathy Bates, has her parking space rudely stolen by two young women, one of whom yells, “Face it, lady. We’re younger and faster.” Evelyn then repeatedly slams her car into the young women’s vehicle and addresses them, by stating,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>“Face it, girls. I’m older and I have more insurance!” Like Evelyn, recently I was propelled to action and ordered my twenty-year-old son out of my home, as I had done many times before.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>But in this instance, I meant business. And, after a three-day standoff that included changing the locks, he no longer lives with us.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>His room now houses a different type of stash (yarn, of course). His eviction sapped my strength, so afterward I hired a friend to tend to my mother for a couple of days while I decompressed.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>The current swirl of responsibilities and challenges to stay strong may not abate for years.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>My son calls frequently, blaming, begging, and bewailing the hardships of his new existence with particular emphasis on the fact that he has no wifi where he is staying.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>But, rather than take the bait as I had done for so long, I have disengaged.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Maybe there will be a time when this long season will be a thing of the past, but until it does, I must move forward and view the phone calls and other challenges as troublesome, like the cable stitches of my shawl, but not worthy of derailing my life, career, and the harmony of my home as I had let them do for so long.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>While the Uncia shawl took over a year to complete, I have been struggling for three years to reach this point.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Why did it take me so long?</span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I just cast on an original design. It's been too long. It's time to create again. </td></tr>
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Liz Washburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06301166562236914187noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8043113942704297697.post-9736856139430913422017-06-30T17:57:00.004-04:002017-06-30T18:48:12.221-04:00Summer Sweater<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">The phrase summer knitwear seems like an oxymoron, at least when one lives in North Carolina. Here this season's heat is sweltering and brutal, the air thick and moist, so linen cardigans and cotton sweaters, staples of summer attire in other locales, are more commonly worn in March or April. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I wanted to knit a sweater, though, one made with summer yarn, since I will be traveling to Scotland, and I'm anticipating much cooler days and nights. Last year I'd purchased ten skeins of Soft Linen by Classic Elite Yarns in a blue-green color, and, after much searching, I found a pattern on</span><i style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"> Ravelry </i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">entitled, <a href="http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/169-2-summer-leaves-cardigan">Summer Leaves Cardigan</a> that I thought would work well with this yarn. I love the yoke details, and I am always a big fan of easy-on, easy-off cardigans because another feature of North Carolina weather is that it can vary wildly from day-to-day, or hour-to-hour for that matter. In the wintertime, school will be cancelled due to icy conditions and snow, but, by the afternoon of the same day, the temperature creeps near seventy and only a few sad patches of white are left slowly melting in shady corners.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Odd to think about snow as I sit here on a hot, albeit overcast, day. I'm at home, a rare occurrence for an afternoon, as lately my life involves driving to my mother's assisted living, driving to numerous stores--especially the drugstore--to pick up items for my mother, driving to the office, and, thankfully, driving clients to real estate showings. So this post isn't going to be a long one, as I have packing to do for my trip and a letter to write to a pen pal who is going to disown me if she doesn't hear from me soon. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Since I had a few moments, I was inspired to steal of few of them to share my sweater and a word of caution. When I brought my work-in-progress to the knitting store, a woman working there shuddered when she heard that I was knitting a Drops pattern. This company's patterns are known for being a bit challenging or, more appropriately, somewhat confusing. (Drops is a Norwegian company so some lost-in-translation glitches may explain these issues.) I have knitted a Drops baby sweater and had no difficulty, but Summer Leaves required a bit of improvisation on my part. However, since the design is knitted from the top down (a method of knitting that enables me to calculate stitches needed to match my measurements without too much difficulty), and the leaf chart is quite easy to read, I was able to work up this project without any tears or frustration. I'm not sure why I didn't need to knit at least two (maybe three) of the charts, though! </span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After much deliberation, I chose heart-shaped buttons.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /><span style="-webkit-text-stroke: rgb(0, 0, 0);">A </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke: rgb(0, 0, 0);">few weeks ago, after I'd blocked this garment and spent some time deliberating over buttons in the fabric store, I finished this project and was quite satisfied.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke: rgb(0, 0, 0);">But I didn't have too long to dwell on my sense of accomplishment, as I had an entire bag of gorgeous yarn, Luma from the Fiber Company, waiting for me in a shopping bag.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke: rgb(0, 0, 0);">I'd splurged on this to make a hoodie</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke: rgb(0, 0, 0);">to wear to the Shetland Isles this summer, but my trip plans changed, and I will now be visiting mainland Scotland and England, but have postponed visiting Shetland until 2019. </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke: rgb(0, 0, 0);">I decided that a hoodie was, perhaps, suited more for the coast of Shetland than the various cities I'll be visiting, so I changed gears and found a design that appealed to me--a long cardigan, but one with a hood that buttons off and on, so now I'm knitting frantically, hoping to finish this Salt (ahoi) cardigan in time for my departure.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">I will probably be knitting the hood in the airport or on a plane or two. And I just might wait to buy buttons until I am in Scotland, although there are over twenty of them, so that's lots of stitching time on my vacation. Of course, if I don't finish my long, warm cardigan, I can pack it away and pull it out for the week or two of winter weather here in the sunny South. </span><br />
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Liz Washburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06301166562236914187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8043113942704297697.post-60553501456012831432017-05-06T18:15:00.003-04:002017-05-06T19:08:28.168-04:00Remember Me<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcbq6j11Q9oOvnYFKh3GSD2XFziaqWWFelsGYXE4uNkCX0cuU9GLuvELebjuOEpmG2uZ1bKuyCA2DcEdu7KqQ0xBY_FBERTZsy1vesUv-AERmkjMmHp5AJ-6p0wZaYw0-KSi5wiH9PKjk/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcbq6j11Q9oOvnYFKh3GSD2XFziaqWWFelsGYXE4uNkCX0cuU9GLuvELebjuOEpmG2uZ1bKuyCA2DcEdu7KqQ0xBY_FBERTZsy1vesUv-AERmkjMmHp5AJ-6p0wZaYw0-KSi5wiH9PKjk/s640/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="444" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My mother is in Amsterdam here, circa 1969. </td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> It is telling that until lately I managed to post to this blog nearly every month. Even though I was busy with two sons, housework and cooking, four pets, an absorbing knitting hobby, and a full-time teaching job, I was inspired to write on a variety of topics and take and edit photographs to accompany my prose. Now that I am caring for a mother with dementia and promoting myself as a real-estate agent, I am finding neither the time nor the inspiration to post regularly. When I do contemplate the blog, I am faced with so many ideas and so much time to cover that I lose momentum and abandon thoughts of getting to work. The question of how to catch up after a hiatus perplexes me and leads to inaction. Plus the fact that I am spending so many hours attempting to develop an online presence as a real estate agent doesn’t motivate me to sit down at the computer to complete additional work in the social media sphere. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> But rather than abandon this blog, which has been a source of both solace and amusement to me over the last several years, I will eschew trying to cover what has transpired during the recent posting gap and focus on one topic—my Purls of Light knitting luncheon, an event I am sponsoring to raise money for the Alzheimer’s Association. I began my involvement with this charity when I signed on with Giving Tree Realty, a real estate agency that is unique as it is rooted (excuse the pun) in community involvement. Each of the company’s agents chooses a charity to support, to which Giving Tree Realty gives a portion of proceeds from each transaction. In turn, agents are encouraged to get actively involved in our respective charities. I began working with Giving Tree Realty at the beginning of 2017, when I had emerged from a two-month whirlwind of activity after learning that my mother had been diagnosed with dementia, so it is natural that I chose the Alzheimer’s Association, an organization with the goal of ending Alzheimer’s and dementia and enhancing care for those living with the disease. </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is my mother, taken last month. She is slowly gaining weight she lost when she was living alone and undiagnosed with dementia. </td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> I have been busy creating fliers, invitations, letters to potential sponsors (yarn companies), reserving my neighborhood community center, and advertising through social media and in person at knitting groups to promote my event, one which will be held on June 24, a Saturday in close proximity to June 21, the summer solstice, or what the Alzheimer’s Association calls “The Longest Day.” On or around “The Longest Day,” the Alzheimer’s Association encourages individuals to do something they love to raise money, so I thought that it would be fitting for me to organize a knitting event. In addition, knitting has been shown to be an activity that is beneficial to staving off Alzheimer’s and dementia, along with helping to alleviate other conditions related to aging, such as Parkinson’s disease.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> As I have planned this event, attempted to begin a career in real estate, completed hours and hours of paperwork related to my mother’s move from her own home in Arizona to an assisted living facility in North Carolina, met with attorneys, social workers, nurses, doctors and assisted living staff, organized a summer trip to Scotland (something I would never have pursued at this time had I not purchased tickets before my mother’s diagnosis), pursued my knitting hobby, dealt with a nineteen-year-old son with some personal issues, and tried to figure out what my daily life is going to look like for the next few years, I have struggled a bit. Coping with a lack of energy, confidence, and optimism while dealing with the rejection that is naturally a part of a novice's sales career has been disheartening, but the Alzheimer’s Association is supporting me through this process and their educational materials are helping me to see that the waves of emotion that have shaken me since my mother’s diagnosis last November are the natural result of the grieving process. Anger, denial, acceptance, depression, guilt at not recognizing the disease sooner—all of these feelings are experienced by those who care for or love someone with Alzheimer’s or dementia. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> So, it’s time to give myself a break and take care of myself a bit, which means not letting my beloved knitting blog lapse or knitting design attempts cease. To commemorate “The Longest Day,” I have designed a simple knitted pansy, to be worn as a corsage or affixed to accessories. The pansy flower gets its name from the French noun <i>pensèe,</i> which can be translated at “thought.” In Victorian times, pansies were believed to symbolize remembrance or were used as a way to say, “I’m thinking of you.” It seems fitting to me that pansies should be a part of raising awareness of Alzheimer’s disease. You can find the pattern here on <a href="http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/remember-me-pansy/report">Ravelry.</a> Knit this simple pansy and wear it on June 21, The Longest Day. I used scrap yarn to make my pin. Any DK yarn will work, or go up in yarn weight and use worsted with a size 7 or 8 needle. You can knit the flower all in one color of yarn, if you prefer.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">If you would like to make a donation to my Longest Day fundraiser through the Alzheimer’s Association, go to <a href="http://act.alz.org/site/TR?px=13197881&amp;fr_id=9704&amp;pg=personal" target="_blank">The Longest Day.</a></span></span><br />
