Christmas Eve

I am mindful of those who stand apart from all the celebratory jollies. I know far too many who have lost beloveds this past year or have other struggles and I know how it feels having gone through a few sad Christmases myself.

A mixed bag here as the silly season gets under way. I hear from many scattered friends and acquaintances at this time. Jacquie Lawson cards. poems from fellow tenants in my building slipped under my door, long emails from those abroad, cards, a book from my sister which has a particular resonance, a knock on the door from a friend bearing a large bag of assorted gifts which will await an opening on Christmas Day.

I get far more out of giving gifts than receiving them. I was lucky in that a friend, a very talented artist, did some delightful oil paintings this past year and I believe in supporting the arts and then endowing members of my family with her talent. I forgot to take pics before I wrapped them but hope to do so once they open them.

My seasonal section in my home, which are normally my knitting shelves:

It might all look very sloppy to you but I always buy a large selection of tea towels before Christmas and wrap gifts in them. Cuts back on waste and who can't use a luscious new tea towel? We mainly exchange books as we are all mad readers. We celebrate Jokabokaflod

You may wonder what this item below is. I can assure you it's made all the difference to my life.

It's a set of (USB rechargeable) lights that I wear around my neck when in poorly lit places so I can either knit or read. Recently I was waiting in the gym area beside the laundry room which has lighting in all the wrong places and I was able to sit and knit to my heart's content. I am so in love with this incredible invention I bought 3 more for relatives and a friend. 3 lighting intensities too. 

I worked on this with the benefit of this lighting, I have one now complete and started another. Next I'll be knitting socks while waiting for the machines.

Small wee joys. Who can beat them?

And with that, I wish you all small wee joys. The big ones are elusive. Collect the small ones.

New Rules

I saw this on a fellow writer's FB wall and thought, my gawd, I should have it painted, large, in black caps, in my walls. Seriously.

I can't believe how one simple task on my to do list today can expand to 4 hours, as I wander the corridors of the interwebz, slamming up against online Walmart, then into Ravelry for the perfect wool for an infant aran sweater, then pick up a piece of knitting for a friend and mull the shortage of yarn in the expensive wool she bought for this "slouch" hat she commissioned. There wouldn't be too much slouch so I dove into my wool stash for a kinda match and eureka, found it and test drove it a few rows. Then there was this picture needed framing so I played hunt the hammer for a while, studied the picture (I had several knitting pics enlarged and printed and oh my, are they gorgeous) to see where trimming could happen, abandoned that, picked up a marvelous book, a gift and I don't know from whom as s/didn't sign it and made notes for expansion on an existing novel.

Exhausted from all the activity, I had to go back to my list to see what the original task was:"send off self-potrait and short biography to Writers' Alliance.

Still not done.

But hey, look at my knitting, a gift of a lovely picture and my book bag, another gift.

Gifts

"What a gift it is," he says, "When all that is required is a shift in lifestyle, paying more attention to the details of day to day life with the promise being that life will get better."

I explained to my counsellor about my specialist's findings. How alarming. How demolishing.

I reflected on my three dear, dead friends. I feel he knows them intimately now. Along with my family of origin.

What an opportunity it would have been for them to change direction, make some slight adjustments to the sails and tack into a different direction on the great ocean of life. But alas their deaths had no such advance warning.

My gift indeed.

"Who do you talk to? Intimately I mean?" he asks me.

"You," I said after a minute, "Only you, there is no one else. Truly."

"But there is room for others, is there not?"

"I suppose. But shared history, depth, no way that can be replaced."

"I agree. But your spirit needs nurturing and maybe this freedom is giving you another gift in that you honour the memories of these beloved friends by opening up the space left inside you and use your last few precious years to explore your own creativity further."

Light, Tunnel

There comes a day when one wakes up and bingo, no pain in the back. Today was such a day for me.

Interestingly enough, nearly 3 weeks later, the whole back of my hand is a rancid shading of purple and yellow from where the IV was inserted.

