Since being home in retirement, I see, touch, and feel my yarn collection much more than when I was working. In fact, I might even say I avoided looking at my yarn as it seemed to yearn for my attention. Yearning yarn of yesterday has become quite the playmate for today. Corny, but true. Sorting, organizing, thinking, wondering . . . this is what we knitters fill our minds with. I am finding these scrap remnants a fun challenge in how to incorporate them into patterns I love. Here are some recent attempts in three different ways:
This past year, I have made a conscious effort to utilize the growing stash that is forming. I don’t mean the stash of yarn waiting to be worked on with particular projects in mind, I am meaning the remnants or leftovers of yarn from already completed projects. I call the first the stash and the latter, the remnant stash. To help me think how I could utilize these scraps, I have organized them into bins according to their weight.
a re-homing letter from one who could not speak for herself . . .
To My New Family ~
I came into this world from a litter of 9. Summer is my canine Mom and Bono, my Dad. (The formal papers are attached). We were born in Cindy’s house. Ribbons of different colors were placed on my sibs and me, so we could be identified by name. Maybe, also to tell us apart as I do remember my sisters looking a lot like me. Summer was very patient with the 9 of us feeding from her and we thought nothing of kicking, pushing, and pulling each other before, during, and after Mom’s meals. When the door bell rang, Summer would jump up to gleefully answer the call sending us reeling into the air.
At about 8 – 12 weeks, cannot quite remember, I noticed people coming to visit. And, it seemed like when they left there was 1 less of us pups. It was at this time a couple came saying they wanted to adopt a yellow female. Cindy gathered my yellow sisters and me and we romped about to impress hoping to be the pick. I heard the visiting woman say she wanted a pup who might appreciate all kinds of tactile attention (otherwise known as loving) and Cindy pointed to me!
It began with wanting to knit my daughter a Christmas present. Not being a fan of surprises, I did not want to present my daughter a knitted garment she hadn’t seen. Having to start somewhere in the investigation of what to knit for her, we began with patterns I had saved over the years. Our tastes are different as are our lifestyles, so I did not think she would actually choose any one of these yet I did think these patterns would lend some inspiration. Well, I was wrong. The bear sweater by Tiny Owl Knits stopped her dead. In my queue for a few years, she fell in love with it and visualized hers to be in the colors that are seen in the pattern. I found a great visual to help with the face.
Today was my sister’s Memorial. It brought family and friends together, Even friends from our childhood and colleagues from the past attended.. Sweet music, a quiet ambiance, and an Irish poem filled the air with remembrance of Emmy. I wrote and recited this poem.
As a toddler, I was told she was special.
Special? What does that mean?
I thought she was just like me.
So, of course as a child does,
I gave her dirty looks,
stuck my tongue out at her,
pulled her hair,
hit her over the head,
and ate candy out of her toys.
She was my older sister,
my only sibling, then.
Isn’t that what you did?
During our childhood years, Emmy
In those days,
it seemed the course of action.
Went to live somewhere else.
I didn’t ask too many questions comforted that our parents were visiting her.
Why did she leave us? I wondered . . .
but not enough to ask.
I didn’t think so much about my sister.
Emmy was coming home!
Change was in the air.
School for her like school for me
What was so special about that?
I found myself pondering,
What was different about her?
What was she trying to say?
Did she like me?
What was her favorite toy, color, food?
Inquisitive of her nature
my questions grew
Is that what they meant by saying Emmy was special?
In ways we sometimes
do not understand?
Emmy as inspiration,
I set out for some answers.
Spending time with her
choosing teaching as a career.
my sister once again
relocated permanently to a place she called “camp”.
“I like camp”, she would say.
A home, her home
One we felt might meet her needs.
She became part of a new family,
We so hoped she would be happy.
Now in reflection,
I ask myself,
What have I learned?
We are all special in one way
Emmy, perhaps more . . .
Someone who offered us life lessons that an entire Nation could learn.
Someone who challenged us, at times, to our wits end.
Someone who knew a language all her own,
and asked us to figure it out.
Someone who knew what she wanted and when she wanted it
even if it didn’t make sense the way we thought it should.
Yes, I finally knew what they meant.
Emmy WAS special.
Traveling through the years I’ve learned something else found right here
within my own heart.
To me, what matters most.
I know that I loved my sister.
And, truly what matters more than that?
We loved her smile.