sarcophagi for ufo's

It is phantasmagorically satisfying to finish knitting projects. Even simple socks.

After foolishly making a commitment to participate in the Taos Yuletide Craft Fair on Thanksgiving weekend I suddenly panicked when I thought about plunging into production again! In the past it has meant starting months before and knitting every day and night since a three day show requires a lot of inventory. I usually get stressed out and end up with a pain in my neck (literally). Not so this year. I will share space with poet friend Leslie who makes unique necklaces with beads, fossils, trilobites, other items. Each piece is a wordless manifestation of a poem. We shared space last year and I had way too much inventory in my half. I kept murmuring "less is more" and moving things around. This year will be different. I plan to include limited editions. Socks are always a big seller though and I'm finishing up long-languishing UFOs. In spite of the raid on my supply a few weeks ago, I still have quite a few. Two pairs were finished over the weekend as I watched old movies and ruthlessly wrote up schedules for my other commitments. One pair had been stranded for five years! But - clever me - once long ago I organized unfinished sock projects into separate plastic bags, enclosed notes on patterns, needles, other things, and then stashed them away in the dark recesses of storage boxes I named Sarcophagi for UFOs (the History channel could make something out of that title). This action reduced my guilt substantially, i.e.: out of sight, out of mind. Unearthing them now yields some surprises and renewed interest - especially when only one more sock has to be knitted.

I have no idea where the original stitch pattern for this primary colors stripey/lace number or the yarn came from since I dislike working with primary colors and rarely buy them (which may explain the five year abandonment of this project). Also, the pattern annoyed me enough that I'm not likely to ever to use it again. But I do like the way they turned out. They're just not for me.

"They're writing songs of love, but not for me"

portent or delight?

It's happening fast. And earlier? Summer is morphing into autumn. The light is different and in recent days bird noises are prevalent. Ravens and magpies are cawing nonstop and flocking together. Why, I don't know. They don't leave for the south. Like us, they seem to be stuck here for the winter. Other birds are landing on the deck in groups, chirping choruses all morning, on the lookout for seeds that are no longer there.  We stopped putting out seeds because although the birds loved it and we had a great view of the many varieties, mice also like bird seeds a lot and since the deck is off the kitchen...well, you know the rest. I hate rodents in my house! (and car, but that's another story).

With all the avian activity I invariably think of the chapter in The Wind in the Willows when the birds are gathering on wires and in trees to discuss travel plans and how some of the animals (Ratty? Moley?) are wistfully longing to go along but know they won't or can't. It's really hard to leave home. But what would it be like to throw a few things into a pack and just go? Like the ancient Chinese and Japanese poets who put on a good pair of straw sandals, packed a rucksack with a cotton kimono of white paper treated with persimmon juice crumpled soft, a waterproof, hat, ink stone, paper, and set off - on foot - on journeys that lasted a year more or less. I love to ponder this type of journey and my own mythical rucksack. Basho said: I've always been drawn by windblown clouds into dreams of a lifetime of wandering. Me too. I'd need a second pair of shoes of course, a warm sweater, camera(s), a small knitting project with pack of interchangeable needles ( just in case I ran into some yarn along the way), pens, notebook, lipstick, good moisture lotion, wool socks, flannel PJs crumpled soft, Kindle, cell phone...guess I'm destined to stay home with Ratty.

All day, column after column
a squadron of feathers,
a fluttering airborne
ship
crossed
the tiny infinity
of the window where I search,
question, work observe, wait.
                               Pablo Neruda

what is luxury?

Today I feel like this old crumbling adobe house. No matter what I did to my face, or what nice clothes I put on, or the new bag and mint green toenails, that's how I felt. We drove down to Santa Fe to Trader Joe's for a week's (or more) worth of food. In spite of the price of gas and the 84 miles one way, we still get more for our dollar at TJs than anywhere else. And it sort of feels like an adventure to fill the trunk of the Miata with provisions - against what I do not know. This is not, after all, the Taos of Mabel Dodge Luhan and the early settlers who spent whole days and an overnight getting from Santa Fe to Taos and back. Nor is it winter when, although practical experience tells us that Smith's is just a half mile away, the car has 4-wheel drive, and we really won't run out of food, genetic survival instincts still kick in.

I feel like the top has blown off the roof of my head, too. And I can just make out the sky and trees as I begin to work on a weekly schedule to insure that I can actually accomplish the plethora of commitments I seem to have made for the next few months. Perhaps signing up for a Latin class was not the brightest thing to do. Or volunteering to take on two concurrent editing jobs. Or the Yuletide Craft Fair in November which means I'll have to up my knitting production.

Across my opened book of Neruda's poems lies a skein of soft baby alpaca yarn the color of wine stains and nearby, a square of dark chocolate. I drop small strawberries into my glass and wonder if life needs to get any better than poetry, wine and chocolate. I have to eat the red-wine-soaked strawberries with a spoon.
"what does it mean to say for ever"?

new yarnista in town

The imposing adobe church of St Francisco de Asis in Ranchos de Taos is one of the world's most painted, filmed and photographed edifices. Georgia O'Keeffe, Ansel Adams, Edward Weston, D.H. Lawrence - you name the artist or photographer, past and present, and they've done it. It was originally made by hand and is still remudded that way every year - most recently in June. The plaza surrounding the church has sprouted a few relatively unobtrusive and eclectic shops and cafes. Today I drove there to find a yarn shop I'd heard about.