And yesterday, I catch these two brothers I know sneaking in their truck and trailer down my driveway and I wave at them to stop and sheepishly they admit they'd filled the rest of my barn with a truckload of wood and wanted it to be a surprise as I'd "been kind" to them last year. And when I questioned that, they said "think about it". I've never been one to keep a ledger. although I know of a few that do. Imagine that if you will. Tallying up your own favours and good deeds like money in the bank.

One of the loveliest letters I ever received was from my grandmother about a year after my mother died. In the letter she listed all the ways and kindnesses and gifts I'd given my mother in the last few years of her life. And I didn't remember much of anything I'd done or sent or given or written. I felt I hadn't done enough. But my mother had shared all these instances with her own mother and I was then re-gifted everything so magnificently in that precious letter that when I read it now I burst into tears.

It's best not to tally anything. Give and forget is my motto. Unless I am given. And that I don't forget.

Daughter handed me a huge bag of goodies yesterday.

Bits and bobs including her wonderful baking and cooking.

Among them is this magnificent oil lamp which thrills me to pieces. In so many ways.

How very dear she is.

Every time I light it I will think of her.

Healing Gifts

Three to be precise.

The first is a very old friend and in the way of busy,  we lost track of each other. She had 6 children and I, single working parent pre-interwebz what does one do to sustain a palship?

She wasn't a friend of my now deceased BFF but felt driven to trek down to the south side of Dublin from her north side home to the funeral. She's never done anything like this in her life as she doesn't drive and finds the complicated 3 system transit necessary to do this daunting to say the least.

But she did it. And here we were today at Wynn's old hotel in Dublin catching up for 5 hours. Her children are all scattered, her husband dropped dead on the El Camino 4 years ago and she rattles around her big old house by herself. A traditional housewife,  she had to learn how to write cheques after her husband died.

I always knew even when she was 18 that she would be an Irish mammy. She always knew I was far too independent in my thinking to ever settle for that.

And you know what? After 40 years, the love was there, the openness and the honesty.

And yes, the laughter. And the memories she has of my beloved mum are priceless.

"I could have you come live with me forever," she says.

So next time I'm in Dublin,  yeah, I'll have her give me a test drive. Forever can change to never in a heartbeat.

There's something so healing about all of these events and that's just my 1st story.

Blog Friends

Over the years I've made a few good friends through this blog. It's extraordinary this world of the internetz and webz isn't it?

I've exchanged personal emails, offered and been given support and meeting some in the flesh too has only affirmed the on-line friendships. In every single case. Remarkable that, yeah?

Yesterday, in the mail, I received a gift of handmade soaps from a good blog friend in the USA. No further identity will I provide to maintain her privacy.

Beautiful soaps. Something I wouldn't normally buy as they would be a bit out of the old league, price wise.

I'm thinkin' I must knit her some Newfoundland dishcloths.

Thank you lovely lady!

Gratitude

I had this box from Daughter. A big huge serious box.

Stuffed. With books. And bookmarks. Great books. And a chair cover that said "Happy Birthday" and old photos that made me smile including a gorgeous one of my dad I thought I'd lost forever, and a little owl (my totem). And a beautiful card that made me cry. And a card from Grandgirl that started me up again. And an official knitting notebook for my projects. And two huge packages of my favourite vermicelli made from sweet potatoes which I can't get here - it was a treasure trove. The thought and care that went into this harvest makes me feel so special and loved.

And in the past wee while I had the most ridiculous urge to jog again. It's like my feet have a life of their own. This was completely irresistible in the last few weeks so jog I did, I'd look ahead and mentally note a tree and jog towards it. And it feels free and easy and connected to the mantra I would recite in the old days when I jogged every morning for an hour or so. "I am a strong capable woman." So I said that a few times. And believed it.

And then I get a private message on Facebook tonight from a young woman (anyone younger than my daughters are young to me, younger than Grandgirl? - infants)in which she said: "I couldn't believe that was you I saw on the road tonight running. Running! It was only when I was passed you that I recognised you. Could I start running with you do you think? You are so inspiring!"

It's in the tiny things of how we live our lives that are the most observed and the most validating to our existence, I find.

