La Toussaints...All Saints Day

Today is La Toussaints. The origin of All Saints followed by All Souls Day is quite interesting. The pagan Celts celebrated Samhain on November 1, the beginning of the dark cycle, a day of the year when they believed the veil between the living and the dead was thinnest and communication was possible. The incoming Christians had finally been made aware that their heavyhanded tactics didn't work so well at eradicating the old beliefs, so they took this sacred festival time of the Celts and declared it All Saints Day, a time to honor all the Saints that didn't already have days of their own. In this way, they intended to obscure the original beliefs and dissolve them into their own more circumspect calendric celebration. Eventually, but only in the middle of the last century, the event became an occasion for children in princess and batman costumes to knock on doors and solicit candy on the Eve. The Mexican celebrations for the Day of the Dead perpetuate the rituals of communicating with those who have passed over. Legend has it that this was a ritual the indigenous people had been practicing at least 3,000 years. A ritual the Spaniards would try unsuccessfully to eradicate. Families move into the cemetaries for two or three days, groom the graves with fresh soil and elaborate flowers (cockscomb and marigolds), build an altar with the favorite things of the deceased, food, alcohol and cigarettes, light candles, and camp out with small children and infants sleeping propped against headstones. Sugar sculls with the names of the living and the dead are set out, a way of mocking the powers of the grim reaper.

Breaking the silence, I am beginning to force myself to live in this world again. Before we found that Steven's leukemia was coming back, I had signed up for a 2 day workshop with Sally Melville, along with Susan and Doreen. Thank goodness for that as it was not only good therapy, but an excellent and information filled week-end. Sally is charming and quite the taskmaster. Linda at Jennings Street Yarn organized the event most graciously.

We had homework:
That turned into bigger swatches (being supervised by Paprikas in lower right corner for scale): We learned clever edges and picking up formulas and lovely buttonholes and some colorwork. Along with how to recognize and rescue disasters. By the end of the second day, all of our heads were so stuffed that we couldn't absorb any more information.

For a few weeks there, it was impossible for me to knit...or blog. All of my current projects had hospital memories attached. So I dove in and started a very different new project, the Cables Sweater by Vivian Hoxbro.
The yarn is a DK weight Harrisville Tweed and it knits on sock needles. It might just be sufficiently lightweight to wear in our climate. If so, it is my new favorite yarn. The construction is so fascinating that I've been completely sucked into the project. You knit vertically, then horizontally, then vertically, etc. etc. Each section attaches the previous section and it's exciting to watch the sweater build. The righthand side in the photo is the center front panel and it's awaiting the neckline shaping.
Right after the Sally Melville week-end, several Sisters of the Wool made an excursion down to the Ranch to see Lorelei and Sue at Heritage Arts. We packed into my small car, which was the largest we had, and set off for adventure. That backseat looked like a sardine can and they were all knitting! A test drive for Kid n Ewe next week-end.
Taya, Micki, Susan and I were glad to return and to introduce Doreen to something new.

Doreen and Taya were looking at wheels and giving them a test whorl with Lorelei's input, although Taya isn't in this photo.
The Beaumont Ranch had taken down many of their famous and very non PC life sized pumpkin characters for a children's party the day before, but they were putting them back out before we left. You saw the pumpkin characters last year so I will spare you, but they did have the coffins in place.
All in all, a delightful day with friends. And I always love seeing Lorelei. Celtic Memory, she asked after you. Says you should come to see her in Boerne.

While furniture shopping for my father the other day, I bought a small cabinet/bookshelf for myself. It was desperately needed to get some of the books up off the floor. It is Indian. I love it.
Trust me, that photo was only day one. It is now quite full and organized. A close up here will show you some of the tea bowls I made way back in the Dark Ages when I was throwing pots.

