Playing Catch-Up With Myself

There is no knitting in this post. I figure I should just come out with that up front.  This is all personal kind of stuff. There should be knitting next time, as I am working on a design and on Gene's ancient Dale sweater. You should know that before you continue on. It's only fair.

I am exceptionally skilled at denial. In fact, if it were a sport I would be an Olympic champion. If it were a career path I would be bringing down six figures with ease, and the first one would be a 2, at least. I don't think. I just do. I try not to ponder, wonder, or question. I just forge ahead mostly thoughtlessly. I find it very successful. Most of the time...

Until the denial confronts me in a painful way, or in a way that just makes me stop and recognize what has transpired. Today the reality of my life over the last 5 years is coming back on me as a result of a decision we made yesterday to bring a new puppy into our lives. It seems strange that a small ball of fur can have such an impact on me, but there it is. The last five years are tumbling onto my head and with them, the realization that my life has changed so dramatically and so rapidly, and at times has been so out of control, that it's no wonder I haven't really been able to keep up. In fact, only by reviewing the blog was I able to put it all together. Sad but true - I had to read my own blog to figure out what I've been doing for the past 5 years. Such is my life, and the denial I choose to live by.

In the last 5 years I: wrote one book, then another, and another in rapid succession. I flew a lot, and I HATE flying. I traveled, I met people, I had an amazing journey. My mother got scary-sick, then better, than sicker still, then better again and so on. Today she's ok, more or less, most of the time. She's safe and cared for which is more to the point. I lost Kioshi, the second best dog I've ever owned, the first being an amazing mutt named Lady Anne that I had when I was 8. I lost my best friend in a fight of that typically female type that I despise - but I had, it seems, reached a tipping point on a thousand small things, and I let the whole relationship fall apart over one of them rather than confront or discuss the rest. I got sick and didn't know why, then found out why - Lyme - and spent a year sucking down the kind of drugs I routinely refuse to take. I was gifted with an amazing and beautiful granddaughter, and more recently two daughters in law. I expanded the farm from a few chickens to lay eggs for us to provide meat and eggs to a decent handful of local customers. We added bees. We planted trees. We put solar panels on the roof for hot water. It hasn't been a particularly uneventful few years.

In between all of that (more or less) big stuff - and I know I've forgotten some that are probably even bigger - were a million little things; ups and downs, moments, hours, days and weeks of stress and anxiety, work and exhaustion with occasional outbursts of joy in between. Through it all I never really gave myself a break. If I fell apart, I tried to pull myself up and get back to it - I may have made a lot of noise, but in the end I got it done. If I felt like I needed a nap, that was too bad, naps are for wimps. If I took a nap, I felt guilty for a week. If I had done enough and was at the end of my rope and something else came up? I pretty much just did it, often kicking and screaming the whole way.

In short, I have pushed myself just about as far and as hard as I ever have. And on a rapid approach to 44, I am feeling it, and I need to start thinking about whether I want to keep up with that attitude. And how long I can keep up with it.

I have been musing lately on where I am now; what my plans for the future are, how I want the next few years to look. Some of this has been spurred on by the experiences of others. No, I have not had, nor do I plan on having, a heart attack. But do I need to push myself to one in order to learn a lesson from someone else's experience? I'd like to think I am smarter than that.

Most of the time I think I just need a break. Not just a little vacation to the Cape, but a more significant break, like a half a year or so of non-work. At other times I think I need to work more; that not working is just giving in to weakness. Maybe I just need to learn to balance. Still other times I think I need something new in my life, something to inspire me and give me hope and joy just by breathing in the same space. Something fun, something emotionally rewarding on a personal level.

After we put Kioshi down in 2007 there was a lot of thought about what our next dog would look like. It would, I decided, be a dog that was a go-getter, someone with mental skills greater than the charming but dense sap that is Boo-Boo - and don't get me wrong here, I adore him. But the differences between a Bernese Mountain Dog and an Akita in terms of mental processes are something akin to the differences between a stump and a toddler who's reading at 2. I miss the agile Akita mind. I thought a lot about the decisions we had needed to make about Kioshi's treatment that were based on financial issues versus what she really needed medically. Authoring is not exactly lucrative. $350 a week for human pharmaceuticals wasn't in the cards for Kioshi. Had she weighed 20 pounds and not 80, things might have been very different. And then, before we could cement a choice of shelter v. breeder, boy v. girl, big v. small, I was confronted with a difficult choice.

