This is my favorite blogoshpere tradition, particularly because it coincides with Imbolc and with my Mom’s birthday.  And this is one of my favorite poems.  It’s one I return to  time and time again.  I love Nuala Ni Dhomhnaill’s writing, particularly for the way she intertwines the natural world with mythology and entagles her daily experiences in that web.   This poem has been a comfort on some of the hardest days of my life.   It echoed in my head when Scott was in that terrible car accident a few years ago, and when our dear friend Mike died last spring, and it’s been a touchstone as I’ve tried to help my Mom and other people I love heal from cancer and injuries and the myriad things each day dawns on.  Because, truly, what matters is using what we have to make things as safe and warm as we can for the people we love, all the while watching the world go on around us. 

Aubade
Written by Nuala Ni Dhomhnaill, translated by Michael Longley

It’s all the same to morning what it dawns on —
On the bickering of jackdaws in leafy trees;
On that dandy from the wetlands, the green mallard’s
Stylish glissando among reeds; on the moorhen
Whose white petticoat flickers around the boghole;
On the oystercatcher on tiptoe at low tide.

It’s all the same to the sun what it rises on —
On the windows in houses in Georgian squares;
On bees swarming to blitz suburban gardens;
On young couples yawning in unison before
They do it again; on dew like sweat or tears
On lilies and roses; on your bare shoulders.

But it isn’t all the same to us that night-time
Runs out; that we must make do with today’s
Happenings, and stoop and somehow glue together
The silly little shards of our lives, so that
Our children can drink water from broken bowls,
Not from cupped hands. It isn’t the same at all.

I’ve not been much of a record keeper, lately.  There were additional computer problems, the usual chaos of the holidays, real snowfall, visiting dogs, new furniture, work, knitting, baking, and who knows what else.  But I’m here, and all is well.  To make up for my laziness and absence, I will charm you with pictures of Kaio the Wonderful.

We were camping back at our old Samhain site near Charlottesville, and our old water-and-snow dog could not bear to stay out of the icy river.

Here is my best news: my Mom is done with chemo proper.  She will start radiation next month, and will continue receiving herceptin infusions through next autumn.  She was fortunate enough to have relatively mild side effects from the chemo, in part because of the meds she received and in part because she is a trooper.  I’ve been able to escort Mom to her weekly infusions, which has been a real treat, believe it or not.  It’s fantastic to spend time with her, and to see that she is getting such excellent care and tolerating the treatment so well.  Other family members have joined us many times as well.  You know you’re doing something right when your loved ones test the limits of the guest policy at the cencer center.

My second best news: we ended up replacing some furniture, which is unduly exciting to me.  First, our old flat-pack cheapo dressers started spitting out ball bearings and just generally falling apart.  Wonder of wonders, we were able to freecycle them, and to find affordable new Mission-style dressers made of wood.  Actual wood.  And we replaced our adorable Marsh Hoosier, which was just the wrong shape for the space, with this great Mission cabinet. Some dear friends of ours are taking the Hoosier, which makes it even better–the only thing better than finding that perfect thing is knowing that the not-quite-perfect-thing it displaces will be appreciated and used.

I love the fact that most of the pottery in that cabinet is made by, in descending order of volume:
* One of my dearest friends.  Many of those pieces were also carved or glazed by other dear friends
* A Canadian potter I respect and love to share stories and drinks with
* Three potters I regularly beg to charge more for their work
* Several friends who throw now and again; and as-yet-unmet artisans whose work I cherish.

I made a chocolate and hazelnut Yule Log for Christmas, which was delicious.  I am a dedicated Nutella lover, and I promise you that homemade chocolate hazelnut butter kicks the store-bought stuff square in the ass.  My niece Talia was gracious enough to help me decorate the cake, which we then destroyed.

There has been some knitting going on, but it seems to be less of an occupation than usual thanks to all of the reorganization and purging going on.  I have more to show you, but too little light.