Pearls to Swine?

My latest card.

Kinda harsh, that header isn't it?

I was chatting to a close friend today as it is her birthday. She's an artist and we rambled on, as old friends tend to do, about the reception given some of our creative gifts.

Example 1 for me was a beautiful afghan I had knitted as a gift for some family members. These afghans are designed and executed by me and encompass over 100 hours of my time, effort and love. And I didn't even get a thank you card. I suppose a quickly written cheque would have been more acceptable to them? Probably.

Example 1 for her was a painting she had created over days in her studio especially for a couple who were celebrating their 45 year wedding anniversary last Saturday. The gift was received with a reluctant "oh, that's nice." and left on the floor while the couple went on to ooh and aah over some crystal glasses.

I was reminded of a reaction by another friend last week when I presented her with 6 of my cards of local scenes with my poetry on the back. "Oh, I have no use for these" she said as she handed them all back to me.

There are dozens more examples. And they far outweigh the appreciative comments or even token "thank yous"

It's easy to say not to be hurt or diminished by such behaviour as maybe there are some who feel valued only by the money spent on them and not the painstaking love and effort put into a one of a kind creative offering.

But we're both human. And struggling artists. And it's a lonely old world when you spend most of your days in creative solitude.

And an appreciative word doesn't go amiss once in a while.

A Random Act of Kindness

The other day a family member virtually visited me with an absolutely overwhelming act of kindness. Where my response was to cry. Tears of joy, I should add. It wasn't so much what they did. It was how they made me feel, even though incredibly loving words accompanied the act.

As if they could see me and know me and recognise unsupported solitude. And then for them to say: I understand. I love you. You are special. And now and again life is a struggle for you. And I've got your back.

It was as if some hitherto unknown internal pressure inside me was released. I can hardly describe the feeling and to let myself even relax back into it brings on more tears.

The muse, my Scriobhnarin, returned. And writing comes easy today. Idiotic I know - but I can feel the love even at this huge geographical distance.

Unexpected love and kindness are priceless.

I'll pay it forward.

Irish Cappucino

This one I called "Irish Cappucino", being the Irish artist in wool that I am 'n all. Ahem~!

I just now packed it in the luggage as it is a gift. It draped itself rather nicely over some of the freshly painted (thank you Grandgirl!) deck furniture.

Some I have a hard time giving away.

This is one of them.

Over and out for ??? depending on connectivity in Ireland. I hope to post from the Newfoundland travelling theatre Irish road trip.

That's /30 for now.

Treasures

The wife of a friend makes these miniatures out of her own handmade crocheted lace and satin and sequins. She stiffens the lace in the old fashioned way with sugar. She handed me a little box of them tonight – they look like snowflakes. Along with these there was her home-made molasses bread, a dark fruit cake, marshberry jam and cookies to stagger out her door with. The casual generosity of Newfoundlanders still takes my breath away.

Shameless Brag

click to enbiggen

This was a long haul in the making, over 15 months. My daughter's birthday is tomorrow and this is the gift. I've designed and made these afghans for years, often as wedding gifts or family gifts. They always incorporate facets or hallmarks or talents or aspirations of the giftee and family connections.

In this one, there are the trees symbolizing family and grounding,. There is a garden representing my daughter's annual vegetable and herb planting. There are the honeycombs representing health for her (she has MS) and the blackberries representing the wild fruits of the hedgerows that she loves, cables of friends and relationships, there are boats symbolizing the ocean and then there are music notes representing her passion for music and her skill as a flautist.

Finally there is the surrounding edging of tulips which represent the month of her birth, April.

Oddly enough, it was the tulips that were the biggest challenge. I could not manage to get the pattern (it was an 18-rower) into my head until I'd made about 20. As I like to watch movies or DVD series or read a book as I knit, this was a serious challenge, having to concentrate and read the pattern so many times and tick as I went. But finally it sunk in and I was able to multi-task successfully (even to reading blogs as I completed so many of these tulips!)

My daughter's a woman who appreciates all things hand-wrought, so I know she will just love this.

closeup of music notes