Dazee the Pekingese needed a home. And really, it was me who'd put her in that position. Over a few months I had effectively taken away everything that gave my mother joy - her job, her freedom, and her dog. A choice needed to be made. Should I hand the dog over to a rescue or a shelter and try to re-home it? Or should I bring the animal into my home so that at least she could visit my mother? Well, if you've been following this blog, you know what I chose. I kept the Peke. And then, without a lot of warning, she was gone; a victim of kidney failure, cause unknown. Did she eat one too many dropped pills at my mother's house? Did she get a piece of a food she shouldn't have? Or something outside that my "Drop it!" could not force her to give up? It didn't matter.

I spent a lot of money and a lot of time developing a relationship with her so that we could live together. She had been spoiled in her former home. At 8 years old, she bit, snarled and snapped to get her way. She hated all dogs, and many people. She could not walk nicely on a leash, and she peed and pooped all over my house. I took her to school. I housebroke her. She became an AKC Canine Good Citizen and started learning rally obedience which I had so much fun with, and she did well at it as long as no strange dogs came into the room. She had her moments of charm, and she taught me a lot about myself and about small dogs. But she wasn't ever really my dog.

This brings us to today.

Meet Yoshi, or the Dog Currently Known as Yoshi:

He is a Shiba Inu from Cape Cod Shibas. I am confidently hopeful that by mid-February he will be living here with me - my schedule doesn't allow for him to come here much before then.

We met him yesterday and wore him out with lessons on fetch and a lot of play time and bonding. There's even video here, and here and here, if you want to see (you should - he's AMAZING!).

I just figured out at least one thing that I need.

Bewildered and Bemused, For Now

It's pretty typical of me to skip the New Years blog entry thing. I know a lot of people do it. But then I am contrary in general so it's not a surprise really that I resist resolutions and recaps.
We did go out for New Years' Eve this year, for the first time ever. We went to First Night Northampton which was, frankly, a total, utter bust. But we had good company -

Newlyweds (how long can we call them that?) Brendon and Selina and their adopted and troublesome Balloon Baby. Brendon does not like Balloon Baby. I am not sure if it was the baby part, or the part where it just was not behaving well at times.

We had a good time with them in spite of the lame (sorry Northampton, but really. Lame. Sad and lame.) First Night "celebration". I think I was expecting more - maybe some shops open, maybe some street vendors selling cocoa and street food; that sort of thing. We are told that Boston is better. Maybe next year. We came home early, which was fine with me. At least I got to stay awake until midnight - 2 am actually. Someone had to keep an eye on these two.

Brendon and Meg and Gene and I played Mario Party 8 on the Wii. Selina went to sleep, although how she slept through these two and their, shall we say, 'youthful celebrating', I don't know. Brendon tried to find the ball drop on the laptop. Gene and I kissed in the New Year while watching him surf for it. I also beat everyone at Mario Party, which should give you an idea of just how celebratory they were. The next morning there were some long faces, and I don't think it was losing the game that did it to them. Ahh, youth!
Meg was given (yes, GIVEN!) a Majacraft Susie Pro yesterday. I brought it home for her and really felt that, as her mother, it was my moral obligation to oil it up and - of course - take it for a test drive. It's a tough job, taking bullets like this for my kids, but that's what motherhood is al about. I'd love to convince her that it's too much wheel for her, buy myself a pound of something awesome, and spin the rest of winter away. I have always been an Ashford girl, but I feel my head being turned by this wheel. We have a "no new wheel" policy in effect here, and technically this one coming in means one should leave. So far gene hasn't noticed, so maybe we're safe.

It spins like a dream. A little rattly and loud which I think is the platic bobbins, but that's more than compensated for by the smoothness and the wide ratios. A little oil here and there and it quieted down some. I may be in love. There may be jealousy. But I will get over it, in time!
I've been trying to work on this sweater in my spare time. This is Gene's Dale sweater that I started...oh...a little while ago. The yarn is Dale of Norway Hauk which I am not loving. I am finding that it is biasing in stockinette, overspun out of the skein, which is frustrating. Maybe I just got a bad bag, but there it is. In fact, the Jo Sharp DK Wool I am using for the contrast? I wish the whole sweater was made of it.