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Finally, even though I said I wasn't going to recap the last few months, I couldn't resist sharing a few photos of the knitting projects I've been working on or have completed. </span> </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the <a href="http://www.ravelry.com/projects/lizwashburn/meadowsweet-shawl">Meadowsweet Shawl, </a>using one skein of Meadow yarn. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I finally finished the <a href="http://www.ravelry.com/projects/lizwashburn/renaissance-crescent">Renaissance Crescent Shawl </a>using Jamieson's Shetland Spindrift. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I didn't follow the pattern exactly and worked this project in the round, cutting a steek when I was done knitting. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is <a href="http://www.ravelry.com/projects/lizwashburn/otter-cove">Otter Cove. </a> I love this sweater's classic styling. I used Dale Garn Falk DK yarn. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I used an Estonian cast-on to begin this sock. The pattern is <a href="http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/toka-socks">Toka Socks </a>from the book <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/First-Frost-Cozy-Folk-Knitting/dp/1620333368/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&qid=1494108201&sr=8-4&keywords=first+frost">First Frost: Cozy Folk Knitting. </a></i></td></tr>
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Liz Washburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06301166562236914187noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8043113942704297697.post-56489353451288947252017-01-22T11:19:00.001-05:002017-01-22T11:25:40.178-05:00I'll Take Manhattan<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Last week, accompanied by my friend, Dawn, and her daughter, Tia, I traveled to New York City, on my annual pilgrimage to Vogue Knitting Live (VKL). Other highlights of my trip included getting to be a member of the audience of <i>The Dr. Oz Show, </i>dining out<i> </i>in a variety of ethnic restaurants, seeing the musical<i> Beautiful, </i>about singer Carol King, and spending a soul-soothing afternoon at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">At VKL I took I took a six-hour class entitled Fresh Fair Isle, taught by designer <a href="http://maryjanemucklestone.com/" target="_blank">Mary Jane Mucklestone.</a> Her class delved into color theory, with a particular focus on color value. (For those unfamiliar with the term, value refers to the lightness or darkness of a color based upon how close it is to white.) Paying particular attention to value is essential when choosing dominant and background colors for Fair Isle knitting.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mary Jane ended our time together by having a class discussion about our creations, where she and the members of the class provided feedback. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My finished samples, not perfect but good practice. (I needed to go down a needle size on the ribbing.)</td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Homework before our class was to cast on 48 stitches and join them in a circle using fingering weight yarn, preferably of the Shetland variety, and to complete eight rows of ribbing. We were also supposed to bring a variety of different colors to use to create fingerless gloves/wrist cuffs. I loved having an excuse to order some Jamieson's Spindrift from <a href="http://www.loveknitting.com/us/" target="_blank">Loveknitting</a> to meet the criteria for this assignment. I do have a wonderful assortment of this yarn sent to me by a dear friend in England, but I’ve already cast on a multi-colored shawl using that yarn. (I really need to get back to that WIP!)</span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This mosaic by Tiffany on display at the Met provides its own lesson in color theory. <br />
Love the blues and greens. </td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">On Friday and Saturday, the marketplace at VKL was jammed, but on Sunday morning the space was less densely packed, so I spent a wonderful couple of hours browsing the stalls and chatting with the vendors. I purchased a gorgeous hand-painted skein of Hedgehog Fibers Kidsilk Lace from Steven Be’s booth that morning. The day before, I’d also bought some balls of <a href="http://www.ravelry.com/yarns/library/rauma-tumi" target="_blank">Rauma Tumi</a> yarn from Wall of Wool and a pattern to make a cowl with geometric colorwork. I tried to be pretty frugal on my trip, so the only other purchases I made were a canvas VKL tote bag and <i>Wrapped in Color, </i>a book of shawl patterns featuring Koigu yarns. </span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">A high point of the trip to the marketplace was the opportunity to meet women representing </span><a href="http://www.shetlandwoolweek.com/crofthoose-hat-on-tour-in-nyc/" style="-webkit-text-stroke: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;" target="_blank">Shetland Wool Week</a><span style="-webkit-text-stroke: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">, including <a href="http://www.shetlandwoolweek.com/free-knitting-pattern/" target="_blank">Crofthoose Hat</a> designer, Ella Gordon.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">One of the trio told me that they were in “culture shock,” so I reassured her that I would most definitely have the same sense when I visit Shetland this coming July.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I am thankful I found the three at a rare quiet moment on Friday night, as they chatted with me for a while and gave me some information that would come in handy on my visit, such as the necessity of renting a car.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">When I expressed a bit of hesitation about driving on the left side (stemming from a harrowing experience in the summer of 2015), they reassured me that traffic was light and that the island where Lerwick is situated isn’t too crowded.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">“You’ll probably see us,” one of them stated. </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Designer Ella Gordon is in the middle. I believe the other two women represent the Shetland Textile Museum. </td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Another positive experience was the chance I had to share knitting confessions on camera, an opportunity provided by <a href="http://www.lionbrand.com/yarn?gclid=Cj0KEQiAzZHEBRD0ivi9_pDzgYMBEiQAtvxt-CzBwNdYVutfx-_b-T5OJy5TsEcopeKRTyH8EyEmxhEaAsAp8P8HAQ" target="_blank">Lion Brand Yarn.</a> Not only did I get to practice my public-speaking skills, I walked away with a bag of goodies that included two skeins of cashmere yarn! </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Now that I’m home, I’m looking forward to viewing <i>The Dr. Oz Show</i> I saw taped (when it appears on TV), and I will have to check out Lion Brand's Facebook page, to see if I made the cut in the compilation of video confessions the company is putting together. It’s definitely time for me to stay put for a while. I went to Costco yesterday and weighed myself down with hundreds of pounds of supplies, so I plan to do a little cooking in the coming days and also to complete real estate broker orientation activities for my new company. I also hope to finish up a shawl I am making. Like the rest of us, I have so much to cast on (and so many WIPs scattered about) and so little time.</span></span></div>
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Liz Washburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06301166562236914187noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8043113942704297697.post-9775190313478171232017-01-01T21:50:00.003-05:002018-10-10T21:10:56.544-04:00Chimichangas on the Sly (or Life Interrupted) <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">I did manage to finish this shawl on my last trip to Arizona. The design, "Plum Lace Shawl," is by Zabeth-Loisel Weiner and the </span><span style="font-size: xx-small;">yarn </span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">is from the Cat Print Hand Dye Collection by Schoppel, color 2153. </span></td></tr>
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<i>This blog post, loosely connected to knitting, is a response to numerous people I've run into lately who've asked me about the status of my fledgling real estate career. </i><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">“How is your real estate career going? Been busy?” I can’t count how many times people have asked me this question in the time that’s elapsed since I passed my real estate exam. My answer should be, “Great! I’m inundated.” Indeed, the market has picked up since the crash of 2008 and people are moving to the Charlotte area in droves. New businesses and roads are under construction, so this locale is booming with hustle and bustle. My answer to such inquiries, however, has been convoluted and lengthy. </span><br />
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The day after I passed my exam, June 18 of 2016, my 22nd wedding anniversary, my husband greeted me with the news that my older teenaged son had once again gotten into some trouble. After a few days spent digesting the latest crisis, the announcement of which cast a gloomy pall on any anniversary and licensing exam celebrations, I set off for Arizona for eight days. I went to visit my mother in Green Valley, a sprawling 55-plus community nestled in the in the desert, roughly 30 miles south of Tucson. My mother was unhealthily thin and, characteristic of her, for at least the last five-or-so years, hesitant to go anywhere except Safeway, Wal-Mart, and the 99-Cent store. I left Green Valley with mixed emotions, relieved to be freed from the spic-and-span environment of my mother’s house, where every aspect of daily life seemed to merit a complex ritual—throwing out the trash involved all sorts of machinations, requiring Ziplock bags, staples, and numerous plastic bins and buckets—but melancholy about how little time I had spent with my mother over the past 24 years since she had moved to Arizona after the loss of her son, my brother. But, as I’d learned once again on this trip, any mention on my part of my mother’s moving to North Carolina invoked rage in her. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">After I’d returned home and set about completing three 30-hour post-licensing real estate classes, my time in Green Valley seemed a hazy dream, I’d thought these courses would be a breeze, but learned that each had a difficult exam, and some required the memorization and use of complex math formulas. Ugh! In-between classes, I dabbled a little bit in my new real estate career, but most of my time was involved in studying, sitting in class, or completing some long-neglected home repairs. Finally, though, towards the end of September, I took the exam for my third-and-final class and drove away from the Superior School with a light heart. As I was sitting at a red light, though, just a few blocks away from the school, I glanced at my silenced cell phone and noticed that I’d had some calls from my husband and from a friend of my mother’s in Arizona. I pulled over into a leafy subdivision in the Ballantyne area of Charlotte and started to return calls. I learned that my mother was not doing well. She’d been suffering from diarrhea, was losing more weight, and seemed very confused. She wanted me to come to Arizona. I made plans to leave in a few days and headed off for a ten-day stint. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">During the time there, I shopped for and cooked three meals a day. Once an inventive gourmet cook, my mother now had an obsession with the sodium content and other nutritional values of her food, a preoccupation related to a previous bout of malnutrition as well as lymphedema in her legs. Cooking for her was maddening. And shopping trips, where my mother spent hours reading the sodium and nutritional content of products and nine-times-out-of-ten rejected those foods, were tedious affairs. Exhausted, one night I decided to serve frozen dinners. I bought five different types of one brand of “healthy” dinners, and, thankfully, there was one in the bunch that my mother, after reading labels, would deign to eat. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">During that time I also took her to a new doctor, an Indian man with a genial bedside manner who specialized in treating patients over 65 years of age. My mother was convinced that a drug she’d been taking had been the cause of her confusion and weight loss. With my cooking and the drug out of her system, and an admonition from the doctor (whom she'd immediately liked and trusted) to ignore sodium content and eat more or be placed in a nursing home, my mother improved some when I was there. She did seem somewhat confused about numbers, time, and the use of the remote control, but these incidents still seemed few and far between. I figured she was just getting older. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">On this trip, for the first time in her life, my mother permitted me to drive her car. I am 52, but she’d been fearful over the years that I might get into a situation that would cause her insurance payments to increase. Her car is ten years old, but had not one single scratch or door ding, as my mother was as obsessive about choosing a remote parking place as she was about her diet and disposal of garbage. Towards the end of this visit, I urged my mother to return home with me, so that I could continue to oversee her cooking and help her to get better, but she refused. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">After I returned to North Carolina in early October, I set about gaining some momentum in my real estate career. I pushed aside worries about my mother. She’d gained some weight during my stay and seemed clearer-headed. I got to working getting ready to set up a table at a fall festival in my neighborhood. I showed a few houses, did some open houses, and attempted to help an elderly lady find a home, a woman I now realize, after my experiences with my own mother, was mired in depression and probably suffered the onset of dementia. I even co-listed a house with my broker-in-charge.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">During the first weekend of November, I attended an inspiring workshop at the beach, one which encouraged me to take care of my attitude and physical health each day before turning my focus to professional activities and one which helped cheer me up a bit after my encounter with the agitated older lady. I returned from those few days at the beach recharged, but, when I walked into my house after the four-hour drive home, I noticed a missed call on my phone from my mother’s doctor. I called him back and he told me that he had diagnosed my mother with dementia. I spoke with her and she informed me that she needed to move to North Carolina, had stopped driving, and would give me her car. Rather than rush westward, I stayed home for a couple of weeks to tackle the logistics of moving my mother. My initial plan was to rent her a house in my neighborhood, but, a few days before I was set to fly to Tucson, that deal fell through, and, after a day spent looking at other rental houses, I had the wise realization that my mother was probably no longer capable of independent living. I visited an assisted living facility near my home and arranged for a respite stay for her there. During this period before my arrival in Green Valley, my mother’s anxiety about moving gained in momentum, as did her fear of staying alone. I hired caregivers to stay with her, at first for a few hours every day or so, and towards the end of time, they remained with her day and night. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I headed for Arizona on Thanksgiving Day and returned to North Carolina with my mother and a dear friend, Dawn (who’d traveled to Green Valley a week before our departure) on December 14. My time in Green Valley were surreal. Save for a few moments the first few days, there was little-to-no time for knitting . . . or reading . . . or social media or real estate. I can’t recall a phone call I made or took (and there were many people with whom I spoke: realtor, cable company, car shipper, newspaper office, doctor, etc.) that was uninterrupted by my mother’s questions and demands. And I was away for the closing day for the house I’d listed. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I typically woke at around 4:00 in the morning (the time change didn’t set well with me) and opened my eyes to my mother standing over the bed, ready to begin her series of demands and questions. I packed 57 boxes, mostly of antiques and artwork, while my mother interrupted every few minutes to tell me how she needed my help or to ask me questions. She would not settle down to sit, even after 10 or more hours on her feet and, when she did rest, my mother would begin listing things we needed to do or discuss. I was cranky and exhausted. While I packed and attempted to coordinate the move, my mother spent 10 days going through old photographs and stayed up the 24 hours before out flight out of Tucson, obsessing about how she would pack some necessary personal-care items. I spent lots of time sneaking items into the trash, not because my mother was hesitant to dispose of things, but because the procedures she used to wrap trash would have significantly slowed down or halted my attempts to pack an entire house's worth of belongings in three weeks. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Dawn was a miracle worker, whose soft-voiced reassurances comforted and settled my mother. And even though Dawn was suffering from a horrible sinus infection when she was in Green Valley, she worked indefatigably and inspired and calmed us with her mealtime prayers. I could feel the urgent pleading in her voice (probably the result of shattered nerves) as she prayed, “Dear Lord, thank you for this meal and for bringing us together in peace . . . “ Dawn also made me peal with laughter when she described my mother and me as vampires, who never slept, and when she asserted that my mother’s ability to be next to us at every moment, even at 3:30 or 4:00 in the morning was “freakishly uncanny.” </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">One night, near the end of our trip, near midnight, Dawn popped out of bed and said, “I can’t find my nose strips!” These are adhesive strips placed across the nose to open nasal air passages, to aid congestion and limit snoring. We both laughed hysterically, maybe a little too much so, as I had just spent three weeks in a house with my mother, who loudly announced every five minutes, “I can’t find my glasses!” “Where are my keys?” </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I’d told Dawn before she came that this trip would not be a vacation, but I believe she’d underestimated the scope of my assertion. On the morning she’d arrived, however, I’d hired a caregiver to stay with my mother for four hours, so that Dawn and I could stop off at San Xavier, a Spanish mission church on an Indian reservation south of Tucson and then grab some lunch. That day, I guiltily ate at a little bistro before we headed to my mother’s, knowing she’d be wondering where we were. (Although my mother’s recent lack of a sense of time did work to our benefit, I suppose.) On another day, when we knew my mother would be having a friend over for a few hours, I informed Dawn. “Go get dressed. Be ready to go as soon as her friend gets here.” Trying to look nonchalant, like teenagers up to no good, we informed my mother that we had a few errands to run and would grab a sandwich or something. Dawn and I then drove to nearby scenic Madiera Canyon and walked a bit. The clock ticking, we ate chimichangas at the Cow Palace in Amado, a dark cowboy-themed bar and restaurant south of Green Valley. The enormous chimichangas that were served on platters were rich and meaty, but I felt rushed and guilty. Somehow, my mother, who’d seemed to spend much of the last 24 years having a busy social life and avoiding me and my family, had become a needy child who wanted me by her side every minute. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">San Xavier lacks one of its domes as it is presently undergoing restoration. </td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The day before our departure, when a long-haired older man with missing teeth saw me working in my mother’s garage stopped in to ask me if he could buy some tools, my mother rushed to my side. She was nervous. “He needs to show you the money,” she kept saying, while he kept talking and talking, about his handyman business, about his wife, about his dog, about his wife’s jewelry. Caught between two streams of dialogue, I felt like my head was going to pop off and bounce down the driveway and into the wash, a nearby irrigation ditch, typically dry but subject to flash flooding when it rained. The coyotes would have been happy, I suppose. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The movers arrived three days before our flight out of Tucson, so I spent three nights on the floor. We were leaving some items to be sold by a Lutheran Church, so Dawn at least had an air mattress and my mother a bed. </td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Food issues were eased on this trip, though, as Julie, a dear friend of my mother’s organized a battalion of my mother and her mutual friends to bring meals every two days. With nary a nutritional content label in sight, my mother ate and ate. And I was freed from grocery shopping trips, which caused anxiety and paralyzing confusion in me about what to purchase. And somehow, despite melt-downs, tears, and tantrums (mostly on the part of my mother but sometimes on my part), we managed to get the house ready to be listed on the market, the moving van came, and the car was picked up by a transport company. After a few days and some last-minute sweeping of items into bags, we drove off in a transport van to the airport. Sleep deprived and brain dead, Dawn and I managed to leave all sorts of items in various airports, including a carry-on bag in the security-check area in Tucson and Dawn’s purse on a chair in the baggage claim area of Charlotte-Douglass airport. Miraculously I was able to recover the purse after it had sat there undisturbed for over 30 minutes. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">My mother is now in her second assisted living facility here in the Charlotte area. She has never been easy! But the first center definitely did have its defects, including a sour-smelling carpet and subpar food. A typical menu featured “Tater Tot Casserole” for lunch and “Chili Dogs” for dinner. Somehow we muddled through Christmas, too, although I never made it to a church service or holiday festivity. I did, however, spend hours each day during the holidays moving furniture and clothes and making trips to the doctor, Target, and Walgreens for toiletries, bedding, clothing, and medicine. (My mother became ill with a severe cough and congestion a few days after her arrival here.)</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The new assisted living place has white tablecloths and decent food. It would be a blessing if my mother could put on a few pounds and have some quality of life there. While her anxiety has significantly abated, she is painfully aware of her condition, adding to an already monumental and difficult transition. While accelerating in intensity in the last couple of months, I believe her illness has been with her a long time, manifesting itself in her <i>uber </i>cleanliness and excessive frugality. My mother, who for years, has not bought shoes and has refused to spend any money for any entertainment except for a cheap lunch once in a while, is planning to purchase some make-up and some new clothes. Beautiful in a classic blonde way as a younger woman, if she can get healthy, she just might shine again. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This picture was taken of my mother as a young wife and mother, while she was <br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">And, as for me, I have a bad cold and stayed in today knitting and drinking tea. I am finishing up a shawl for my friend, Dawn, and ordered some Manos de Uruguay yarn this morning to make a shawl for my mother’s friend Julie. I need to do another for Pat, a woman from Green Valley who has also been a bulwark of support to my mother. I also plan to start work with a new real estate company in a few days. The former broker-in-charge of my previous three-woman company was an inspiring mentor, but, after six months of life in a blur of fits and starts, I am ready to start over. Be reborn as it were. My new real estate firm of 75 agents provides all sorts of formal training. Training I need to point my focus back to my career. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption">This shawl I am knitting for Dawn, one designed by Helene Rush, is appropriately named "Taking Flight." The yarn and pattern are by Knit One, Crochet Too. </td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The latter half of 2016 was a wild ride. It’s time to settle in for the next challenge. I gained a great deal of experience moving my mother and plan to use that to help future elderly clients and their families as they change living situations. I also learned that I desperately need some down time, preferably spent knitting or reading, to replenish my energies. My husband and sons here in North Carolina could benefit from some of my attention, as well. Months ago I’d planned a trip to Vogue Knitting Live in New York and hope that things settle down in the next week or so, so that I can make my flight on January 12. After that, it’s time to stay home a bit. </span></span></div>
