To A Stranger

PASSING stranger! you do not know how longingly I look upon you,
You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me, as of a dream,)
I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you,
All is recall’d as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured,
You grew up with me, were a boy with me, or a girl with me,
I ate with you, and slept with you—your body has become not yours only, nor left my body mine only,
You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass—you take of my beard, breast, hands, in return,
I am not to speak to you—I am to think of you when I sit alone, or wake at night alone,
I am to wait—I do not doubt I am to meet you again,
I am to see to it that I do not lose you.

Walt Whitman
Leaves of Grass 1900

Pink and Blue

My current project is Windjammer Socks from Clara Parkes', The Knitters Book of Wool. 
The yarn here from Painted Fleece (sadly discontinued), is great to work with. The main component of this sock blend is Bluefaced Leicester, a wool I've used before on socks with great success. So, I've known for a while that I like it. Now, thanks to Clara's book, I know why I like it.
Bluefaced Leicester Wool is the softest of the Longwool breed category. From the book, I've learned that this sheep produces fiber with "open but smaller curls, a fine fiber diameter and a silky demiluster". It also has a nice long staple length - 3 to 6 inches in comparison with Merino's 2 to 4 inch average. This means it produces a fabric that is durable and attractive. It's slightly rougher than the Finewool Merino, but not uncomfortably so. In my experience, softest is not always best. Socks knit with Leicester wool hold their shape beautifully, last longer and don't pill. A wonderful fiber.

More From 1975

 Cotton corduroy for the junior miss.

 High waisted and wide legged.

Sweet separates.

Fashionable Research

On this beautiful Saturday, The Daughter and I went for lunch and then wondered up to the Toronto Reference Library, a place I rarely visit but always enjoy immensely when I do. The intention was to sit quietly reading a book I had called up from stacks but that never happened. By chance we ended up on the top floor next to the advertising and catalogue shelf. Soon we were immersed in the wonder that is the 1975 Eaton's Fall and Winter Catalogue.

People like to joke about bad seventies fashion but in reality, the "sophisticated 70's" did a lot of things right. Of particular beauty was the decade's outerwear. Winter coats and hats were gorgeous. I would wear any of the above coats today.

Yes, I'll admit the wide lapelled poly pant suit is ridiculous but those sweaters sure are cute. The whole colour palette here is inviting. And that cream zipper sweater with culottes and boots? Tres chic.

Bathrooms in the 1970's on the other hand, were best avoided.

Adaptable

I've been meaning to knit another pair of Robin Melanson's Glaistag. The ones I made 4 years ago have worn through from many, many happy wearings.
There's some multi-coloured handspun in my stash that I wanted to incorporate somehow. The problem is that this yarn is thin as thread. My solution is to hold it with a double strand of Grignasco cobweb merino silk which, in a moment of madness, I purchased thinking I'd be able to use. In black. I can barely see the letters on this keyboard and black cobweb is a good idea?

Anyway, the colour effect of the two yarns blended is rather nice. Now problem #2 is that the mottled texture obscures the pretty English lace pattern. Alas. All those painstakingly executed ssk's and sk2p's that you can hardly make out. 
I did consider chucking the whole thing. However after consideration, I shall carry on. I've decided the end result, while not my original intention, shall be its own unique kind of pretty.

International Women's Day? A Poem, Of Course.

Well, it's a day late but I read it yesterday and thought "How perfect." given the way I was feeling. A piggish comment by a male co-worker followed by many, many positive comments and wishes via the interwebs from women friends helped me see, once again, the importance of sisterhood.

Translations

You show me the poems of some woman
my age, or younger
translated from our language

Certain words occur: enemy, oven, sorrow
enough to let me know
she's a woman of my time

obsessed

with Love, our subject:
we've trained it like ivy to our walls
baked it like bread in our ovens
worn it like lead on our ankles
watched it through binoculars as if
it were a helicopter
bringing food to our famine
or the satellite
of a hostile power

I begin to see that woman
doing things: stirring rice
ironing a skirt
typing a manuscript till dawn

trying to make a call
from a phonebooth

The phone rings unanswered
 in a man's bedroom
she hears him telling someone else
Never mind. She'll get tired.
hears him telling her story to her sister
who becomes her enemy and will in her own time
light her own way to sorrow

ignorant of the fact this way of grief
is shared, unnecessary
and political

Adrienne Rich
Diving Into The Wreck, W.W. Norton and Co., 1972

Lace. Oh Yes.

Remember my trip to Elora to visit Wellington Fibres Mill? Remember this yarn?