This sweater has a story, but it's a pretty embarrassing one. Once upon a time in a December past we were at Epcot Center at Disney World in the Norway pavilion. Norway has this really silly but essential ride called Maelstrom (there are trolls, waterfalls, and a movie called "Spirit of Norway" that I always sit through. I also always cry when the kid touches the boat. If you have been, you know what I mean, and I bet you sniffle, too). After the movie you are dumped into a string of little shops featuring noxious Norwegian perfumes, delicious Norwegian candy, Dale of Norway Learn to Knit kits, and a large selection of Helly Hansen and Dale of Norway garments. Gene pointed at a black men's henley and said "I like that. I'd wear that." He didn't say "Will you knit that for me?". He didn't have to.
I bought the yarn after Christmas that year, and I cast on. Ten or twelve inches into the body something didn't seem quite right (can you say "gauge"?). And I didn't like the yarn I'd chosen. (Classic Elite Wings - it just did not have the rugged stability I wanted for this garment). Back to Webs I went in search of a new yarn - the Wings was ripped out and eventually knit into something completely different. What December, you ask? Well. The notes here indicate that I cast on in this year:

I bought the yarn in January. Which means he saw the sweater in December 2004. Which is embarrassing given that this is 2011, and I knit "for a living" so to speak. And the sweater is still not done. In fact, up until a couple of weeks ago it was just a lower body. Today it has a finished back and the beginnings of a front. If I had a resolution for the new year, this would be it: finish the Dale sweater by February 2nd. Of THIS year.
As you can see, there's been some frustration along the way. The thing has languished in it's own basket with it's pattern and pen and yarn labels and such since 2005. In an attempt to end the bad juju I made some changes.

First, it has a Lexie Barnes bag of it's own. Second, it is next to my chair and may not move until it's blocked. Third, I got a different color pen. And fourth? I actually pick it up and knit on it once in a while. There's hope. But then... but then this arrived in my mail box and now I have a problem. Not only am I distracted from work and knitting only things I want to knit without any sort of guilt or shame, now there's cashmere and silk in my house, in my line of vision, and al of a sudden "Poor Gene" and his "poor sweater" seem pale and not worthy of my energy.

Throw a little Spirit Trail Neith in the colorway Brown Eyed Girl and I am just all kinds of distracted. What could it be... something just for me, after all, since my eyes are brown...
Last week Army Boy married Army Fiancee (now Army Wife) in a typically hasty civil ceremony arranged on nearly the last day of his Christmas leave. Paperwork was filed and the words spoken over them by the best optometrist (six years running) in Brattleboro, Vermont, Dr. Peter Duff. In a few short weeks he went from unemployed single father to married man with a career and seemingly unlimited prospects.

The wedding reminds me a little of my dad saying that you could get married in the town hall, and put your baby to bed in a dresser drawer (on the floor, mind you, not in the dresser!) and have a blissful, wonderful life. He's right. What do we need, really, in the end? Money? Fancy dress? A cake bigger than the flower girl? A $500 crib and an infant-sized wardrobe to rival that of a Hollywood baby? No, really, we don't need any of that. Love is what we need. That's it.
It's a crazy world we live in and a crazy life we lead. I gave birth to that boy just a few short years ago, and now he's all old, and even married.

Go forth, new Army Family, into the big wide world and make a life for yourselves. What you are to be you are now becoming. Make it good, guys, because there are no dress rehearsals. You get one shot. You have it in you to make it count. And I know you can.

The Year is Nearly New

We had a wonderful holiday here and I hope yours was good too! We are gearing up for our first New Years out. Yes, you heard me. First New Years not tucked safely at home. I am kind of excited, and kind of nervous that maybe at 43 I am too, shall we say, 'mature' to begin living like it's 1985, but we will see. Wish me luck.

I knit a sweater for my mother-in-law's puppy, Max, in the 24 hours before Christmas Eve. I wanted a picture, but did not have a model, so I grabbed the closest thing.

Mel! Now, some of you may know that Mel was rescued by us (Girl, really) from a shelter after he'd been found wandering the streets, and had just come back to the shelter after a bad 24-hour adoption experience that left him labeled as "viscious" by his 24-hour-adopter. You can see from the picture above that he's a brutal beast. Terrifying even. I even still have all ten fingers AND my face! The pattern is a Drops Design and the yarn Berroco Comfort. I did make some modifications as I went along; the hood was left off, and stitch pick-ups for the legs were based on ratio not numbers.