So many of you have asked how I am getting along. There has been inertia for the most part, although I'm trying to kick myself in the pants and get going. During a time of grieving, when you sit quietly, your thoughts go back to the beautiful newborn they placed in your arms, the smiling infant, the happy little boy who loved anything mechanical, the bookworm adolescent who secretly took his pet mouse Arthur to school in his pocket, who wanted to ride horses despite his asthma, who loved animals (that loved him right back), who worked in the trade library in the summers as a kid to earn pocket money, who loved walking the streets of the French Quarter where he lived, who married his childhood sweetheart and much later had the children he had always wanted so much, whose childhood passion for computers never waned, who took care of everyone who needed him. Any mother knows that you worry about your children. You worry about their health and their school and their friends and their future. At a certain point, you take a deep breath and say to yourself they've made it, they're good, they've passed all the imaginable hurdles and they are going to be OK. You've raised a strong man with a good family that he loves, a good profession, good health, strong heart, low cholesterol and blood pressure, nothing to worry about, right? You've done your job and now, barring some random accident, you can watch him raise his family and live out his life. What a cruel joke! Or perhaps just downright silly arrogance. We have no crystal ball to predict something so unimaginable as leukemia in such a healthy man, before which we are utterly powerless despite all the wonders of modern science.

Thought I would share a portrait with Steven done when he was about ten. He's the kid with the aviator glasses. His brother wouldn't hold still so the artist, Jana Napoli, threatened and finally painted his bird in front of his nose. David protested and said he would hold still now. The response was, "Too late!"

This close-up is from the much larger painting. I'll show you. It was painted for New Orleans and European ceiling heights and is 115" tall. Larger than life-sized. Too tall to hang in any room of my current dwelling except sideways.

Many, many thank yous to all of you who wrote with kind and comforting words. Darn the luck, many of your e-mails came with no way to respond thanks to Blogger. Please know that each and every one meant so much. That total strangers the globe over would have compassion for a family going through such an ordeal ultimately says good things about the world we live in.

On a Beautiful Day in September

Friday was a beautiful crisp day of Indian Summer. Steven lost his courageous battle with leukemia.

My heart is breaking. My dear, sweet, loving Steven of the ready smile, my firstborn, is gone. I just want to lock myself in, pull the drapes and talk to no one for a few months/years. Maybe not bathe. We fought so hard. Steven was so incredibly brave and uncomplaining. He suffered everything for the hope of being a father to his children. He asked who would walk his daughter down the aisle? Who would teach his son to change the oil in the car? To be a man? I thought if I hung on tight enough I could pull him through this. The Fates laughed.

When Steven was first diagnosed and was sent to the Bone Marrow Transplant Unit at Baylor Medical Center in Dallas, it occured to me he was born there many years ago. A chill went through me. Though we have lived all over the world, it would be in that same place that he completed the circle of his given days.

The day last November when he was diagnosed, I set myself to know everything I could about the disease. When they told me which chromosone showed damage, I knew that it was one of the worst. I knew the statistics. I kept them to myself, not daring to whisper them out loud to anyone for fear of jinxing our meager chances. For two months after the transplant, things looked like maybe, could be, possibly we had a miracle. Finally I dared to breathe a little easier, to begin to hope. Then one week later, disaster struck. My worst nightmare. I had planned to bring him home with hospice care on this same Friday, to take good care of him, to find a way to continue transfusions and buy him a few more days, weeks, dare I say months? I negotiated with Hospice. I pulled some strings. You see, I would take such very good care of him. His brother is a doctor, he would help. I would get him to eat and drink. I would at least delay the inevitable. The rapidity of this ruthless disease's return robbed us of even that.

As hard as the last ten months have been, I had so much time with Steven and there are a lot of wonderful memories. That will be a comfort to me when I run out of tears, if ever I do. I just really enjoyed being with him. He was smart and quick and funny. We managed to laugh about the most dreadful things. The many, many, many nights alone at the various hospitals, just the two of us. The few weeks out of hospital he stayed here with me. The countless trips to the clinic in Dallas. No matter what indignity he was going through, we mocked it and laughed. He never complained about any of the horrors he was undergoing. That last trip to the hospital for still another chemo and hopefully a second transplant, knowing full well what was in store, the only complaint Steven had was that he just didn't know how he could take hospital food again.

I love that three of his friends came last Monday night to watch the Cowboys game with him at the hospital. They made quite a ruckus and a neighboring family member came to fuss at them and ask "Didn't they know, people are dying on this floor?" Steven found that totally hilarious. He was so exhilarated when I arrived for the night, just happy, giving me a blow by blow on the final winning touchdown. That was a scant four days ago.

