Tuesday, September 30, 2014

Knits: Late summer.

I have to confess: I am tired of living places where autumn doesn't begin until October (or November... or sometimes December). In San Antonio, leaf-raking was a Christmastime activity----that is just wrong. Still, "home is where the Navy sends us" (at least, that's what all the cutesy hand-painted signs say) so we do what we must... and once school starts, I must believe that Fall has arrived. Ninety-degree temperatures be darned. We may keep the a/c cranked up, the kids may wear sunscreen out to recess, and we may not put away our cutoffs for months yet... but knitting waits for no (wo)man.

Now we're on the cusp of October and finally, FINALLY the nineties are gone (*fingers crossed*). Yes, it's still nice enough to go to the beach, but our swimming days are numbered. In the past month I've completed two big knitting projects during these late-summer days, and I have two other WIPs (Works-in-Progress) on the needles for early fall.

First, I used yarn from our visit to Tennessee in June to knit a short-sleeved version of Traveler's End, by Carol Feller.


I have a real "thing" for cables, and Carol has a whole wonderful gallery full of Celtic-y cabled sweaters. My yarn was dense and rustic (read: scratchy). I decided to alter the pattern sleeves because I have loved the short-sleeved Heathered Hoodie Vest I made in 2013. It may not (ever) get warm enough where we live to necessitate long-sleeved, chunky-yarn sweaters... but I get a lot of mileage out of these layerable short-sleeved cardis. (Note to self: I absolutely must MUST purchase some new tops to wear under sweaters this year!! This same striped 3/4-sleeved LOFT tee appears in practically every one of my Ravelry sweater photos...! Clearly it is The Perfect Layering Top, but I think it's time to expand my wardrobe a bit.)


My second completed project is part of my ongoing birthday celebration. I used gift money to purchase a subscription to Yarnbox, a monthly "surprise" club. August was my first box, which was actually a bag because the yarn was so huge; and for my birthday month, it just happened to be crammed full with some of my favorite type of yarn, three big skeins of a fat, soft, sheepy yarn in three shades of gray. (Well, really, two shades of gray + a creamy natural.) The yarn just called out to become a blanket, but I have made a commitment to myself not to spend more than the price of the subscription each month---so no adding skeins. Those three big skeins weren't enough to make a full throw blanket, but they were just enough (barely) for this huge shawl, which now lives in "my spot" on the sofa.



It's a relief now to feel that fall is well and truly here---or at least coming near. That red-wine-y ball of yarn on the sofa is now the better part of a cabled pullover. Another Yarnbox project (with cables---do you sense a theme?) is nearing the halfway point. After that, I have yarn waiting to become a beautiful lightweight gray cardigan, a much-needed wardrobe item---because the other thing I wear far too often is a ratty gray hooded sweatshirt! Will the new sweater have cables too? Perhaps...


Friday, September 5, 2014

Ten books.



I dislike jumping on bandwagons, but a books bandwagon is pretty hard to resist. A week or so ago, someone shared a simple challenge on Facebook: List 10 books that have "stuck with you." They don't have to be high literature (a.k.a. in my family as "smart-people books"), just books that have been influential or memorable or personal to you. I've been thinking about this challenge since then; in fact, in the past months I've been pondering quite a bit about the books that I've loved, the ones that have influenced me, the stories that seem to bubble up again and again in my everydays. It has occurred to me that perhaps these books might have something to do with my sense of call... not only in that they have (obviously) shaped me, but in that they show me where my heart is. They take me back to the girl, the teen, the young woman I was when I first got lost in them; and every time I read or even just remember them, they show me the way once again. These books are still challenging me with questions and still comforting me with answers.

Even as I type up these titles, I feel guilty for certain omissions. There are books that both break my heart and buoy my spirit (To Kill a Mockingbird, The Color Purple). There are books that drop me in a place and time and make me connect with characters far outside my own experience (The Shipping News). There are books I simply couldn't put down, and it's lucky I read them as as adult because I'd have gotten grounded for staying up all night reading them by flashlight (Harry Potter).

But they can't all be the top, so here's my list of the ten books that are, simply, home to me. It hardly seems necessary to say (but I will) that this is not exclusive; I could make a "top ten" list of books for any given feeling, situation, day. I'm also following my Facebook-sharing friend's example and putting the Bible in its own category (thereby freeing up a spot on this list! haha!). Finally, I am barely resisting the urge to add my reasoning to each of these choices, but I've been thinking of sharing book reviews (or, more accurately, book reflections or book responses) on this blog... so... watch this space.

These, then, are my "desert island" books, in no particular order:

1. My Name is Asher Lev, by Chaim Potok
2. Little Women, by Louisa May Alcott
3. Traveling Mercies, by Anne Lamott
4. The Trixie Belden series, by Julie Campbell (and other authors under the pseudonym Kathryn Kenny)
5. The Grapes of Wrath, by John Steinbeck
6. A Wrinkle in Time, by Madeleine L'Engle
7. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, by Betty Smith
8. The Shepherd of the Hills, by Harold Bell Wright
9. The Mists of Avalon, by Marion Zimmer Bradley
10. A Prayer for Owen Meany, by John Irving

What are yours?