Dinner here Christmas Eve day with three of our four kids and their partners/spouses was a lot of fun. Starting with Mr. Wonderful at the head of the table (far right) and going counter clockwise around the table, that's Rachel and Eric, Megan and Jeroth, and Selina and Brendon, the newlyweds.

It was a good day with lots of good food and good company. It's nice when kids are grown up and have learned to get along. Not once did I have to smack any heads together. They all got along like regular grown-ups. I am so proud.

In and around the holiday fray, I have been working on editing the new book. In my spare time I knit up owl hats with Katy's Owls and Tigers and Zebras, Oh My pattern:

(their faces will be along shortly!) and I work on this shawl:

I am loving it in a lot of ways. I love the way the beads sit on the yarn like fat water drops. I love the subtle (and difficult to catch with a camera) glow of the yarn which contains a good amount of tencel.

I love the rippling motion of the stitch pattern. The yarn is Buffalo Gold Moon and the pattern is my own. The beads are from Webs Beads. The pattern will be available someday, somewhere, but I can't say yet!

In the meantime, check out the pattern shop and grab yourself a copy of my new Moon and Stars Socks pattern!

I heard a rumor that there will be a knit-a-long with this pattern on Ravelry. Although Stella, the yarn the sample socks are knit in, is not currently available Carol's beautifully dyed Luna makes an excellent substitute. A little bunny tells me that until January 3, 2011 a 10% discount will automatically be applied at check out... ok, I read it on Facebook, but still - a deal is a deal!

This weekend our annual family Christmas on Sunday at my Dad's was cancelled due to an impending blizzard. I had planned to make a Butternut Squash Soup with the Vitamix, and had already cooked up the squash the day before. No one here likes that soup except me. After a couple of days of contemplation I decided to use up a few leftovers, including the squash. I present for you here my solution to leftover cooked squash, spinach, chicken and bits from the holiday cheese board. It has no name, unless we want to call it something like:

"Leftover Butternut Spinach Chicken Cheese Casserole"

1.5 cups chopped cooked chicken
1.5 cups cooked butternut squash, chopped or mashed
4 cups baby spinach
1/2 of a large purple onion, sliced thin
1 cup buttermilk
1/2 cup neufchatel cheese, softened
1 egg, beaten
1.5 cups shredded cheese (mine was a combination of roughly equal parts parmesan, fontina, manchego and cheddar)
1 teaspoon sage
10 cranks black pepper
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons garlic infused olive oil (or 2 tablespoons of olive oil and 2 cloves or garlic, chopped finely)

Assemble all ingredients. Spray a 3-quart with non-stick cooking spray. Combine 1 cup buttermilk, neufchatel cheese and egg and beat well to combine. Set aside. Layer ingredients as follows: 1/2 of spinach, 1/2 of sliced onion, 1/2 of squash, sprinkle over all 1/2 of salt, sage and pepper, 1/2 of chickens and 1/2 of cheese. Repeat with remainder of ingredients. Pour buttermilk/cheese/egg mixture over all. You may want to use a chopstick or fork to help the liquid penetrate the casserole. Bake at 350 degrees for about an hour, or until the casserole is heated through, bubbly, and cheese is browned. Let it set up for a few minutes before serving. It was good! Ask the dog... he stole my lunch today!

Winter Solstice and a Lunar Eclipse, and a Pair of Socks, Too!

Tonight, or more correctly tomorrow morinng, there will be a rare occurance of a lunar eclipse on a Winter solstice, the first since 1638. The next one will be in 2094, and I hope to be dead by then. I may need to rise from my bed between 2:30 and 3 and have a look. Ironically, this weekend I released this sock pattern, rather aptly named Moon and Stars, given the astronomical happening we're about to experience! I have added the pattern to my little pattern store. I had to spend some time remembering how to put a pattern in there, which is an indication that I have been doing entirely too much of the wrong sort of work.

The yarn is Black Bunny Fibers Stella in the colorway Meteor Showers. The base yarn is very similar to Kraemer Sterling Silk and Silver, for which I have a deep weakness. Black Bunny Luna would make a great substitute for Stella as well.