My Hungarian step-daughters Lydia and Alexa flew in over the last couple of days and they were wonderful. The step-sisters were so good for Steven. Lydia took over and ran the show. Alexa was hit very hard, but we will try to comfort her. My other son David is being a rock for me, but he told his step-sister it feels as if someone amputated his right arm. As you know, there is no comfort really. Just the slow march of time to dull the edges.

One really funny scene today, if things can be funny with your beloved son growing cold on the bed next to you. A young man arrived and Lydia sort of "challenged" him at the door of Steven's hospital room. He said he was Steven's brother. Lydia was gobsmacked. She said she was Steven's sister and she'd never heard of him. Evidently he'd never heard of her either. It was Steven's half brother through his father. Alexa laughed at one point and said she had a totally step family. When she married and acquired a step-daughter, she called to apologize to me for how she had behaved many years before.

As you can see, it is my habit to handle grief and pain and troubles with wry humor. And scrubbing, lots of scrubbing. Somehow today, in addition to the painful time at the hospital, I've cleaned windows and pitched papers, sorted through Steven's belongings from the hospital and thrown out almost anything that reminded me of those terrible times, gone through mail that has piled up for months, cleaned litter pans, washed sheets and towels, mopped the kitchen floor and various other tasks. I'll keep this up for a while (poor cats, poor house). I may be begging my friends to let me scrub their houses, too.

No knitting content today. Knitting has been replaced with the above mentioned scrubbing. But I will add a photo of Steven and his proud mother the day he graduated from university...


And with his brother the Best Man on his wedding day...
Life was so full of promise then.

A Truly Horrible, Awful Day

You haven't heard from me in a while. I've been trying to keep up two blogs and Steven's was the more urgent. I've done some knitting.

Argosy Wrap is finished but not blocked. Noro Silk Garden, approximately 7 skeins on size 8 needles. Very happy with it, now waiting for a very cold day.

Kay, my writer friend of 39 years (OMG), has been sending me books and books and books to help me through the interminable waits at the clinic and late nights at the hospital. I started knitting a pair of socks for her before Christmas. But my mind and inability to count straight right now won't let me finish the complex pattern, or strangely any socks for the moment. First it was chemo hats, then shawls and scarves. Since I don't see those socks being finished any time soon, I started an Argosy for her since I'm "in the groove". Although the Argosy pattern is different from the shawl, I actually find it easier and more repetitive. Silk Garden again. Aren't Mr. Noro's color choices fascinating? You never know how they will knit up once you start.

The color sequence totally surprised me as I knit the first few repeats. Where is the rusty red, the browny green, the purple, the warm turquoise? But now that I'm twice as far, I'm actually quite fond of it. There is a Japanese expression for this sort of "let the surprise happen" (as in Raku) that escapes me right now (it's on the tip of my tongue), but I'm embracing it. Aha, it came to me...wabi-sabi (represents a comprehensive Japanese world view or aesthetic centered on the acceptance of transience).

So what is awful and horrible about this day? Steven's doctor called and asked me to arrange a meeting with the family. As some of you know, the leukemia came back three weeks ago and Steven has been fighting it with chemo and hopes of another bone marrow transplant. He is actually coming through the first chemo round surprisingly well considering, but a bone marrow test yesterday showed that it hadn't touched the leukemia, which is now 90% of his bone marrow. So no transplant, no more chemo, no options. Lots of tears. A lot of hard decisions must be made.

Here is a photo of my firstborn three or four years ago in healthy times. Kind, smart and funny.

Only fellow knitters will understand. All through the meeting with the doctor, I knitted ferociously, if not correctly, on Argosy. When I came home, I sterilized and refilled the hummingbird feeder at midnight, did some laundry, cleaned cat boxes, replenished the bird feeder, stared blankly at repetitive news of Hurricane Ike on CNN and I actually might run the vacuum before falling into bed, hopefully so exhausted that sleep will find me. It is very strange the things we do to cope. I should have continued knitting chemo hats. As long as I knit chemo hats, I kept Steven safe. He finally told me to stop. How many chemo hats did he need? I should have kept knitting those hats.