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Liz Washburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06301166562236914187noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8043113942704297697.post-66032176247542984572016-09-07T12:26:00.000-04:002016-09-07T13:03:10.353-04:00Green Days <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">A news anchor announced this morning that this summer the Charlotte area has seen 71 days with temperatures in excess of 90 degrees. A steamy, muggy span with afternoons when thunderstorms erupted, making a trip to my backyard after such a downpour feel like a visit to an Indian sweat lodge for a steam bath, minus any residual health benefits. While I’d been aware of the heat, I was shocked to hear that the blistering days had lasted for such a long period. Time has alluded me recently, perhaps because I spent so much of it indoors, taking real estate post-licensing courses, visiting with my mother in her home in Arizona, and engaging in home-repair projects that had been ignored during the last couple of years, when my family faced some challenges that derailed us a bit. Of course, during these dog days, I also spent some significant indoor time knitting. </span></span><br />
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">As I surveyed several recently finished objects, I noticed that these items had something in common—their green color. I wonder if on some subconscious level I hadn’t chosen to work in this verdant hue because it is is such a cool, organic color, one which is easy on the eyes and which transmits a sense of much-needed peace and tranquility. Or maybe I chose green because it represents renewal and change, appropriate at a time when I have transitioned to a new career and there have been alterations in my family’s living situation, as my nineteen-year-old son recently moved out to his own apartment. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">The Flip Top mittens pattern is available from free from <a href="http://www.lionbrand.com/knitting-pattern-flip-top-mittens-1.html" target="_blank">Lion Brand Yarns.</a></span><span style="font-size: 12.8px;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">The colorway of this Malabrigo Yarn<br /> is </span><i style="font-size: 12.8px;">128 Fresco Y Seco. </i></td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">As I examined my green projects and mused about color symbolism, the poem <i>Sir Gawain and the Green Knight</i> came to mind. It is a work which I typically taught toward the beginning of the semester, after starting off with <i>Beowulf. </i> This medieval romance allowed me to escape the cinder block confines of my classroom to sojourn, along with a scant number of equally romantic students, to the age of chivalry with its heroes and high ideals. The story also provides opportunities for explaining allusions and symbolism. The Green Knight himself is reminiscent of the Green Man, an ancient fertility symbol, and the holly bob the knight carries into the hall of Camelot on Christmas Eve is an evergreen, symbolic of life to come after the darkness of winter. Even the Green Knight himself represents rebirth, as he virtually comes back to life as Gawain chops the behemoth’s head off with the knight’s giant green axe: </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">On strong legs and roughly reached through thrashing</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Feet, [Gawain] claimed his lovely head,</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">And carrying it to his horse caught the bridle,</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Stepped in the stirrups and mounted, holding</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">His head by its long green hair, Sitting</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">High and steady in the saddle, as though </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Nothing had happened. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">(Burton Raffel translation)</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3dWXlxojM3pCZHJcBqwD1z-WwEQLfpT-2BJwWfHmD3twqeWPStPchukAl88jznlbG0vqOgDksSjL81pLUDlnRvloBVID6h8wCnxfcDzgxp4A22EfDl-xc-07dcfwKRwCTcXb_pvOFELA/s1600/IMG_3852.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3dWXlxojM3pCZHJcBqwD1z-WwEQLfpT-2BJwWfHmD3twqeWPStPchukAl88jznlbG0vqOgDksSjL81pLUDlnRvloBVID6h8wCnxfcDzgxp4A22EfDl-xc-07dcfwKRwCTcXb_pvOFELA/s640/IMG_3852.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">I used one skein of Cascade Heritage Sock in Moss and this multi-colored Skacel Zauberball to make Stephen West's <a href="http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/chadwick" target="_blank">Chadwick</a> shawl. This ball does have a variety of colors, but the dominant color in the project is green. I have half of this ball leftover and used an entire skein of the moss. </span></td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">As I try to shed off my teacher skin, I cannot approach the fall without thinking of Gawain, Beowulf, the Wife of Bath, and a host of other literary characters, along with some equally idiosyncratic and larger-than-life teenagers, who frequented my universe for the past 24 years. I also can’t help but look back at how a series of sometimes traumatic events surrounded my life change. However, I recently began reading a book, which offered some reassuring insight about the chaotic nature of change. I am not normally a person who reads self-help books, but a woman in one of my real-estate post-licensing classes told me that at one time she had regretfully left a new career in real estate to return to the retail industry because of the frightening nature of real-estate sales, with its commission-based earnings. We talked for a few minutes about fear, and then she pulled a book with a bright yellow cover out of her tote bag, a volume entitled, <i>You Are a Badass. </i> She said, “You need this book.” </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Even though I typically avoid self-help literature, I placed an order on <i>Amazon </i>and have read several chapters so far. The author, Jen Sincero, states that when a person makes a radical change, he or she is “virtually murdering The Big Snooze. And she is going to come at you, rolling pin raised over her head, to beat you back into your old life.” In other words, everything around us might fall apart for a while. We get hit by a bus or the new business we opened burns to the ground. Limiting false beliefs and fears basically constitute “The Big Snooze,” and getting rid of these things isn’t easy. So this reinvention thing might be a slow and sometimes painful process. A believer in a higher power, Sincero also emphasizes that the whole journey is much easier with “faith being greater than your fear.”</span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the <a href="http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/quadro-shrug" target="_blank">Quadro Shrug</a> by Laura Nelkin from <i>Knockout Knits. </i> The circular construction was challenging but kept my interest. The yarn is Cascade Yarns Venezia Sport in the Deep Sea colorway. </td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Funny, though, a week or so ago, I cast on a sweater using Malabrigo Rios, a garment with a yoke striped with vibrant Ravelry Red. And another project I have on the needles, the Uncia hap, uses Fiberspates Vivacious yarns in the Crocus colorway. I’m seeing a trend here, as I have a bag full of bright red worsted in a silk-merino blend that I plan to cast on next, to make a sweater for a Christmas gift. As we head into fall, perhaps the time for my seeking the cool comfort and escape of green is over, and with cooler temperatures not far away, my knitting in scarlet and purple tones will reflect an energetic and passionate moving forward, armed with faith, leaving fear behind. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8jMQZMNRp_6X7HZyik6SRO9QBssTtBuraeeO1deZ8xXRdU7mMvImHtJjHRJoXlB56P4SaDcZYCTeVg6rAKzBIotXMJVaqkl8j2CBGsrrGaCzume4-CFpJrV2O7N5dmdmzEN1vQ2to4Bs/s1600/IMG_4177.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8jMQZMNRp_6X7HZyik6SRO9QBssTtBuraeeO1deZ8xXRdU7mMvImHtJjHRJoXlB56P4SaDcZYCTeVg6rAKzBIotXMJVaqkl8j2CBGsrrGaCzume4-CFpJrV2O7N5dmdmzEN1vQ2to4Bs/s640/IMG_4177.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the yoke of <a href="http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/sprinkle-6" target="_blank">Sprinkle</a> by Juju Vail from <i>Loop's 10. </i></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the start of Lucy Hague's <a href="http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/uncia" target="_blank">Uncia, </a>from Kate Davies' <i>The Book of Haps. </i></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I dragged out this rust-and-scarlet fiber from my hall closet. With fall coming, it seems like it's time to spin again. My wheel has lain idle for many months. <br />
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Here are some photos from a trip last weekend to the Charlotte Regional Farmer's Market, where brightly colored vegetables announced that fall is just around the corner. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'd never seen purple sweet potatoes before. I bought a couple but haven't used them yet. </td></tr>
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Liz Washburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06301166562236914187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8043113942704297697.post-15801872865234339832016-07-09T10:59:00.000-04:002016-07-10T07:12:05.225-04:00Hot Time for Cool-Weather Knitting <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">It’s steamy here in the Carolinas. Last Friday night, I returned from Arizona, where the weather wasn't any better. Monsoon season has taken hold, so heavy rain and sky-scraper-high streaks of lighting (particularly impressive when viewed with the jagged Santa Rita mountain range as a backdrop), filled the skies, when the sun wasn't searing the landscape. But I spent most of my time there indoors with my mother, who doesn't care to venture too far from home, especially when temperatures are over 100 degrees. I found lots of time for knitting. It seems strange that I have been busy working on all sorts of warm-weather projects, when my thoughts should be turning to beaches and swimming pools, not cozy cowls and shawls.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This Day of the Dead fellow is keeping cool in a shop in Tubac, Arizona, a nearby town my mother and I visited when we braved the elements. </td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">But the last few months have been unusual anyway. In mid-June, after a spring spent teaching high school English during the day and taking real estate pre-licensing classes at night, I took and passed my real estate exam. So now I am in a holding pattern, eager to get started with a new career, but just emerging from months spent living at a frenetic pace. So maybe it’s good I have had some relatively idle time away and that the weather is hot, it’s a slow holiday week, and I have time to knit and rest. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The pattern for my Biltmore Gardens cowl may be purchased on <a href="http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/search#query=biltmore gardens" target="_blank">Ravelry</a> or at your local yarn shop. </td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Since my last post I have worked on several cowls.</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Two of them are my own designs.</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I have published the pattern for my Biltmore Gardens cowl on </span><i style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Ravelry,</i><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"> </i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">but I need to find a test-knitter for my King Street cowl (or knit another cowl using this pattern myself) to make certain that the math is correct.</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">With months of calculating square footage, net operating income, changes in profit and equity, etc., I can, however, say with certainty that my math skills have been honed a bit with practice, so if I choose to be my own test knitter, I think I can check my calculations with accuracy.</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I also have three new inexpensive calculators to assist me!</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">(Didn’t want to be unprepared during my licensing exam!)</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq2juGsmKhCaMhxCDnu9Y4r5m00Me9My_JV0R6nj7oGOmE0E95163APgVtAQePbISLz_6CCu3ekmdPDQhaYnhp99O8yhEKS-bdg_Jb2TaKYDs1KBnpWOd9vLvKM85Q7l-Q4scdAq4Ee0o/s1600/IMG_0012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq2juGsmKhCaMhxCDnu9Y4r5m00Me9My_JV0R6nj7oGOmE0E95163APgVtAQePbISLz_6CCu3ekmdPDQhaYnhp99O8yhEKS-bdg_Jb2TaKYDs1KBnpWOd9vLvKM85Q7l-Q4scdAq4Ee0o/s640/IMG_0012.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The yarn used for my King Street cowl is hand-dyed by Debbie Davis, a local shop-owner. The yarn<br />