The pattern is an undulating eyelet that lets the yarn show off both it's beautifully dyed colors and it's hint of silver...yes I said silver. That glint in the close-up is sterling silver!

I knit them on a US 1 at 8 stitches per inch. The pattern, written for top-down 2-at-a-Time knitting, includes directions bsaed on this gauge, and suggestions for knitting a larger sock by changing the gauge to 7.5 sts/inch.

Really they are just beautiful, which I think I can say even though they are mine! I am a bit of a sucker for the sparkly stuff. Add an amazing dye job and a deceptively simple stitch pattern and really, you need to knit these socks! They would make an excellent last-minute Christmas gift, or a stellar (no pun intended) New Years Eve accessory.
And aren't the pictures amazing? Thank you Katy!! Using my camera and her office, I think we got some pretty nice shots of these little lovelies!

I also, somewhere along the way, made this adorable owl hat that Katy designed. But now I don't know who to give it to. It needs a child's head. I can't really see April in it, unless it were red or maybe princess pink. And I need to move it's beak up. And make it bigger. It needs to be goofier, I think.

Yes, I know, it's not quite done. I can't find my button box, which is a very odd occurance here. Gene usually brings it up and puts it away when I need it. This leads me to believe that it is someplace over my head. I looked around a little but I can't find it. Regardless, it's adorable, and I want to make more of it and more animals (not really joking about the princess pink...maybe a pony...with sparkles!). The yarn is Berroco Vintage Chunky, color Chana Dal, and it knit up so fast I barely knew what happened. You can buy the pattern, Owls & Tigers & Zebras Oh My! from Katy's Ravelry store.

It's almost Christmas! I am hoping to have all or at least most of the kids here on Christmas Eve. I thought I didn't want to do it this year, I thought it would be too much with the book finishing up, but I think I need the connection with our little family unit, just for a part of a day. Just once, before they are all really grown up and gone!

In the Army Now

Fort Jackson SC, Basic Combat Training Graduation, 3rd Battalion 34th Infantry Regiment Delta Co.

 Delta Co. on parade at the conclusion of graduation.

 My boy.

My boy and his girl, who was at first unsure, but then made up her mind that Army Daddy was actually real daddy after all.

 Daniel, Sarah (fiancee) and April (World's Cutest Grandbaby)

 Hug for mom.

 Socializing.

Here the babies are having a silent communication - "Your dad looks kinda like my mom, who really doesn't look like my mom any more..." "Yeah. And your mom looks kinda like my dad, and he's not really him, either. Are we sure we're ok here?"

 Child training, Army style: learning to work the camo.

Army Daddy, Army Baby, Army Bear. Army Bear and Army Daddy have graduated from Basic and have their berets. Army Baby cannot go to Basic for, thankfully, a few more years.

Army Mom.

Graduation struck me in a way I had not anticipated. It made me think a lot about many things. I am not a fan of war. I am not a lover of conflict. In fact, I flee from conflict whenever possible. I was reared in a family that has generational military ties. Not career, mind you, and not hard-core pro-military, but we were reared with an awareness that service is noble and necessary for the security of all Americans. How, I wondered, did I end up with a soldier son?

I was reared on the patriotic songs that many of us know by heart and that more of us should know now, and do not. I remember singing the Battle Hymn of the Republic,  You're a Grand Old Flag, My Country 'Tis of Thee, America the Beautiful, and of course The Star Spangled Banner in the car with my sisters and my father. They were things we shared together driving around the county I still inhabit, driving in late summer through amber waves of grain and toward the purple mountains as we sang about them. Those songs were as familiar and as stirring and as emotional as the hymns we sang in church on Sunday and the Christmas songs we sang from the end of November until January 1st. I shared them with my children on our drives, assisted by an 80's Wee Sing America cassette and songbook (I wish I still had this.).

My intent was to create loyal, aware, thinking people, with respect for their traditions and beginnings and an awareness of their duty and responsibility in being specifically an American person. But I also taught them about the not so great parts of our heritage;  how exactly we had come to be on this continent, the people we had hurt and killed to stay here, the land and humanity we had thoughtlessly plundered and exploited. It's an odd upbringing they had, and not really one that would necessarily lead them to consider the military as a career.

We had a flag that we treated correctly. We watched presidential inaugurations. We discussed the electoral college, taxes, individual freedom, rights and responsibilities. Freedom isn't free, and it should not be free for anyone. You do not respect or appreciate what you do not suffer for or work to earn. Sometimes we said things about America and Americans that were less than complimentary, even if they were completely honest.