As you enter the plaza your eye is immediately drawn to the imposing familiar church situated right in the middle. If you look to your left you will see a doorway with old weathered gates opened to a courtyard where Red Willow Art and Fibers is nestled.

The interior of the two room shop in this old adobe building is by its very age and existence filled with atmosphere - add to that an array of luxurious hand dyed fibers in two rooms - spinning fibers, weavings, luscious yarns, other treasures - and it's some kind of heaven. Julie Silvian is the artist who opened the shop in May (and I only just heard about it!). She dyes the fibers and her colors make me want to sample at least all  of them. There is no corporate commercial yarn here and don't even mention the a-word! This is all about the exotic: alpaca, silk, camel, yak, cashmere. Sigh! Okay. So I want off budget a trifle (the new budget I set for myself this very morning).

How could I resist hand dyed ultra soft baby alpaca named wine & roses or superfine alpaca called wine country? I ask you. How? And at such reasonable prices? And we won't even speak about the golden yellow cashmere that I didn't buy or the cute and unique fabric purses and compact padded camera bags that her friend makes for the shop (perfect for my favorite Canon).

Taos is a fiber town and the fiber pinnacle of each year is the Wool Festival on the first weekend in October (my friend Josie calls it "a major holiday for our people"). There are excellent yarn shops in this small place and Red Willow just added another dimension. I'm sure there's more to Julie's story - she's a weaver, knitter, dyer - how did she come to Taos  from other parts?  But I wasn't there to interview her - at least not for now. Instead I'm planning to organize an expedition with a couple of fanatic friends and storm the gates.

basic magic

Finished the KnitPicks Felici rainbow socks late last night while trying to block out of my hearing the D'backs baseball game Ron watched even though the team's at the bottom of the league and they generally lose.

I'd planned to include a photo of a recent real sky rainbow but that cliche is so prevalent that I thought I'd spare you - even though they are slightly magical and I take useless photographs time after time. When we first moved to these mountains, close friends moved here too. We called each other that whole first summer filled with almost daily double Disney rainbows whose entire arch we could see. This was new to lifelong New Englanders and Manhattanites. There was a lot of talk about the pot of gold and how lucky we were to have found this place. My friend said, "we bought the rainbow package!" She is gone now but (and here comes the inevitable cliche) I think of her every time I see a rainbow in the summer sky.

So. Back to basics. It was easy to match the yarn's stripes exactly. Usually I prefer unmatched pairs but somehow these called for symmetry. I used the plain and simple 60 stitch pattern I wrote up in my 2003 chapbook Mastering the Art of Sock Knitting (still available in an updated version) and 2.5mm dpns. Nothing else was necessary - the colorful soft yarn made the statement. Now into the soxbox they will go until some future chilly autumn day (it's coming - nights are cooler) when I'll decide to keep, sell, or give them away.

Twilight rain high up
crosses paths with setting sun
and new handmade socks

music to the day

My neighbor's sweet white horse was back again briefly last week - to the delight of my urban guests. What is it about horses in landscapes? And me taking pictures of them from my deck a couple of acres away? They do create a tranquil scene as they go about their business which is mostly about eating and what goes along with eating. I'm still surprised every time I see a horse suddenly roll around in the dust on its back or lie down on its side like death and fall asleep. Or (and this one always gets me) pick up a stick in its mouth and use it to scratch its rump!

new project alert!
I think I found a pattern for the new Road to China yarn. It's the Cotty sock pattern by IrishgirlieKnits. I read about it on the Yarn Harlot blog and downloaded it from Ravelry. I just have to figure out if this yarn is dk or fingering weight since the pattern covers both.

On this medium blue sky day the wind blowing in once again feels like an ocean wind. The last couple of nights' steady rain has kept everything deep green this late into summer. I sit at my desk with lace curtains blowing in and out above me (sounds romantic but the curtains came from Walmart many years ago - and  altho I dislike the aforementioned store and what they stand for I can't seem to get rid of the curtains). Breezy days like this feel like they'll last forever. But then that's always the way I feel about mountain weather. Good or bad, it seems like it's always been and always will be. And I suppose, objectively, that's true.

zoned out

The petals are falling from the bouquet of sunflowers on the table. I know I should remove and toss them, but I can't seem to do it yet. Since Saturday I've been removing vestiges of the family's visit. Doing laundry non-stop - sheets, pillowcases, blankets. For a whole year these items each had a storage place in this small house, but I can't seem to find space for these last few. They must have been somewhere. But where? So until I solve the mystery, these pillows and blankets will sit on the table downstairs (the table was somewhere else too).