is "Fifty Shades of Gradient" in the Desert Sunset colorway. This picture was taken a few weeks ago,<br />
before the hot weather set in. </td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I also completed the Delilah cowl designed by Louisa Harding, using her Noema yarn. I’ve made two sweaters with this yarn, so I had enough leftover in my stash to make the small two-skein version. I began this project on my flight to Tucson and sewed in the ends a few days after I’d arrived. I really shouldn’t have cast on anything new in June, as the works in progress situation at my house has reached a bit of a crisis point—in terms of space these items occupy and their ability to pull my already multi-tasked-to-the-max brain in different directions, but I couldn’t bring myself to haul my bigger unfinished items on the plane. A worsted-weight merino sweater or oversized Shetland shawl requiring 18 skeins of different-colored yarn just seemed too hot and bulky to take with me to the desert. So I left them home and once I’d finished the Delilah cowl, I cast on a shawl from Kate Davies’ new <i>The Book of Haps,</i> an accessory which only requires two modest, carry-on friendly balls of Fiberspates Vivacious yarn. Davies’ book comes with a code for a digital download, so I could view the pattern on my iPad and didn’t have to lug the volume with me. The beginning of the book with its historical information about haps and the role of the knitting industry in Shetland made for interesting reading while I was in the air en route home. The historical photos, as well as the engaging images of haps designed by a variety of individuals, included in the book also provided an appealing distraction from dwelling on the monsoon-induced turbulence. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Delilah Cowl by Louisa Harding is perfect to wear in springtime, but the weather in North Carolina is to hot for wearing it in the summer. </td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I particularly found the author’s discussion of the term hap informative. I first heard the word last spring, in the context of a conversation about a trip to the Shetland Islands I am planning for next summer. A well-traveled woman, who is part of our Shetland group, mentioned Gudrun Johnson’s design for a “hap shawl.” Ironically, providing ample proof for the <i>Baeder-Meinhof Phenomenon,</i> since I’ve first heard the term hap that day, it now seems to be turning up everywhere, most notably in Davies' recently published book, which provides an explanation of the etymology and meaning of the word. The author notes how hap is often used to describe a fairly humble and serviceable garment, while shawl is reserved for lighter, lacier, more formal items—think wedding shawl or Christening wrap. Hap, too, has its origin in a verb meaning “to enfold, to cover, to wrap,” so it’s appropriate that the word is used to refer to a practical garment, not merely a decorative one (Davies 7). </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Hap or shawl, I have two on my needles. The <a href="http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/renaissance-crescent" target="_blank">Renaissance Crescent</a> using 18 different colors of Jamieson’s and Smith’s Shetland Yarn which </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">waited patiently at home for me to return from the Southwest</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> and the Uncia hap, cast-on while I was away. Once I finish the final sleeve of a sweater, I’ll get back to these. As I sit in the air conditioning, looking out the window at my fading flowers and patchy brown grass, I envision winter days wrapped in the warmth of these creations. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the start of the Uncia Hap, an asymmetrical accessory. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSssqQbH0tQjFX_NCa67L0C7tBpxNl_uAKdF00F1CUG2EWG3EM8JrNCTcKfis4GYSS1eqc1fSUv-6aeCj1UIkH3VCJpu2apwVOUMlnN9kE7FSuRl0ClqB4aKnXTBBpiqFV9sPSMFIqnR4/s1600/IMG_3885.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSssqQbH0tQjFX_NCa67L0C7tBpxNl_uAKdF00F1CUG2EWG3EM8JrNCTcKfis4GYSS1eqc1fSUv-6aeCj1UIkH3VCJpu2apwVOUMlnN9kE7FSuRl0ClqB4aKnXTBBpiqFV9sPSMFIqnR4/s640/IMG_3885.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is a detail from the Renaissance Crescent shawl. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGjdlhl1PrVEL5bMYKDi5gUaUeMgCf6MKI0vcHxJzZJ9tXl7_fb5kzYo59QBTknStHYKXK41QBsAeH5BEDB2LyPxNFhTAJVwqcvufjUANzXFZFkDu3nM2pmhcxcs6WOnhqXarYI9TNjH4/s1600/IMG_3884.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGjdlhl1PrVEL5bMYKDi5gUaUeMgCf6MKI0vcHxJzZJ9tXl7_fb5kzYo59QBTknStHYKXK41QBsAeH5BEDB2LyPxNFhTAJVwqcvufjUANzXFZFkDu3nM2pmhcxcs6WOnhqXarYI9TNjH4/s640/IMG_3884.jpg" width="620" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The pattern for this shawl instructs the knitter to knit back and forth in rows, but I am working in the round and<br />
using a steek. "Sticky" Shetland yarn is perfect for steeking, and I don't enjoy purling while doing colorwork.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1aD3sQlWtRwlVrEe1UeVVOU5mKKgjdYzOfdGvm_BePeEdKslPj3pbkxBt3fe788nlDXSMcDcY4aRZ0lnChIhdkfRSrfrrbeL_5Ea3YhY-LCdeMP9fKT6wEFZad1YgmyjsyaZmp4lHbbw/s1600/IMG_3689.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1aD3sQlWtRwlVrEe1UeVVOU5mKKgjdYzOfdGvm_BePeEdKslPj3pbkxBt3fe788nlDXSMcDcY4aRZ0lnChIhdkfRSrfrrbeL_5Ea3YhY-LCdeMP9fKT6wEFZad1YgmyjsyaZmp4lHbbw/s640/IMG_3689.jpg" width="554" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I finished this project in June and had to share. This is the Fala sweater made using Berroco Indigo<br />
yarn made from recycled fiber. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyR30gcVtNj3RoNbr_pdKDqI0mjwASFWNDzYim5GWZvKIoY7oFZVY-1XkcNEHtYE5OXvxgeh41hxCXEnCPqugAT5sk_kH4b6maePkQJuQ-Oan7OfReOydPwkWZgWaKyDV94YktaLgrVak/s1600/hat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyR30gcVtNj3RoNbr_pdKDqI0mjwASFWNDzYim5GWZvKIoY7oFZVY-1XkcNEHtYE5OXvxgeh41hxCXEnCPqugAT5sk_kH4b6maePkQJuQ-Oan7OfReOydPwkWZgWaKyDV94YktaLgrVak/s640/hat.jpg" width="628" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is one more project I completed in June, the felted Scholar's Cap, something Thomas Cromwell might have worn. I made this for good friend Mrs. Thomasina Tittlemouse. Check out her gorgeous and inspiring blog <a href="http://mrsthomasinatittlemouse.blogspot.com/">HERE.</a><br />
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Liz Washburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06301166562236914187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8043113942704297697.post-18186020924090205302016-05-06T14:30:00.000-04:002016-05-06T14:30:18.915-04:00Common Threads<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"> </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">A SERGEANT AT THE LAW who paid his calls,</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"> Wary and wise, for clients at St. Paul’s<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"> There also was, of noted excellence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"> Discreet he was, a man to reverence,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"> Or so he seemed, his sayings were so wise.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"> He often had been Justice of Assize<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"> By letter patent, and in full commission.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"> His fame and learning and his high position<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"> Had won him many a robe and many a fee.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"> There was no such conveyance as he;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"> All was fee-simple to his strong digestion,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"> Not one conveyance could be called in question.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> -Geoffrey Chaucer, </span><i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Canterbury Tales</span></i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Fee simple
absolute. Fee simple defeasible. Fee simple determinable. Fee simple defeasible subsequent to a condition
subsequent. For the last couple of
months, my brain has been swimming with such terms, as I prepare to take the
North Carolina Pre-licensing Real Estate Exam. As I juggle attending real
estate classes at night with teaching high school English during
the day, I sometimes stumble on connections between my English curriculum and the
knowledge I’ve attained in my real estate studies. Chaucer’s description of the Sergeant at Law,
with a reference to “fee simple” and “conveyance,” makes more sense to me
now that I am versed in many property ownership terms that have their roots in
English common law. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I also allowed my real estate studies to enhance my classroom instruction when my students were reading <i>Macbeth. </i>In Act I, the king awards the valiant soldier Macbeth with the title of Thane of Cawdor. I explained how the term "title" in current legal parlance means the </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">rights or evidence of ownership in real estate, b</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.5in;">ut in Macbeth's day it denoted not only a fancy form of address (one that was often inherited) but often also the holding of an estate. </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.5in;">(Note the word “estate,” a term with a lofty
heritage that—coupled with the word “real”—denotes </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.5in;">land and anything attached to it.)</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> As one can see, it can be difficult to compartmentalize knowledge. And managing
a hectic schedule while attempting to cook occasional meals, keep the house
halfway habitable, and get some knitting in has been problematic. But I was recently able to complete one
project—the Marianne cardigan from <i>Jane
Austen Knits Fall 2015.</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">In Austen’s novel <i>Sense and Sensibility,</i> Marianne Dashwood
is forced to leave Norland Park, the family estate, to take up residence in a humble
cottage, a dwelling offered to Marianne’s recently-widowed mother and her
children by kindly relatives. The rules
of the time that dictate that the estate go to the male heir—Marianne’s
half-brother—precipitate this relocation, one which translates into a move down the social ladder for Marianne and her sisters, a decline which has implications for the sisters’ chances of securing advantageous marriages. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy8MIJDTL8Jm_zvXpFF8tv0uh5DMW1ppG7yrLj1Zy_InJ9ATGWIAfmcf-H6i70_15LfiTvkACnOdoaE-TRCjD2s2KtbCMwrG4H8BBqHRLT95vRMzitEUwLOydTVTdhoXpcDVHgzcWgrj0/s1600/Picture2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy8MIJDTL8Jm_zvXpFF8tv0uh5DMW1ppG7yrLj1Zy_InJ9ATGWIAfmcf-H6i70_15LfiTvkACnOdoaE-TRCjD2s2KtbCMwrG4H8BBqHRLT95vRMzitEUwLOydTVTdhoXpcDVHgzcWgrj0/s640/Picture2.jpg" width="478" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This photo was taken by Debbie Lee at <a href="http://cottageyarn.com/" target="_blank">Cottage Yarn,</a> the wonderful, well-stocked local yarn shop that supplies most of my stash and the place where I spend a great deal of my time. </td></tr>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Marianne’s character
has always had a place in my affections, as her romantic sensibilities, manifested
in her open unbridled affection for her first love interest, Willoughby, mirror
my own life-long difficulties with sometimes letting my passions and emotions
get the better of me. I can empathize with Marianne when she nearly wastes away, lovesick
from Willoughby’s rejection, as I can recall a time in my early twenties when,
suffering from a broken heart, for months on end I indulged in near-daily bouts of tears and
lived on popcorn and grilled cheese sandwiches, not really
having an appetite or an appreciation for much else. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Of course, sad times do
pass, especially in Austen’s novels, and Marianne eventually finds love built on
a more solid foundation with Colonel Brandon.