We talked about selfless service to others; about giving to others for the sake of giving. Giving back but in the way that Jesus taught us to. ("But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret. And your Father who sees in secret will reward you." Matt 6:3-4). Altruism was the name of the game, and it extended beyond people to the natural world around us. If you fail to recognize and respond to the suffering of the living things around you, how are you better than the animals?

I tried to raise them with respect. Although there were times when it was a significant challenge, I tried to model the respect for others that I wanted to see in them. Simple things. You don't need to be first in line. Hold the door for others. Say please and thank you, and mean it. Acknowledge the humanity of those around you in a way that shows that you value them.

Integrity is huge for me and my children were reared with it. Be truthful. Do the right thing, even when those around you do not. I believe in God, and I believe in moral truths and the concept of right and wrong. Some things are just wrong. Don't do them. Other things are right. Do those instead. It's really very simple. If it will hurt another person, do not do it. If it fails to show respect for another person, don't do it. And don't lie. It will only make things worse in the long run. I made them make restitution if they hurt others.

I tried to teach them to face their fears head on and not run from them. As Roosevelt said, we have nothing to fear but fear itself. In fact, the fear of the thing is often worse than whatever it is we are afraid of. This is a hard one for me; I tend to be a fearful person. I hate to fly. I don't like new situations. I am afraid of people in large groups. Cities make me edgy. Public transportation scares me. I like small, confined, controlled environments - you should see my hotel room when I travel. Everything must be just so. This was something I could only teach them by example.  I confronted people I was afraid of and told them to get out of my way. I went to college. I made friends. I got on an airplane. I wrote books. I went to New York, and I rode public transportation. Sometimes my example wasn't the best - as evidenced by a minor meltdown in 2000 in Orlando International before boarding - but I did the things I feared and came out the other side a better person.

What I didn't realize while I was doing all this bizarre (I am, remember, a bit of a freak) blend of moral, values-laden, pro-Republic, Libertarian, crunchy-granola, tree-hugging, Jesus-loving, natural-child-led-homeschooled-child-rearing was that I was apparently beating into them, with my many failures and flaws, core Army values. As I stood in the stadium at Hilton Field at Fort Jackson in Columbia, South Carolina and I heard the songs of my nation over the speakers above, and I saw the flag that represents who we were, who we are, and who we should be on the field before me I found myself discovering, or perhaps rediscovering, a new sense of patriotism and nationalism. I know - that's a dirty word in some circles now, isn't it? Maybe I should whisper it, for safety...Nationalism. Or maybe I should just pick my head up and yell it. Regardless.

There are approximately 1.5 million active US military serving all around the world. The population of the United States was most recently calculated to be around 310 million. 1.5 million people defending us, 1.5 million people defending others, 1.5 million people doing their duty, heeding a call, obeying a chain of command that they may not always agree with or support but that they recognize as their authority. I don't always like or approve of what our military or our government does. I am, for example, fanatical about liberty, freedom, and individual rights in a country that seems to be increasingly intrusive and legalistic and that seems at times bent on dictating my every liberty - which wasn't the plan in the beginning and it confuses and confounds me that it has become what it has. 

But what I discovered, or more rightly remembered, on that field on Wednesday was that for better or worse and in spite of all of her many flaws and failings (and I do believe they are many) we still have the best game going (see. Nationalism!) and we owe it to ourselves and our children and our children's children to make it better (Patriotism!). America the beautiful. Land of the free, home of the brave.

Now if you will excuse me, I think I shall go and knit something red white and blue, and wear it with pride.

Knit it Forward

Potter Craft has teamed up with Warm Up America! to help in accumulating knit and crochet blocks that will be assembled into afghans, hats and other items for distribution to those in need. If you have a little time and a little yarn to spare, consider this worthy cause. Potter has even posted two patterns from Nicky Epstein's new book to get you started.

Mail your blocks by December 2nd to:

CrafterNews c/o Potter Craft
Crown Publishing, 12-1
1745 Broadway
New York, NY 10019

Post a photo of your block (or blocks) on the CrafterNews Facebook page. The first 25 people who send in their blocks will get a copy of Knitting Block by Block by Nicky Epstein. The next 25 will receive another free pattern. And if you're not in the first 50? Well, you get a warm fuzzy feeling knowing that during this holiday season you took some time out to help people in need. Be sure to come back here and post in the comments that you contributed. You never know when the MMO 2-at-a-Time yarn fairies might start tossing things out!