Well, here is what the first skein has become. I love it so much I can barely see straight! This Orchid Thief was a painful knit in many ways, and I admit there were times I wanted to chuck it. Now I can definitely say that it was worth it.  I can't wait until spring when I can wear this lace over a light dress.
The deets are on my Ravelry page

The mohair/wool lace weight behaves in a surprisingly yet not unpleasantly different way when knit compared to when it's on the skein. It becomes lighter and acquires a bit of a halo. The lace pattern is defined but not harsh. Lovely. The best part? I still have the small skein of blue and another 650 yard skein in plum. What to do with them?

A Scarf

Sometimes a knitter needs to go back to the beginning and knit a scarf. In this case, the yarn came first. I really wanted to use this discontinued Artful Yarns Serenade, cotton/angora blend that's been sitting in my stash for years. Veronik Avery's Transitional Scarf from her Knitting 24/7 book provided the perfect pattern - just the right fibre and yardage.
The plushy texture of the yarn made it a delight to work with and the eight row repeat of the pattern kept it interesting. Unfortunately, the slight violet tones in the pink, don't complement my colouring. This scarf is not meant for me. Into the gifting pile it goes until I find some fresh faced young thing who can wear it.

East Village Poetry Walk: Part Two

New York is a BIG city. And CROWDED. It is possible to feel very lonely wondering its streets. Being by myself in galleries and theatre lobbies, peering into expensive shops and crowded cafes, I felt rather disembodied at times. There are so many places where one feels one is not invited. I often found myself missing The Daughter who is my usual travelling companion
It wasn't until my third day in NYC, on my visit to the East Village, that the tight spring in me started to unwind. I loved the aesthetic of the streets with their criss-crossing fire escapes and random community art gardens. There's more sky. I ate a leisurely lunch at the pretty Moroccan cafe that is a stop on the poetry walk, lingering over my glass of wine while writing in my journal. The food was delicious, the staff friendly and casual. I finally felt like I was on vacation.

I didn't get a photo of Tompkins Square Park. I forgot to take out my camera. About halfway through the walking tour, one slowly crosses the park, east  to west, while listening to a John Ashbery poem appropriately titled, Just Walking Around. I admit I hadn't heard of Ashbery before. My knowledge of American writers in general is quite poor. (In Ontario high schools during the seventies, we were raised on Margaret Lawrence, Shakespeare, and Who Has Seen The Wind.). Just Walking Around is a trickster of a piece, beautifully read by the poet himself, and it grabbed me fully;

"...It gets to be kind of lonely
But at the same time off-putting,
Counterproductive, as you realize once again
That the longest way is the most efficient way..."  
Listen to and read the poem here.

In the center of the park, between playgrounds and benches, is a large, circular off-leash area surrounded by a nice wrought iron fence. Leaning on the fence, listening to the poem for the second time, I paused to watch the dogs play for a while. A big, beautiful hound, tail wagging, all ears and legs, galloped up to me, put his big paws up the fence and presented that doggie face that says 'I love only you.' I rubbed his ears cooing and laughing, knowing in my heart that, for that moment, I was completely happy.

East Village Poetry Walk: Part One

Last Thursday I took the #1 Downtown from my upper west hotel, then transferred to the L Train to the Lower East Side.  I discovered the East Village Poetry Walk website months ago and have wanted to take this walk ever since. Just before leaving Toronto for my impromptu trip, I downloaded the Jim Jarmusch narrated tour onto my mp3 player. It's entitled, Passing Stranger, after a Walt Whitman poem To A Stranger:
"Passing stranger, you do not know how longingly I look upon you..."
How wonderful is that?

It was a beautiful day and I was excited but relaxed. I felt immediately at home in this neighbourhood. Unlike so many other parts of New York. one feels one can breathe here.

The walk begins at these gates to the St Mark's Church in the Bowery. This church is not only a place of worship, and Manhatten's second oldest building. It's also a hub for theatre, dance and poetry. That colourful sign points the way to the various offices. In the vestibule while listening to the narrated history, I collected the post cards of some local dance and theatre companies.

On the church courtyard wall are these plaques, dedicating trees to some of the poets who have been part of the scene here. Embiggen to read more easily. Take note of the names.

The courtyard and its trees from the sidewalk. After one leaves the church, the actual walking begins. The tour guides you slowly along, pointing out the homes and haunts of poets. While you stroll, you hear histories. interviews and poem readings. It's rather sublime.

One sits in awe, and awe is not too strong a word, on steps across from 437 East 12th, the apartment building  where Alan Ginsberg lived the longest in this neighbourhood.  "America I've given you all and now I'm nothing..." plays in his voice. Apparently he used to throw down the key encased in a sock, to visiting friends from that 4th floor center window.

Frank O'Hara lived here...

...W.H. Auden here...

...and you know that photo of Jack Kerouac smoking on the fire escape? Yup. taken here, in the back of an earlier apartment of Ginsberg's on East 7th. Kerouac wrote the better part of The Subterraneans while here in 1953.