She even becomes mistress of a fine estate, with the right of quiet enjoyment (one of the “bundle of legal rights” in real estate lingo), although actual ownership most likely would
have been denied to her during that time period. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN1L8DOEot1oMwiEhkrcLwOk0EZBILRvSEym_KYxD7LPHLIXVL4QGB7aPAoQ_2oBs-5-BTi22_09ldeZ7A9Lc0MB9SIYss5tyzbXnctJxe5XQa7Rfat0ZZ0oVF0PhqLnfx0lgSYejK5ys/s1600/Picture3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN1L8DOEot1oMwiEhkrcLwOk0EZBILRvSEym_KYxD7LPHLIXVL4QGB7aPAoQ_2oBs-5-BTi22_09ldeZ7A9Lc0MB9SIYss5tyzbXnctJxe5XQa7Rfat0ZZ0oVF0PhqLnfx0lgSYejK5ys/s640/Picture3.jpg" width="544" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The sweater I knit
bearing Marianne’s name is a project that I thoroughly enjoyed. The Fiberspates Vivacious yarn creates
beautiful stitch definition, and its tonal effects are subtle enough to not detract
from the complex lace pattern around the bottom of the garment. I am sure Marianne herself would be pleased
with this romantic, lacy cardigan. This item
of “personal property” (a term for movable possessions, also known as chattels or personalty) is sure to become a wardrobe staple I will wear over and over again. Now on to studying and working on some other
knitting projects. About a month to go
until my final exam. . . . <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdAN7RDkxb3nc_zhnnpMFwXJmY799lpveQuhLlUsSa-pAXXNAct6qFWAtA2KloxRWs-oTOrkvZUki7YpvrigvGw6gD0k9w7aZsdMYmSxbXIxY2rRQ7yQlC1zy9EkBm5rq_U8nt1mtyRdY/s1600/IMG_3538.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdAN7RDkxb3nc_zhnnpMFwXJmY799lpveQuhLlUsSa-pAXXNAct6qFWAtA2KloxRWs-oTOrkvZUki7YpvrigvGw6gD0k9w7aZsdMYmSxbXIxY2rRQ7yQlC1zy9EkBm5rq_U8nt1mtyRdY/s640/IMG_3538.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Over spring break, my husband and I made a day trip to Southern Pines, NC, a town with a long history as a center for equestrian activities and golfing. It also has a yarn shop, where I used a gift certificate I'd received at Christmas to purchase enough Ella Rae worsted to make the <a href="http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/silene-cardigan" target="_blank">Siline Cardigan</a> from Loop's tenth anniversary book, <i>Loop 10. </i><br />
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Liz Washburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06301166562236914187noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8043113942704297697.post-80587959334342970432016-03-13T15:23:00.002-04:002016-03-13T16:15:01.010-04:00Cleaning Up and Casting Off<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidb4YJtNLCvzsyPpR3LZDCxcsIGHbadaZBEF1n5mq8HDgCiaDAnpom9i_Kpn9Kmu9WIAUTF1LrqsZKOO1HopIno8BN5wwT21DFplTV9PrRzmcmg0ZCRuJ86wMlJPVDrqaOR-D5uV7jASw/s1600/IMG_3425.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidb4YJtNLCvzsyPpR3LZDCxcsIGHbadaZBEF1n5mq8HDgCiaDAnpom9i_Kpn9Kmu9WIAUTF1LrqsZKOO1HopIno8BN5wwT21DFplTV9PrRzmcmg0ZCRuJ86wMlJPVDrqaOR-D5uV7jASw/s640/IMG_3425.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">This is my special yarn stash, kept in a plastic box under my bed. </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> A couple of years
ago, I received a message from a stranger on Ravelry, a woman who informed me
that she would be happy to send my high school Fiber Arts Club some knitting
needles she no longer used.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I was moved
by this woman’s generosity—even more so when I received a box filled with more
than 20 pairs of quality stainless steel circular needles.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">The fact that someone could part with such
treasures awed me as, at that time, I viewed my personal knitting supplies and
library as sacred items I would hold onto for a lifetime.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">A few months ago, though, with the help of a
friend and the advice from a handy little book by cleaning consultant Marie
Kondo entitled <i>The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up:</i></span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><i> </i></span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><i>The Japanese Art of Decluttering and
Organizing,</i> I have altered this attitude, not only towards my knitting
supplies, but also towards other personal possessions.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I also experienced an epiphany which has, as
the title of the book asserts, been life-altering.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> It all started
before Christmas, at the beginning of my two-week break from school, when I met
two friends and former co-workers for lunch.
I approached this get-together with a bit of a heavy heart. Like most people employed in education, at
the end of the semester, I was exhausted.
I had gained roughly 20-25 pounds during the previous year-and-a-half
I'd been working at my new job, due to stress eating. Every week for months, I’d made a resolution
to eat better, but each evening would return home from work and binge on
carbohydrates. All-in-all, on top of two
months of nearly constant rainfall, that day I was in pretty grim holiday
spirits. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> After complaining
and catching up, I asked one of my friends (and knitting buddy), Tonya,
however, if her teenaged son, who owns a pickup truck, would be interested in
helping me clean out my garage during my time off from school. She contacted him and we made a plan for the
Monday morning following Christmas.
Tonya, who is an energetic chemistry teacher with a flair for home décor
and craft projects, showed up on that misty dark day, too. Revealing my horrendous garage to this
individual—one whose inviting home epitomizes order—was an experience akin to
divulging a shameful and freakish habit on the TV show <i>My Strange Addiction</i>
(although I suppose having a hoarder’s garage isn’t quite as unsavory as
enjoying drinking human blood or eating cat hair). Of course, my visitors were probably
uncomfortable, too—in the manner of Pip in Great Expectations when he first lays
eyes on Mrs. Haversham’s wedding feast. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> With my prompting,
my fifteen-year-old son joined our garage group. Over four hours later—after much laughter and
gracious cajoling from my friend in the form of “Are you going to use this?”
(as she held up items such as a hand-me-down Tupperware pitcher from the 1960s)
or “What is this?” (as she raised up a cast-iron 19th century shoe last), lines
delivered in her charming southern accent, with inflections and drawn-out
vowels that seemed to add to the humorous irony of these inquiries. Seeing my treasures through her eyes
convinced me that I needed to make a change, so after four truckloads of
detritus (including an inflatable boat, an old car stereo, and attachments for
a prehistoric two-ton carpet shampooer) were deposited at The Salvation Army
and after we’d created a mountain of trash in the yard—miracle of miracles, I
was able to drive my car into the garage!
I felt light, as if the proverbial albatross had been removed from my neck, and this sense
of liberation translated itself into days of revived energy, which manifested
itself in my tackling the inside the house to purge it of a great deal of
clutter.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> Taking a break from
many trips to The Salvation Army, a few days later, I headed to Barnes and
Noble, where my eyes lighted on Kondo’s book.