Hedgerow mitts for my friend and Sis-in-law Tchula:

and for my step-dad, he of the perpetually cold hands and all-things-red:

and some socks in Mini Mochi for me.  I predict they will die a quick death–pretty but weak, this yarn.

I hope 2010 is treating you all gently.

At long last . . . proof that I’ve been out and about with my camera.

After a long day at Rhinebeck:

Clara signing the Knitters Book of Wool at the KR Retreat

A Hedgerow Gathering.

Minh, waiting to get into the marketplace at the KR retreat:

More soon!

Scott fixed my laptop. I need to reload, you know, everything, but I’m so glad I don’t need to buy a new one. La.

I’m still awaiting the return of my laptop, crossing my fingers that it will come home in full working order.

In the meantime, I went to the Knitters’ Review retreat, and it was as wonderful as ever. I am perennially astounded by the wonderful teachers, merchants, and guests Clara rounds up every year. The classes were a treat, the stash lounge was staggering, and the marketplace just plain floored me. I got to spend time with my dear knitting friends–which is my strongest draw to return each year–and to travel to such a beautiful part of the country. I’ll try to be patient as I wait for the next retreat, but I’m sure I’ll fail. I’d like to do the whole thing over again right now right now.

Thanksgiving with my family was wonderful. My Mom is still responding well to chemo and in great health, and it was great to come together and celebrate as a family.

Tomorrow, we’re getting together for Booksgiving. I’m cooking like mad, and we’ve been cleaning and sorting through books and doing all of those outdoor chores that build up at this time of year. I’m not quite sure how we’ll get everything done, but we’ll try. And even if we don’t, an evening with friends and family with good food and wine and lots of free books can’t be bad, you know?

I hope you’re all well, and I hope my camera and I can get reacquainted with my laptop in a couple of days so I can show you some portion of my doings these last several weeks.

Do you know what I love even more than knitting? Reading.

Do you know who I still miss every single day? Our dear friend Mike Dobbs, who died far too young this spring.

Mike was a Reader. He read with a voracity and speed I envy beyond rubies. He’d read anything. He’d occasionally read 100 pages into a book, pause to scratch his head, and then collapse into giggles over how long it took him to figure out that a particular novel was so predictable because he’d already read it.

Mike left a library full of thousands of books. It’s hard to give away as many books as he left, though his family and friends have been trying to disperse them all into grateful hands. He loved to read, and his family loves to read, and most of his friends love to read. That love of reading should be Mike’s legacy, and I think we can help spread his word-fame a bit together.

We held a dinner party in Mike’s honor every year after he moved to California. He’d come into town for Thanksgiving, and his many friends would all gather at our place the Saturday after turkey to see him all at once so we wouldn’t have to jockey for time in his all too brief visit. This year, we have to gather without Mike, but we can take the opportunity to honor him. Whether you knew Mike or not, you must know how vital reading is. And you may know how terribly libraries are suffering throughout the US.

I’d like to ask everyone to set aside just a little something for libraries and literacy this autumn. Whether you donate a couple of bucks or books to a literacy charity or your local library’s book sale; or volunteer to work a few hours at a library or for a literacy organization; or whether you just give a book you loved to someone else so that they can have something wonderful to read. Every little bit helps. I’ll be perusing my shelves, picking out books I think Mike would want more people to read, inscribing notes about Mike inside their covers, and giving them to the cancer center where my Mom goes for chemo and to my local library’s booksale.

If you decide to celebrate Booksgiving, please let me know. I’d like to do this every year, for Mike, and for all of the librarians who are facing lay-offs; all of the communities who are watching their libraries cut back their hours; all of the students and starving artists who just can’t buy all of the books they wish they could; and for all of the kids who don’t have books at hand in their homes or schools.

And then my hard drive died. Sigh.