The Indigestion, It Goes Straight to the Heart.

Anyone remember this post? If you've been here long enough, you may. If you don't remember it, you can read it now. Go ahead. I'll wait. But you may want a tissue.

We have children, most of us, for noble purpose. Or by accident. Or maybe a little of both. Or even none of the above.

I had mine, both of them, by a direct act of God. I know this because I had been labeled infertile at a fairly early age - long before I was really ready to have children, actually. I married young and my (then) husband and I were waiting to adopt. Never mind that I was 18 and he was 23. I knew I wanted babies. In fact, I wanted a whole farm house stuffed full of them. Millions. Or at least a dozen. And since having them on my own wasn't likely, adopting was the way we were going.

The week before Christmas 1985 I sat crying over ceramic ornaments I had painted by hand, ornaments I knew I'd never hang with a baby born of my own womb. I tried to make peace with that. When my cousins announced that they were pregnant, all I could do was cry. I cried a lot. In fact, I cried constantly. And sometimes I felt pretty nauseous. Really nauseous. And I almost passed out at work once. Or maybe twice. But it was hot in there. And then...well, and then in the normal manner of womanhood it came upon me that I might be, just might be, pregnant. And I was. And I was joyful. I quit smoking. I drank milk. I hate milk.

It wasn't easy, but then nothing worth having ever is. The baby made a few early attempts at departure. I spent a lot of time trying to lie down and trying not to do things like move refrigerators (I saved that for my second pregnancy - and almost lost that baby in the process - but if you know me, you know that sitting still and waiting for help is not on the menu). By December 1986 I was proudly carting around this beautiful, amazing, shining baby boy. You'll have to either read that post I linked to up there or take my word for it, because I am not in a place where I can get baby pictures right now. Trust me. I make amazing babies. The kind that go right to your heart the first time you look at them. And they stay there.

I am not at home today. In fact, I am a few hundred miles from home, spending my first ever holiday away from my (now) husband, waiting patiently for tomorrow.

What's tomorrow?

Tomorrow the indigestion I had on a warm and stormy August night in 1986, the stomach ache I have carried since 1986, the one that wormed it's way into every thread of my life is going to graduate from basic training. Army basic training. He's giving 8 years of his life. For me, and for his daughter and his fiancee and for us all. He's one of thousands. Tens of thousands. Hundreds of thousands. All of them nothing like each other in most ways, but all alike in one. They're willing to put their lives on the line - not an imaginary line, but a real one.

I don't know how, and he keeps saying it was me that did it (and I swear I am not paying him), but somehow I reared a soldier. For now this is what I have of him:

That is my son. Goofy weird grin, chowing down on government-issue turkey. Tomorrow when he graduates I'll have more. And for 24 hours I'll take all the pictures I can, but it won't ever be enough. I don't know where he goes from here (Ok, fine, I do. AIT in Virginia. But then, well, then I really don't know, and neither does he), but here's what I do know.

Somewhere today a soldier died. Maybe of old age or maybe of a gunshot or maybe s/he got blown up by a bad guy. And sometime before today that soldier had a mother, and that mother is now me. And if you think the first 24 years of indigestion were rough, try that on for size.

So what am I thankful for? On this day, and the next day, and the day after that, ad infinitum? I am thankful for indigestion. And the tens of thousands of indigestions that came before him, and the tens of thousands that will come after.

I don't get political here. It's a matter of conscience. How you or I vote, what we believe, how we feel about war or peace or anything in between. I don't go there.

But right now, right this minute, I am going to tell you something. I am going to go so far as to tell you what to think. And here goes.

You damn well better be thankful too. And if you aren't? You might not want to say it in front of me. Because while you debate your politics, and your yes or no to war and yes or no to troops here, there or anywhere, my kid - MY kid - and tens of thousands of other woman's kids - are standing by someplace willing to take a bullet because their nation and their president tell them they need them to. Get off your horse, high or otherwise, and the next time you see someone in uniform you remember this post. You remember that for every American in uniform there's a mother.

Now do what your mother said you should, and say thank you.