Lizzie’s Love Letter

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!

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My Sister

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.

My Sister

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
went away.
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
in activities,
choosing teaching as a career.

In adulthood,
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.
friends aplenty
activities abound
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
or another
Emmy, perhaps more . . .

Emmy was:

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.

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A Gift for My Hand Knits

As space is the constant, I continue to ‘play’ with different configurations on how best to store my hand-knits and how best to organize the stash.  Consequently, the look in the yarn room keeps changing as I now use one room and its closet for both.  Questions I ask myself:  How can I store my obsession without looking like a hoarder?  How can I see my full stash when it is time for creating?  How can I treat my hand-knits to the best care for longevity?  Light in the room?  And, so forth.

In drilling down for answers, I’ve been reading.  Topics such as:  How do you store hand-knits?  Is there a special way to fold sweaters?  What shelving and/or containers are best for breathability of natural fibers?  I am asking these questions because my hand knits are my wardrobe.  I am noticing that when I pull out a sweater I haven’t worn in a while, I am seeing fold marks.  Do people steam out those fold marks?  Is that healthy for the fibers?  Is there a way to prevent what seems like permanent folds in a garment?  You see, I can go on and on with questions like this.

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Sharing

This is a reading invite to check out what our local enthusiastic knitting Organization is all about.   The website is here on WordPress entitled The Knitting Guild of Greater Buffalo.  We are an active group promoting knitting as an art form and pride ourselves in providing a myriad of experiences from presentations to yarn actions for our over 400 members.

 

Wardrobe Planning ~ Retiring Belongings

Topic:  Wardrobe Planning.  YES, I plan my wardrobe!  I never thought to write about it.  This question of wardrobe planning came up in the blog world and I am only too happy to answer.  In short, I believe wardrobe planning, like everything, takes a certain amount of self-control and focus.  The process for me begins with retiring belongings, otherwise known as cleaning out or donating, for the obvious purpose of organizing but in a knitter’s case, this careful consideration informs [knitting] project choice.  Ravelry acts as a record-keeping system.  What does this mean?

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Just a Note, Not

Not birthday,
Not holiday.
Not because you had to.

Just a Note.

From the heart
These words came
and are received.

One of my favorite
things in life
are words

Simple words, crafted with care
meaningful to the receiver
So thoughtful from the giver

Just a note

not to me
best gift
from one to another.

This note came with an added treat . . .

The title of the photo says it all; in-law family members included