I have so much to tell you, but the laptop is pretending to be a brick, and it’s just one hard thing too many.  I know it’s not really a brick, and I’m hopeful that all will be well once Scot installs the new (bigger! faster!) hard drive that’s winging its way to us.  But, damn, this year is just a pain. 

While I’ve been living under a rock, I made some Hedgerow Mitts to give as a gift, went to a great Halloween party, had a blast at Rhinebeck, went camping with friends, frogged a commercial sweater that was never quite right so I could use the yarn some other way, knit on a few other things, gardened, spent time with my Mom, and hosted one of my favorite Kansans.  There was also a decent amount of baking, and lots of reading, and some serious cogitation on the FTC’s new ruling on bloggers disclosure and best how to handle it on Books for Ears.

I won’t pretend I’ll ever be able to catch up correctly. Blogging works best when it’s timely and relaxed, and it feels like nothing is ever either of those things this year. Thankfully, I know that none of you are grinding your teeth, angry that I don’t post often enough.

I’m now so sucked into playing with the fancy new camera that I am not happy with any of the photographs I’m taking.  Any of them.  And yet, I want to document things I’m making and seeing.  So I’ll suck it up as best I can.

The leaf-lace shawl is blocked and ready for my Mom.

Blocking this reminded me of how much I hate my current blocking surface options.  There was a lot of cussing, and mattress moving, and cat-chasing.  I’ve held off on getting anything else for so long, but I think I need to consider a board or mats or something.  Cashmere/mink lace shouldn’t sit around for weeks unblocked.  It’s just wrong.

I made some very simple toe-up socks.  I think this is fortissima, but the ball-band was long gone.

Our new bush-form copper beech tree is settling in nicely, and just starting to turn.

I’m scrambling to get ready for Rhinebeck.  I’ve made a couple of dozen new bags, and will be working at the Spirit Trail booth again.  Stop by if you’re at the festival.

Lord a’mercy, I do let things slide.  I’ve finished a couple of pairs of socks I haven’t shown you, added a beautiful new tree to the garden to whom I have not introduced you, been to a fantastic music festival I haven’t talked about, read some huge number of books I haven’t reviewed, experienced a computer crisis too torturous to detail in full, and just generally kept to myself more than usual.

Most importantly: I escorted my Mom to her first chemo treatment last week, and things went very well.  We liked her infusion nurse, the port worked correctly, and she reacted well to the chemo meds.  We’ll be heading back there every three weeks, and I’m hoping she is lucky enough not to have too many side effects.  She has decided she doesn’t want her new shawl to be dyed, so that is washed and I’m hoping to block it tonight.  I’m still looking for good hat patterns for her, since I have another skein of the cashmere/mink.

Photo sorting  and storage combined with huge music libraries makes laptops and ipods and cameras stop functioning.  Wireless networking can run terribly afoul of anti-virus software and firewalls.  Moving iTunes is more distressing and painful than actually moving and organizing my real, physical music library has ever been.  (Those, combined, are the real reason for my absence of late.  The multitudinous shiny black contraptions have had tantrums galore, and are not quite ready to play nicely together yet.  I desperately need to updated my ipod, and I’m hoping tonight will be the night.)

I intend to get back in the studio to sew some bags for Rhinebeck, but the garden is just so fun to work on at this time of year. Moreover, my sewing machine and serger both have computers in them.  And, perhaps, despite my career and Scott’s career and the source of almost all of our money . . . I don’t think I like computers anymore.

Watermelon Park Fest was great this year, though the rains did dampen the fun on Saturday.

Scandinavian mysteries are addictive.

Blah blah blah.

Taking a break from wallowing in Wyoming photos and schlepping audio files over to the big shiny networked external hard-drive to help out a pal.  A few years ago, I met Eva at the Knitters Review retreat and I liked her instantly.  She is smart and funny and kind and she knits beautiful things–sometimes out of dog hair.  Eva wants to go to Antarctica, and you can help send her.  Please do.