The mantels below are mine (on left) and my DSD’s family’s (on right). If you look closely at DSD’s you can play the old Sesame Street game, “one of these things is not like the other…” (hint look at the stockings). Can you guess?
Our mantel, 2018, DH’s original stocking from 1956 on left.
DSD’s mantel, 2018, her and DSIL’s stockings on left, the two I knit for DGC1 and DGC2 in middle. DGC3 is waiting me to knit his (so he has a temporary substitute).
When I married DH in 1982, his mother knit a Christmas stocking for me to match the one she knit for him in 1956 when he was born (these are the two stockings you see in the left picture on the far left: DH’s is 1st on the left then mine to the right of his). It was her way of welcoming me to their family.
Then as each of our children came along, she knit matching Christmas stockings for them, too (the two stockings hanging on the right side of the mantel in the left picture above are our two son’s stockings, both done by their grandmother, my MIL; our DSD’s stocking hangs in her own home).
My MIL was an incredible needle worker; she did amazing, gorgeous, detailed, sometimes-complicated work (knitting, needlepoint, counted cross-stitch, you name it). She was a true fiber artist. I could never hope to replicate her work, nor did I try.
Continue reading 10 in 10 March Project
I would not call myself a knitter. I am a person who knits.
A knitter, in my mind, thinks constantly about the craft; she ceaselessly eatsdrinksbreathespondersplansanddreamsabout projects; her fingers (when otherwise unoccupied) find themselves attached to knitting needles at any moment and every opportunity. A knitter creates, works on, and completes her projects. She perseveres.
I’m more a “fits and starts’ person who knits, a needtodothisprojectbythisparticulardate person who knits.
I’m not really a knitter.
I learned to knit in early 2012 in a local yarn shop’s beginners’ knitting class. I decided to take the class when I learned I was becoming a grandmother for the very first time. Grandmothers knit, right? So I would learn to knit. This fifty-one-turning-fifty-two-years-old gal was going to learn a new trick.
Continue reading The Stash Beckons: Am I a Knitter or a Person Who Knits?
Taking 12 years off from blogging has given me over a decade’s worth of subject matter from which I can develop fresh stories: a decade’s worth of digital pictures with quirky captions, of change and milestones and silliness and tears, of personal growth (I hope) and seasoned insight (maybe) and, perhaps, a few laugh-out-loud blunders along the way.
You’d think I’d be excited to jump right in.
But as I stared at my computer screen this morning trying to figure out where to begin,
unexpected feelings surfaced: a tightening in my chest, a knot in my stomach, a flush in my face as my heart rate rose.
I felt anxious. Maybe even a little agitated (that’s probably too strong a word, but I can’t come up with another for now). In any case, I felt decidely uncomfortable.
And I *like* to write!
I don’t know what happened during my hiatus, but this one-time-professional, seasoned freelancer, multi-published writer with a bunch of books and countless articles to her credit, was nervous.
About a blog entry.
A blog entry that would likely be read by, at max, maybe ten people.
Good heavens! What was I anxious about?
Continue reading You Have to Start Somewhere