A Day for Action

It's been ages since I woke like this - alert, moving, ready to go. I've had a series of minor setbacks with the body, plus been through a round of rituximab treatment. I felt like I was putting fingers in multiple dikes, just trying to make it to the next hour, next day...a painful way to survive. No thriving involved. But today (courtesy of lots of meds and a good night's sleep) I am good. I'm actually waiting for the post office and drug store to open so I can do the errands that I want to complete before it hits 90 degrees again.

I have so much going on in the knitting arena that I have to list it to make sure I'm pushing each project forward: one custom cape, one custom afghan, one custom baby ensemble, patterns and ideas for my book, a box of products to post to a northern boutique for consideration, a couple of local Christmas markets to apply to, and refreshing my Etsy store with new photos and products. At some time in the past this knitting thing officially crossed the line from hobby to business. Now I'm trying to make it a profitable business, and sell more wisely.

One thing the broken arm has taught me - don't rely so much on physical methods of doing business. I have not been able to return to selling at the Chattanooga Market, and I don't know if I'll be ready by the end of the season. My days of heavy lifting and tedious setups in bad weather may be over. We'll see. The arm has made progress, maybe the rest of me will move forward a bit, too.

My girl is safely off to school in Georgia, three hours away. It's a blessing. She loves the UGA art school and sends me teeny phone photos of her work. Our conversations about ideas and creating stimulate my work and make me think of new ways to do things. Seeing the way she tends to the tiniest detail on her drawing and fabric work reminds me that I can do much more embellishing with my knitted items. I even have plans for some embroidery on pieces that I'll publish in the book.

The loneliness from my daughter's absence is a lesson to be learned all over again. She was here for a year, and I forgot the void that her leaving creates. Moreover, the past two months my sweet pooch was cared for by a friend while my arm recovered enough to be the caretaker again. I have talked to the walls and the television set and mostly to myself during this time. I've had to learn again how to laugh by myself, and how to breathe out the pain and sadness and let myself be okay. Some of us are created to be social, and it is a struggle to be physically restrained from that. My body as anchor, keeping me rooted to this spot...

I have had more than enough thinking time. I have come to terms with the fact that desire and will power and hard work may not be enough to reign in my weight problems. I'm totally satisfied with the way I am managing it, trying to keep my prednisone low, moving when I can and cooking healthy meals. I must accept that when I get on my bike for 10 minutes and then have a week of inflammation in my knee, it is beyond my control. Yoga? Chair yoga is my next exploration. I so want to lose. Even 50 pounds would make it easier to get around and care for myself. I've cut some real favorites out of my pantry (peanutbutter!) and stocked up on high-fiber ingredients. The price of tofu just dropped dramatically at one of my favorite groceries, and I'm learning more ways to enjoy it. Curry is in my kitchen vocabulary, and I'm baking regularly instead of buying $7 loaves of bread. My strawberry muffins are to be envied.

Can you have a fling in your mind? An old flame has been in touch, and reminded me of the positives in our relationship, long past. For a few weeks I entertained thoughts of us together, brought to an abrupt stop by some recurrences of behavior that is intolerable for me. I didn't have to think twice about mentioning this here - one huge incongruity in our non-relationship is his refusal to learn any computer function beyond email. Oh well...

Enough supposing. This day is for action! Peace!

Retreat, Regroup and Return

I have found a limit today. Evidently, four weeks of forced helplessness and pain is my limit. I didn't know it when I woke, but suddenly I am ready to turn off my phone, tell people to leave me alone, get rid of the extra tabs in my browser, and cry when I can't find a measuring cup. I've had it. It's so bad that I am here on my computer, typing with my arm in an uncomfortable position, making pounding noises on the keys that I haven't produced in four weeks.

I am usually a social person, happy to hear from everyone (except the people I hate, who are few) and quick to find some energy for communicating. My patience is gone. Every time my phone goes "beep beep beep beep" to indicate a new text message, I startle and then curse loudly. In my mind, there are legions of torturers out there who are trying to distract me and put me to extra effort pushing buttons and answering inane messages. The Terminix man appearing at my door and saying "good morning" is only there to force me out of my chair and across the room, letting heat into my house as he lounges in my air conditioned foyer. I have one (ONE!) chore to do on my computer and I'm angry at the friend who hasn't called with the information that I need to complete it.

In a minute I'm going to cuss someone out on the intercom, grab two beers and take the chute route from my plane. I will do the ultimate "take this life and shove it". It doesn't matter that this whole thing is my fault. I packed yarn in a space bag. I left a space bag next to the door of my bedroom. I walked across the room without looking at the floor. No wait, it goes back way further. I ignored my family history and past symptoms and chose a stressful career that would certainly make me a setup for an autoimmune disorder. I took extra prednisone so that I could keep working (and playing) longer, destroying my bones and increasing my weight. I produced a body that would almost certainly break when challenged.

Okay, you can see where this is going, right? Pretty soon I will be convinced that I produced the all the bad stuff in the world, including climate change and political conservatism. I am on a downward spiral that will leave me huddled in my recliner watching Fox News and the Lifetime network. Self-pity, anxiety and self-indulgence, you are my friends.

Fortunately the last ring of my phone occurred just after the third paragraph and a friend reminded me to "retreat, regroup and return". Just the right coaching for today. Any other advice would have been too religious or too complicated, just the things to make me angry instead of contemplative and calm. For once, I'm going to listen to outside help instead of knitting furiously until my mind is numb and my body hurts more.

Peace.

Do Women of Color Knit?

Last night I slept laying down. Talk about being grateful for small things! For ten days after my fracture I slept sitting, as my arm lost its therapeutic position as soon as I reclined. Every day my legs and feet grew more swollen. It was more difficult at the hotel without my recliner. I struggled to prop enough pillows and balance against them waking every hour to readjust everything.

Oh yes, the hotel. I was bored and stir-crazy in my little house, so I returned to college town with my daughter while she finishes her last week of summer school. Alone in the hotel I have gained a new perspective on designs for my book, as well as a few more words to be said.

I grew up knitting at a time when knitting was an "old lady" hobby. Funkier new crafts were being taught-think macrame-and more portable handcrafts like crochet seemed to be favored. The back to the land movement that followed hippie life seemed far removed from me, as I worked to acquire highly technical, scientific knowledge for my career. By the turn of the century and my retirement, knitting was on the rise with new fibers and better tools and a younger following who created modern, wearable gear.

When I joined that modern knitters movement, what I didn't see was women of color. Without fail, I am overwhelmingly outnumbered in groups of knitters. I am aware of only one African-American woman who regularly appears in knitting design circles, my hero, Shirley Paden. Drawn to a career in knitting design after her high-powered business position suddenly ended, she became incredibly successful. I am trying to determine if the scarcity of minority women in knitting is personal experience or reality. I've fashioned a brief survey to help assess that. Feel free to participate or pass the link to any adult women you know. I will publish the statistics.

I always like to share what I find, if it is useful and good. Knitting has done some amazing things for my life, and if there's a population that isn't getting the exposure, I'd love to aim some teaching in that direction.

Peace.