A Failed Search for Mindless Knitting

It has been a while since you've heard a peep from me, gentle readers. The reason is that my son was allowed a bit of sanity break after nearly four months of hospital and he came here. For the full story check his blog or his website, I won't go into all of it here. Just that the bone marrow donor we were counting on backed out after first coming in for their blood draw. I wonder if they realize what it means to us? And to say how much I enjoy his company and being able to do something for him. Even waiting on him pretty much in the bed most of the time, exhausted. Even running back to the hospital every other day for transfusions, lots of transfusions. Life is good.

As for knitting content, I am plugging away on those mindless socks, which ended up not being so mindless, typical for me.

Here is a shot of one side.
And here the other. True color is probably closer to this. Look carefully at the patterns. First it was nice double spirals, neatly swirling around the sock. Changed needle size, the spirals zigged/zagged for a bit and then went backwords. Changed needle sizes again at the heel, what do we get, tidy little candy-cane stripes. Isn't it a hoot?
An eye of partridge heel made lovely little houndstooth checks. We shall see if sock the second is even vaguely related. BTW, Wollmeise on size 0's in my tight knitting produces a fabric I can't even stick a needle into. It's as solid as solid can get. Then still searching "mindless knitting", I started another chemo cap in Calmer which was the fiber of preference for my son. I thought I would just do a simple rib pattern in 2X2, but today during the 6 hours at the hospital while waiting for my son's transfusions, I kept looking at the gorgeous Shedir he was wearing and decided I had to do it again. Now the trick is that Shedir flows out of a 1X1 rib and I have here a 2X2. Think I will do a 1/2 inch or so of 1X1, use the current ribbing as a fold-up cuff which he likes, and perhaps do a motif less of the cabling. Hope it works. Perhaps I should run a lifeline?

Speaking of chemo caps, when we go to the Marrow Transplant Center for Steven's transfusions, there is a basket of chemo caps that someone has made. They are in acrylic, the brightest, hideous oranges and greens. Crocheted, stiff as bricks, feel like Brillo pads. I can't even imagine making such a thing for someone who has lost their hair. No one seems to be taking them either.See this? Gorgeous isn't it. That Celtic Memory wanted to cheer me up and she knows me heart and soul. Oh, wow! This is Blue Heron rayon metallic, two skeins of the scrumptious stuff, just begging to be a magnificent stole. Anne Hanson at Knitspot just came up with another lovely pattern, Gale, and I couldn't resist. Thought it might be that perfect mindless knitting project I keep looking for. Anne thought it would be good hospital knitting. We shall see. That woman is the Evil Temptress Extraordinaire. I want to knit almost every design that she comes up with.


Then today Linda, a friend from Sock Camp, sent a totally surprise package of a wonderful book written by a friend of her husband's who survived leukemia and a marrow transplant and wrote about it. He is now the director of the National Marrow Donor Program. This book went straight onto my bed and I plan to start it tonight. Oh yes, Linda also worried I might run out of sock yarn, so she tucked in a skein.
Let's look closely. Hmmmm, I had never heard of this dyer, Pagewood Farm. The yarn is Denali, 450 yards (Yay!) of 80/20 merino/nylon with a very very nice ply. I think I'm really going to enjoy this one. Sock Madness stash? And it's my favorite color, in case someone doesn't know. Yes, I was very cheered, and very touched by Linda's thoughtfulness. I'm really going to miss everyone at Sock Camp this year. BTW, Linda just rode the rode the Stitch ' Ride train from Sacramento to Stitches West. She overheard a knitter say, "I feel like a one-eyed dog in a weenie factory!" I think I love that expression.

Oh my, Sock Madness 2 starts on Thursday and I'm no way prepared. Everyone else I know (especially Celtic Memory and TayaElaine) has swatched and balled their yarns perfectly divided and practiced their Japanese short row toes and heels. The clues are tantalizing. Cousin Mountain Mom submitted a design. I'm so proud of her. I think it is just going to smack me like a snowball (yes, we had snow this week in Texas, crazy huh?). And this is my much loved step-daughter Alexa who came to visit Steven from New Mexico and couldn't resist picking up big Galatoire. She's not that little and he is that big, probably close to the record for a Persian. It was so nice to see her again.