I am not one for self-help books and am typically a bit embarrassed to
stand in the book store perusing them, but, Kondo’s work is more of an
instruction manual and, after reading a few pages, I was intrigued. I’d heard that organizing one’s home can
reverberate and impact other areas of one’s life, and Kondo’s anecdotal evidence
supported this notion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> My experience supports
her assertion, too. I now have a kitchen
where I can actually see the food in my pantry and am not bombarded with an
avalanche of foodstuffs and housewares when I try to extract a sleeve of
crackers from a container or remove a box of pasta from a shelf. Inspired, I also revamped my eating habits
and replaced holiday snacking sessions (including three days spent single-handedly devouring an entire enormous <i>dulche de leche </i>cake from Costco) with eating sensible meals
and snacks of fruit or nuts. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> When it comes to clearing clutter, Kondo’s
mantra to discard objects that do not “spark joy” prompts the most acquisitive
and retentive hoarder to let go. And her
organizing tips are so practical but simple, I feel a bit foolish for not
thinking of them myself. After wrestling
with crammed and messy sock draws for over four decades, I now have a drawer
where every sock is tidy, visible, not uncomfortably stretched (Kondo
attributes human emotions to objects) with room to spare for new acquisitions. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> Kondo also notes that
often when people make radical changes in purging their home environments,
other changes in their lives follow. My
recent experiences seem to confirm her assertions. I have lost weight and can fit back into
skirts I bought last year to wear to my new job. I have also submitted retirement papers to my
place of employment, signed up to take a real estate pre-licensing class, and
am prepared to move forward. I am also
eager keep clearing my house and purging my yarn stash. Kondo doesn’t have any specific tips for
organizing yarn per say, but she has motivated me hold each skein in my hand
and weigh its capacity to elicit joy. I
want to let go of guilt about not using certain skeins and to surround myself
with pleasurable textures and colors that beckon me to use them.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-family: georgia, 'times new roman', serif; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4DL7Ql77JaVLpiYam4Es5OXhpSr9SHFUsYHTOYcoeS-6qsow-FvBu-VT3wC1Kgfm4J2GtfkI-J3h8csTQWJTCUz9chhWTJf_ZessLtoep6D6vW2owyFBQTf2rL0d8zVAsSpw7iryIFRY/s1600/IMG_3390.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4DL7Ql77JaVLpiYam4Es5OXhpSr9SHFUsYHTOYcoeS-6qsow-FvBu-VT3wC1Kgfm4J2GtfkI-J3h8csTQWJTCUz9chhWTJf_ZessLtoep6D6vW2owyFBQTf2rL0d8zVAsSpw7iryIFRY/s640/IMG_3390.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This yarn is a treasured new edition to my stash. Check out the <a href="http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/renaissance-crescent" target="_blank">Renaissance Crescent</a> pattern. I plan to use this yarn to make that gorgeous shawl. </td></tr>
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</span></o:p><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> In the coming months, as I
transition to a much less structured life, one lived outside the bounds of bell
schedules and semesters, I hope to continue to work to let go of negative behaviors
and material objects I’ve held onto for far too long.</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">A few days ago, I purchased Kondo’s second
book, <i>Spark Joy:</i></span><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The Illustrated Guide
to The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up.</span></i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">
</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">If the results of reading Kondo’s first book are any indication, reading
this little volume with its illustrated instructions on specific tidying tasks,
(such as how to fold underwear) will be sure to prompt more life-changing
experiences, maybe even some of those involving knitting and yarn!</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhONtWxCcVeXV4hOauG4wZvitBmiOTviAY3_eSwPTyPxMFBfvdc6hqHGfVfrbYn_qi4BgVk8WljcxZK3asEzw6hXl4yZSPgV-4OcLzm_kNPieHk67wjSrCUkIoRyk1ieiv6GoRzgDqgNI4/s1600/IMG_3430.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhONtWxCcVeXV4hOauG4wZvitBmiOTviAY3_eSwPTyPxMFBfvdc6hqHGfVfrbYn_qi4BgVk8WljcxZK3asEzw6hXl4yZSPgV-4OcLzm_kNPieHk67wjSrCUkIoRyk1ieiv6GoRzgDqgNI4/s640/IMG_3430.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I need to go through these odd balls I yarn I have stashed in an old trunk that's been in my family for a century or so. </td></tr>
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Liz Washburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06301166562236914187noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8043113942704297697.post-9201670090033014362016-03-05T12:14:00.004-05:002016-03-05T18:04:41.014-05:00Marching Forth<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVzmGU2JC-m5PJs-2BBRzspDgOurHe-f9BRuVX7gKG1ukMmehRf4dYYbARCJr2QFPNLn2A3Gf8HUXFYqVPnBL13yLRY4wkHEN5BYWYnL98TJdBs1Sgr8kcoWEp5l4Q5hwwaSe2MWd8PP0/s640/IMG_3406.JPG" width="640" /><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Work without Hope<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> All Nature seems at work. Slugs leave their lair–<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> The bees are stirring–birds are on the wing–<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> And WINTER slumbering in the open air,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> And I, the while, the sole unbusy thing,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Yet well I ken the banks where Amaranths blow,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Have traced the fount whence streams of nectar flow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Bloom, O ye Amaranths! bloom for whom ye may,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> For me ye bloom not! Glide, rich streams, away!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> With lips unbrightened, wreathless brow, I stroll:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> And would you learn the spells that drowse my soul?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> WORK WITHOUT HOPE draws nectar in a sieve,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> And HOPE without an object cannot live.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> By: Samuel Taylor Coleridge<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Lines Composed 21st February 1825</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">In typical North Carolina fashion, traffic-paralyzing ice
storms, tree-toppling gales, and sunny daffodils have all paid calls here within
a month’s time. In the last week, green
shoots have reared their heads, bringing life to my backyard, a grim space with
its shriveled stalks still clinging to their footholds in last year’s pots,
windswept bits of debris, patchy grass, and gigantic eyesore—an overturned
Leyland Cypress tree (a twenty-foot-high victim of a recent storm). With the impending turn of this season, I
find myself at an impasse, a point of no return, so, like the vegetation in my
yard, I can only do one thing—seek the light, throw off the somber coat of
winter, and change with the season. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I am probably being too metaphorical here. This is a knitting blog, after all. And much of knitting is about literal
precision. It is also, however, a
knitting blog written by an English teacher of many years, one, who, after a
series of disturbing personal and professional setbacks, has found herself ready
to cast off from the safe, albeit often stormy, harbor of a secure routine and
paycheck, one who has lost hope in her current professional situation, but,
thankfully, has not lost hope entirely about future endeavors. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-UmJrjQhrF221pnI-EBY2uOf0TkYdnebbY_s6hmQX_czXmF1x1owpQWfD-gRHBrgCVUFHWtbzuX5NE1tWRLqNDZ8wwxC-5_g3FjYKFphWiIUABAOWTvQusQLJwh5aycBetfJubXIr_zI/s1600/IMG_0475+%25284%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-UmJrjQhrF221pnI-EBY2uOf0TkYdnebbY_s6hmQX_czXmF1x1owpQWfD-gRHBrgCVUFHWtbzuX5NE1tWRLqNDZ8wwxC-5_g3FjYKFphWiIUABAOWTvQusQLJwh5aycBetfJubXIr_zI/s640/IMG_0475+%25284%2529.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This <a href="http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/into-the-woods-cowl" target="_blank">Into the Woods cowl </a>was a February project. </td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">At fifty-two, I made the decision this month to leave
teaching to pursue a new career, one that I hope may carry me through the next
decade. This profession offers a bit of
autonomy and flexibility (words I’ve never heard in conjunction with a conversation
about teaching in the state-funded and managed public high schools of my state). While what shape my future schedule will take
is a mystery, in future, I do hope to still be able to squeeze in some time for
knitting each day, and for blogging occasionally, too. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">During the past few months of sleepless nights spent
wrestling with the decision-making demon, knitting has offered solace and
meditative moments, times free from perseverating about my future. Tuesday night sessions with the “Therapy
Group” at Cottage Yarn have also carried me through this rather dark time. This group of women—who have maintained their
sense of humor, <i>joie de vivre,</i> and
creativity while navigating some of life’s deepest troubles—have not only
offered me a diversion from my preoccupation with personal problems, but have
also boosted my self-esteem at a time when I need it most. Whether complimenting my finished objects or
showing that they have faith in my abilities by asking me to oversee the
logistics of planning an international trip for the group (details to follow in
a later post), they have made these past few months if not joyous, at least
bearable. A dear friend in England, who
reassured me that sometimes an individual needs to engage in “recalibrating”
and that “banging our heads on brick walls” isn’t something that God wants us
do and others who have sent me texts with affirming messages, met me for crisis
coffee sessions, or spent hours listening to me work through sadness and anger
have both inspired and supported me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">While this future move requires taking a leap of
faith, I am so thankful for the loving friends who hold my hand while I make
this jump. (Details about future career
to follow.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRnpIGOVk5sRV3N-iokDB_FbVGRzVwiqx3xQOg86tFt7tJk8sfdxOm_IRbS-mK9R5FpHZqJvxLlWtp6mfXiqi-VAXqwRuSX-tB6gjNo7c9Zak5npqCIATGeXqvVWby_zYfuiQLpaK8kD0/s1600/sweater.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRnpIGOVk5sRV3N-iokDB_FbVGRzVwiqx3xQOg86tFt7tJk8sfdxOm_IRbS-mK9R5FpHZqJvxLlWtp6mfXiqi-VAXqwRuSX-tB6gjNo7c9Zak5npqCIATGeXqvVWby_zYfuiQLpaK8kD0/s640/sweater.jpg" width="490" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I finished this M<a href="http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/23-multi-directional-cardigan" target="_blank">ulti-Directional Cardigan </a>in February, too. <br />
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<o:p><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"></span></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVg_ePHyi-qPasZ_mkyx91XJWdRVl53MMlSkuBJN57fdP7fXOLK9q3thXy8IDdYPMlC9yT-eloxb7C1dDPMYtT4WDFjy1u1w5vfk4UU5arC0dw9PyJUCV18TocgLW_8RPGr23haTW1Oxw/s1600/pinkcowl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVg_ePHyi-qPasZ_mkyx91XJWdRVl53MMlSkuBJN57fdP7fXOLK9q3thXy8IDdYPMlC9yT-eloxb7C1dDPMYtT4WDFjy1u1w5vfk4UU5arC0dw9PyJUCV18TocgLW_8RPGr23haTW1Oxw/s640/pinkcowl.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I used Liberty Wool Light to make this <a href="http://www.ravelry.com/projects/annsknits/endless-rose-cowl" target="_blank">Endless Rose Cowl,</a> which I blocked yesterday. <br />
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Liz Washburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06301166562236914187noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8043113942704297697.post-56647858013137047682016-01-23T10:41:00.000-05:002016-01-23T13:08:30.721-05:00Turn, Turn Turn: Time Travels and Vogue Knitting Live<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> Revisiting
places from one’s past is a powerful and sometimes poignant reminder of the turning of the years. Returning to New York four or five years ago, after a 17-year absence, was
such a time, as was last weekend, when I traveled to the city and brought along
my fifteen-year-old son, James. I
combined attending Vogue Knitting Live with spending time with my son and showing
him a bit of Manhattan.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> Late on a Friday afternoon, we flew out of Charlotte. When we arrived at Laguardia and waited outside
in the dark for a bus to the city, a young woman from Georgia and I began to chat. After we’d boarded the bus and rode for a
bit, for some inexplicable reason, the driver told everyone to disembark in Harlem (not the scheduled last stop for this bus). The pretty red-headed woman I’d met, who is
an art teacher, tagged along with James and me to look for a subway station, as
she asserted, “We Southern girls need to stick together!” <i>I have been
living in the South for far too long! </i>I thought, taken aback a bit.<i> </i>I’d
never been called a “Southern girl” or “southerner” for that matter and have
always been aware of my status as a Yankee and an outsider when I’ve found
myself in the thick of southern culture.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> Despite
24 years of living in the South, however, I felt quite at home in the city, as
I’d worked there for five years after college and had spent my teens years
exploring the city where I’d frequently visited my father, who’d lived in
Greenwich Village at the time. After
boarding the subway and taking a short ride, James and I, wheeled suitcases in
tow, ran the gauntlet that is Times Square (think circus combined with
Disneyworld) and checked into the Marriot Marquis. I’d bought tickets for an improv show that
night at a theater in the East Village.
