Cascarones

Flowers from my garden, silver from my grandmother, cascarones from my mother, and a bed for the dogs.

Marie Celeste

Twelve years ago today our second daughter was stillborn.  She never drew breath, never saw our faces, never felt hunger or cold. 

For such a long time I lived with grief.  It was like a member of our family.  One invisible to most, but always shadowing me.  Sitting with me as I tried to eat, sleep, work, care for Isabella.  I couldn't believe others didn't see it when they met me.  No one asked, 'Who's that behind you?'

In public, walking through the grocery store I felt flayed, stripped of my skin and red raw, exposed.  Any breath, any touch might hurt me. I had to be so careful of myself, since I never knew what might send grief running to strangle me, stop me in my tracks.  I learned to avoid pregnant  women, babies and late nights, sappy movies...

Some nights I would lie in bed and cry.   Two pillow nights, I called them.  I'd cry until one side of the pillow was wet, then turn it over. After a while I'd drop that one to the floor and start wetting another before eventually flipping it, too.  I usually fell asleep on the fourth side.

In my bed at night I couldn't believe when Hubby slept through my grief.  I could not imagine that standing on the street, even, my grief was not visible.  A hulking, huge presence shaking the foundations of my home.  And yet he slept.  And people walked by.

But, from here, twelve years on, it's all good.  Not good, in that I'm glad it happened or glad that she's gone.  Just all good now.  

Her presence taught me so much.  My friends, my family are amazing beyond understanding.  Men and women grieve differently -- not better or worse, just differently.  Everyone has a hurt that is following them around, so be forgiving.  I am strong.  My children are precious.   Time really does heal all wounds.

In the end I learned that grief, and its twin, anger, will leave.  They might drop in on occasion, but mainly they will shadow someone else.  So it's OK to be happy and sad and crabby and goofy.  It's OK to just keep going.

Frosty morning

Before taking the girls to school this morning I took these photos.  So strange for a family from the sub-tropics.

 

The red cuffs are finished except for buttons, and photos will be posted accordingly. In the meantime I started on these mitts for the eldest niece.  

They are my first attempt at thumb holes/tubes or whatever you call them. I gently encouraged a tubeless thumb hole, but gorgeous teenagers like proper thumb sleeves, so here we are. 

I have probably worked out a solution and will be attempting a frogging and re-do this morning. Updates to come.  I know you are excited.

Knitting for my niece

I found the pattern at Rhythm of  the Home after seeing it on Ravelry.  I just happened to have some cashmere from my trip to Taos that is exactly like the one at Rhythm. This pair is knitted on size 4 needles following the pattern exactly.  The buttons are recycled from an old linen blouse of mine.

In a hurry to make some last minute gifts for my nieces I found this version at Urban Gypsy, which is simpler.  These are made on size 7 needles with no garter stitches for the 'placket' or the hem (hence the rolling).  

We decided the ribbing needed to be longer, for extra warmth. They are as yet buttonless.  The yarn is Patons lace sequin from Hobby Lobby.  It's got mohair for fluff AND sequins, so it's perfect for a teenage girl.  

One niece down, two to go.

Snow in June!

Driving up the mountain from Durango to Silverton we were watching the temperature drop.  48 F, 46 F, and finally 44 F.  We could see snow on the peaks around us, but, around the corner we were stunned to see snow on the roadside! It was dirty and patchy, but it was snow in Summer.

I whipped into the parking lot and we ran around like children playing in the snow and making snowballs.  It got  in my sandals and between my toes.

Taos Puebleo and My childhood crush.

My beautiful girlfriends and I went to Taos Pueblo this morning. Christel and I were in a shop chatting to the woman when I noticed the name of the owner, Sonny Spruce.

I said, 'I have to tell you a funny story.  Many years ago when I was about 11 or 12 years old I was here with my family watching some dancers when I fell in love with one.  After the dances my mother urged me to go and talk to him.  I asked him what his name was and he said it was Sonny.  Tongue-tied I turned and fled.' 

 

She laughed and said, 'That's my uncle!' Apparently he's the only Sonny around, and he's always been a dancer and a ladies' man. On the wall was a magazine cover from about that time.  She took me next door to meet her mother, Sonny's sister.  She told stories about having to go rescue Sonny from over-enthusiastic admirers.  We all had a laugh and I told them to say hello to him for me. 

They said he was single and I quickly replied I was happily married.