Tuesday, August 26, 2014

About not running.



For six weeks of my life this past summer, three days a week, I got up at sunrise and laced up a new pair of running shoes and strapped my iPhone around my upper arm and went out to pound the pavement on a Couch-to-5K program.

(Note: the program is eight weeks long. Feel free to do the math.)

Surprisingly, I didn't hate the running. I have never, ever, ever been a runner; my running memories consist of being pushed and prodded around and around the park that was across the street from my junior high in the mid '80s. Maybe the memory of the requisite green-and-white zip-up one-piece short gymsuit we wore has tainted my recollection of those days, but I'm pretty sure I loathed every second of those runs (during which I mostly walked, anyway). If they were trying to turn us into athletes---or even into people who didn't abhor the very concept of exercise---the PE programs of the '80s were an abject failure.

Now it's a few (!) years later and apparently everyone is running! My Facebook feed reads like a communal running log; I'm impressed by my friends of all ages (some of them even older than me, if you can imagine that ;) ) who have Couch-to-5K'ed their way from walkers to marathoners. They get medals. MEDALS. On ribbons, like at the Olympics! It's inspiring, and the "I started off just like you" stories are abundant.

So for six weeks, I repressed my old green-gymsuit memories, and I made a playlist, and I ran.

The first day, the C25K app I'd downloaded told me to run 1 minute, then walk 1.5 minutes, and repeat. And I quickly became convinced I was going to die and that some hyperfit Marine drill sergeant would drive by on his way to work and have to stop to peel me off the sidewalk.

But I ran. And the second day I was pretty sure I wasn't going to die. And by the fourth week I could run 5 minutes straight. And by the sixth week I was creeping up on 10 minutes.

Sounds like a success story, right? The truth is, it felt like a success story. I actually felt proud of myself; I loved my app, because I could scroll back and see my progression from 1 minute to 10. I am not sure I have ever in my life been proud of myself for a physical-fitness accomplishment.

Which made it really, really difficult to quit. There may have even been tears when I finally made the decision.

So why quit, then, you may rightly ask?

For practical reasons, like school starting and mornings staying darker, and sheer tiredness from getting up so stinking early all the time. For meteorological reasons, like living in a place with 95% humidity and early mornings that felt like running through soup.

All problems (excuses) that could easily be remedied by running later in the morning, or in the fitness center on a treadmill.

But then I got honest with myself and admitted that there were also personal reasons, like a dramatic increase in migraine headaches during those six weeks (which may or may not have been related to the running, but started making me anxious every running day in case I might have another; those of you who are migraine sufferers will be nodding your heads, knowing that adding further anxiety into the migraine mix is totally counterproductive to minimizing the headaches).

Then there was the reality that I never felt that "runner's high," the adrenaline rush or the energy spike. In fact, I came home proud of myself but utterly trashed. A relatively short 30-ish-minute workout was wearing me out for the entire day, and in six weeks' time it got worse, not better. More than once I came home and melted down in tears, not from emotion but from exhaustion. I was feeling good about the running, but frustrated by the slow, slow recovery from each day's workout.

And there's the fact that I am not now (nor have I ever been--I refer you back to my comments about junior high PhysEd--) particularly competitive. Sure, I'd love to show my kids a medal I earned... or, heck, even the free tshirt... but I'm simply not motivated enough by the promise of a race. I started running because I knew I needed to do something for my health and my heart and my weight, and thirty minutes three days a week sounded like a pretty good deal. I never ran to complete a course.

It's been two weeks now since I've been running, and honestly I'm still not 100% sure I made the right choice to stop. I'm glad I ran. I'm glad I improved. And I'd consider doing it again. I would love for my story to be one of those "If I can do it, you can do it!" exhortations.

But for now my story is this: From not completing the running program, I learned that I like to move. I even like to sweat, and to feel my lungs and heart working. So I am not quitting movement, or sweat, or breathing hard. Instead I am choosing to move, to sweat, to huff and puff and to enjoy it. To let it energize rather than deplete. To take anxiety and competition off the table. I'm choosing to listen to ABBA while I pedal down bike paths through old growth trees dripping with Spanish moss. If I feel like walk/run/walking with a knitting podcast to enjoy and no countdown clock to measure my progress, I'll do it. Or I'll pop in a dvd and step in place and do lunges and bicep curls in my living room. Or I'll drag out my sticky mat and practice warrior and child's poses.

That's not quitting. (I am going to keep telling myself that until I believe it.) It's not quitting. It's choosing a way that is mine, that serves my body and maybe even feeds my spirit. There may not be a medal at the end of it... in fact, there can be no end of it. And there won't be any celebratory Facebook statuses (you'll have to wait for my knitted Finished Objects for that!). But there can be pride; and, even better, there will most certainly be wellness. And who knows---there may even be joy.