James and I had dinner at a British pub named <a href="https://www.facebook.com/cockandbullnyc" target="_blank">Cock and Bull</a> (where I particularly enjoyed the black-eyed pea salad) and then rode
the subway downtown to the <a href="https://www.ucbtheatre.com/" target="_blank">Upright Citizens Brigade</a> theater. I was a little uneasy about what sort of outlandish
environment I’d be exposing my born-and-raised-in-Carolina son to in the East
Village, but the audience in the small theater seemed to be comprised mostly of
young professionals and while the show, with its line-up of comedians
interspersed with improv skits by the three hosts, did contain some off-color
humor, it was witty and no less shocking than anything on network TV. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> The
next morning, I took advantage of the fact that my teen-aged son, if left to his
own devices, will sleep till well past noon and spent a few hours at the Vogue
Knitting Live marketplace. I bought a kit from <a href="http://www.woolywonkafiber.com/" target="_blank">Wooly Wonka</a> for the <a href="http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/into-the-woods-cowl" target="_blank">Into theWoods Cowl</a> and also purchased a <a href="http://www.theyarnit.com/" target="_blank">Yarnit </a> ball holder and a small hand-held yarn winder (from <a href="http://www.yarnvalet.com/" target="_blank">yarnvalet</a>) but that was the extent of my purchases, whose cost amounted to less
than $100. Not bad, considering two
floors of temptation beckoned me. Of
course, the entire time I shopped, I was aware that I had to feed a
six-foot-two teenager in Manhattan (an expensive proposition) and couldn’t live
on granola bars and one meal a day, as I’d done on my previous visits to Vogue
Knitting Live.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiykBDZxuJpUr_Jeb0uBLjYTdssU5c_nqBNYjL_GoRdD7KizVd5rdUMJiGhaY-VghMplzI5lpxQjaQV2_1kc8iDdItOJjgQ74r2n2r0db_hiFMyLSO390WfIoBCg8f3WGr6Xa47FkBQjFk/s1600/blogger-image--1304004707.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiykBDZxuJpUr_Jeb0uBLjYTdssU5c_nqBNYjL_GoRdD7KizVd5rdUMJiGhaY-VghMplzI5lpxQjaQV2_1kc8iDdItOJjgQ74r2n2r0db_hiFMyLSO390WfIoBCg8f3WGr6Xa47FkBQjFk/s640/blogger-image--1304004707.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I couldn't resist this braid of Finnulgarn yarn in the kit for the Into the Woods Cowl. </td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Around 1:00 that first day, James
and I grabbed hot dogs from a vendor (a small snack for my son) and headed for
a walk downtown, on a surprisingly balmy day (48-50 degrees) for this time of
year. We walked as far as Little Italy,
where James and I shared a wood-fired pizza at <a href="http://www.labellavitanyc.com/" target="_blank">La Bella Vita</a> and then took a
cab to Macy’s, where James bought a jacket, as he had neglected to pack one (teenagers
have different notions about temperature and comfort). That
night, we had dinner at a sports bar, the West End Bar and Grill, and headed to
a performance of <i><a href="http://bookofmormonbroadway.com/tickets" target="_blank">The Book of Mormon.</a></i> Definitely off-color and irreverent, the show
did, however, present a phenomenal display of talent and witty writing. James surprised me by asking me if we could
go to Sardi’s after the show (he’d heard about this New York theater district
fixture somewhere), and I was happy to oblige.
We each had a dessert and soaked in the atmosphere—white tablecloths, red-jacketed waiters, caricatures on the walls, and a sense that the décor hadn’t
changed since the 1950s. I remembered
going there with my father and was struck with the sense of how a place can
stand still, while the people change at an alarming rate. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh97TmYoN08inJ3JoD8sIp474c5vdoUv_3e3_EZ0GHxHxJEvCRd7RWVS_XQ68Ba7Cq4PYpZL66T3IHbrKdzLLBQzVvftAtkdbYXs1torpCozhO7idV_coY0lYIlMl2-R2x3l2V4qNwKO9M/s1600/blogger-image--1108097824.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh97TmYoN08inJ3JoD8sIp474c5vdoUv_3e3_EZ0GHxHxJEvCRd7RWVS_XQ68Ba7Cq4PYpZL66T3IHbrKdzLLBQzVvftAtkdbYXs1torpCozhO7idV_coY0lYIlMl2-R2x3l2V4qNwKO9M/s640/blogger-image--1108097824.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I attempted to sneak this picture of James in Little Italy. He caught me and didn't want his picture taken!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The next day, while James slept off
our busy Saturday, I had a morning class with Amy Singer, entitled Plug + Play
Lace Shawl Design. Even though I was
tired, I was able to start planning my own triangular lace shawl and left the
class inspired, but wishing for more time to work on my own designs. After the class, James and I had lunch at
Irish Pub, <a href="http://emmettolunneys.com/" target="_blank">Emmett O’Lunney's</a> (my restaurant choices were based on providing ample
teen sustenance, rather than personal preferences), and then James and I took a
cab uptown to the Metropolitan Museum, where we explored the Egyptian wing and
the Arms and Armor display. I visited the
Costume Institute, where an exhibit of clothing from the style icon Countess
Jacqueline de Ribes was on display, but didn’t linger, as I didn’t want to have
James remind me for the rest of my life of how I’d tortured him at the
Met. It was difficult, however, to
maintain a Carolina boy’s interest in the museum, when he saw that it was
snowing outside. A walk in the flurries for ten
blocks or so along Central Park made for the perfect New York moment.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The American Wing provides an inside-outside experience. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Central Park is romantic in the snow.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">That evening, James and I attended
another Broadway show, <i><a href="http://schoolofrockthemusical.com/tickets/?gclid=CP_yyKSWwMoCFYQlgQodvOYImA" target="_blank">The School of Rock.</a></i>
Lots of kids and teens made up the audience, one which proved to be a bit unruly before the curtain opened, but settled down once the show
began. While not as witty and biting as <i>The Book of Mormon,</i> the cast with many
children who sang, danced, acted, and played musical instruments did a phenomenal
job. After the show, at a pizza place
near Times Square, I purchased three slices, two bottles of water, and a min-bottle of
wine ($5.99) to take back to the room, and the total was 41
dollars! Talk about gouging tourists! </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view from our room at the Marriott was impressive. </td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The temperature dropped on Monday, but
James and I headed off for a morning stroll to Rockefeller Center, and then it was
back to the hotel to check out, store our bags at the bell hop stand, and meet an old friend of mine, from my college days in the 1980s. At <a href="http://www.cafeundeuxtrois.com/lunch.html" target="_blank">Café Un Deux Trois,</a> we caught up a bit, and he and James became acquainted. Sitting in this roomy French
bistro with its sunny windows and sparkling chandeliers while sipping good
coffee and eating a salmon crepe was food for the spirit before heading back to
the real world—grabbing a cab to Laguardia, waiting for a delayed flight, returning
home to go to bed before nine, and heading out for school before 6 a.m. the
next day! I hope my get-away
sustains me through the coming semester, with its new students and inevitable challenges and uncertainties. I am certain, however, in my thankfulness for the opportunity to show my son a bit of my past and leave him with his own memories. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">StevenBe's booth was filled with people and enticing yarns, such as these skeins from <a href="http://shop.hedgehogfibres.com/" target="_blank">Hedgehog Fibers. </a> </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQUjsKTlI_9vtF8eYxRO7XRHXlIncXwcvxSAfz1NfX5FNhwPcQJN_W7xvxo0XGxNer5Z0bOzlZOmu61vUg-JNRUQKftap91c-YRLUzKCiQ1OA5-Xx8OTFiZb8zDa409-hxUML5CSxMj50/s640/blogger-image--2109580812.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQUjsKTlI_9vtF8eYxRO7XRHXlIncXwcvxSAfz1NfX5FNhwPcQJN_W7xvxo0XGxNer5Z0bOzlZOmu61vUg-JNRUQKftap91c-YRLUzKCiQ1OA5-Xx8OTFiZb8zDa409-hxUML5CSxMj50/s640/blogger-image--2109580812.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Steven Berg of <a href="http://stevenbe.com/" target="_blank">StevenBe</a> talks with a shopper. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCJSY3_F-oyx48qdsh_zOPbE1dj8gHwSY6mplaux3MGfih7OpgTmZs2EQg_ui7aKUFPABFbjO4yDEZuwnVlYGPC7NU6M5U3u_jQAd_3hP2nq5XBMyMKaxc_qbq6fISpmx3nryQuUQ-rGk/s640/blogger-image--2108062954.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCJSY3_F-oyx48qdsh_zOPbE1dj8gHwSY6mplaux3MGfih7OpgTmZs2EQg_ui7aKUFPABFbjO4yDEZuwnVlYGPC7NU6M5U3u_jQAd_3hP2nq5XBMyMKaxc_qbq6fISpmx3nryQuUQ-rGk/s640/blogger-image--2108062954.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://stevenbe.com/jeremy-smith.html" target="_blank">Jeremy Smith</a> of StephenBe graciously posed for a picture for me. </td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiza4LTW71lC8U7iKOshJu8-foh9wLd3eutzGhWMxMRBp_OBccizkd2Cv4qa9qpnXBqDhtQbpex8k-OkySHrrA0ee0rCbjGSPL1wSSUsCqrdTwturE1Zse7kP8SDlZMFKtwvkaql7SFOxI/s640/blogger-image-1839853509.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiza4LTW71lC8U7iKOshJu8-foh9wLd3eutzGhWMxMRBp_OBccizkd2Cv4qa9qpnXBqDhtQbpex8k-OkySHrrA0ee0rCbjGSPL1wSSUsCqrdTwturE1Zse7kP8SDlZMFKtwvkaql7SFOxI/s640/blogger-image-1839853509.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmksjILjp1AhIqzHaP1FzhWhxy-rDnGaTdt6iSqDVCzgYxaMd4u9wc-yqRmJPqy0O4DMK_iDhfzJgUi8VN4z1hbWhUMz3xaFVdupduzHad1G5iWXqMlOQsghhpMbOv0w5VDsmn7SjNB_o/s640/blogger-image-47754391.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmksjILjp1AhIqzHaP1FzhWhxy-rDnGaTdt6iSqDVCzgYxaMd4u9wc-yqRmJPqy0O4DMK_iDhfzJgUi8VN4z1hbWhUMz3xaFVdupduzHad1G5iWXqMlOQsghhpMbOv0w5VDsmn7SjNB_o/s640/blogger-image-47754391.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There were lots of opportunities for yarn sampling. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Attending Vogue Knitting Live is like going to a huge fair, only better!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the vendors (I think he's from <a href="https://verdantgryphon.com/" target="_blank">The Verdant Gryphon</a>) pulls out on Sunday. <br />
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Liz Washburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06301166562236914187noreply@blogger.com1