I found out what a onesie is but didn't find a pattern I liked. Instead I found a "halfsie" - warm baby leggings made with sock yarn. Perfect for a winter baby due in November. What I've done so far seems so small, but I seem to recall that newborn babies tend to be on the small side. I found the free pattern online and if it works out (one never knows until the last stitch is made) I might try one in a thicker yarn and bigger needles for when the baby outgrows this one - I also seem to remember that they grow awfully fast. So far I have only one leg almost finished. I still don't believe it will fit a real baby but I'm willing to go the distance because it's so cute. I'm using Opal sock yarn (I have a stash) in their Masked Ball series.

And today I started The Zone. No more chocolate-covered strawberries (I threw away what was left), too much wine (only 4 ozs of red tonight with dinner), cake (green, ugh!), bread (sigh). I'd really like to trim down again because a slim body makes everything else attractive - including (I hope) my new mint green toenail polish. The perception of an old fat lady with green toenails is quite different from a slim women of a certain age sporting green toenails - don't you agree?

cool rainclouds gather
stacks of blankets and pillows
humming laundry sounds
my house so empty today
        where has everyone gone?

in a world of color

The family has gone home to the east and west. It's quiet here now and all the evidence that's left of their visit are the sheets and pillowcases that are being laundered. And the leftover tiramisu I just ate. And the six chocolate covered strawberries that was breakfast. What's left of the alligator cake will have to be sacrificed to the garbage gods or else it's death by green sugar. Starting on Monday I'm going fat flush! But today's only Saturday. We drove yesterday to Albuquerque via Santa Fe. Arriving at 4:45 I just had time to walk to Tutto before they closed, while they headed for ice cream cones at the Plaza Bakery. It didn't take long to find "Road to China silken jewels" dk yarn. It's made up of baby alpaca, cashmere, camel, silk and is the softest. The color is citrine and I bought two skeins for now until I can figure out what I want to make with it.

At the Pueblo the other day we visited a shop that sells dyed corn necklaces. They were lovely and colorful.

When I finished a sock at Loka Cafe this morning I was reminded of the necklaces. The sock is made with KnitPicks Felici sock yarn and although I planned it for a baby hat it somehow became something else. That's the mystery of yarn. It has a mind of its own and if you force your will upon it and don't listen, it may not satisfy - and after all those stitches and time, who wants that? I can't wait to start the second one. After a week of not knitting I'm sort of feeling deprived.

As I anticipated, the females in the family (ages 15-42) plotted to go home with hand knitted items. The night before they left, they rummaged through my storage boxes, oohed and aahhed, grabbed and made deals and negotiations with each other (largely ignoring me as I finished the last of the champagne). The kitchen table was six inches deep with a shocking number of finished items. Even I was a bit surprised. They finally chose three pairs of socks each, two market bags and one purple cardi (that my daughter says she will wear every day all during nasty New England winter). I tried to take pictures but the energy was so high that no one stood still long enough. There was so much enthusiasm and encouragement that I'll probably continue this knitting obsession until I keel over. I will give consideration to the specific requests each of them had but I'm not fond of knitting on demand. If the project appeals to me I'll know it will get finished and they will get lucky (color-striped market bag, infant "onesie with ears" (what's a onesie?), men's socks/shoe size 13 (don't think so), legwarmers to drape over boot tops).

hot August night
on the kitchen table
my birthday flowers wilt

time itself unwinds

Time itself unwinds (Leonard Cohen)

After many years away I got back to Taos Pueblo today. It's ten minutes away from my home, but living near something extraordinary creates the illusion that one can return anytime. Time passes and I returned with my visiting family. The pueblo is more than 1,000 years old. The Taos Pueblo people are one of the few tribes - if not the only ones in North America - who were not forcefully relocated from their lands. No one lives in the village proper these days and many residences have been converted into shops that sell handcrafts - jewelry, drums, music, pottery. I have always found the Pueblo to be a magical place with a spiritual atmosphere. Today though, two things happened when I stepped into the village. It felt rundown and neglected and the magic was elusive. I was dismayed by the sight of the imposing five story building cracked and crumbling in places. Photos I'd taken of the place years ago, alive with laundry and curtains in windows, is now deteriorating and desolate. In the past the Indians remudded the buildings every year. Walls sparkled with adobe mud and straw, glints of mica. The village is divided in half by the Rio Pueblo and when we crossed over the wooden bridge we noticed the other side of the village in much better condition. I have no idea of why this is happening to this amazing site. I am not privy to Pueblo politics. There is a casino now (just outside the village) and one would think that revenues from it could easily pay for upkeep. But as I said, I am not privy to the inner workings of this sovereign place. It just felt sad.

Last night was my birthday dinner. At some point in the afternoon five cooks (one an actual professional chef) and one dog (underfoot) were in the kitchen whipping, sauteing, marinating things. The house had been decorated earlier with balloons, crepe paper chains, a festive tablecloth. An extended family member arrived and nine people dined on chicken marsala, butter mashed potatoes, brown rice, marinated grilled salmon, salad, champagne, chocolate swirled strawberries, tiramisu, apple cobbler, ice cream, and one enormous green alligator birthday cake (no, I don't get the connection either but it was inscribed with the names of the three of us with birthdays within days of each other and was fun and silly - maybe that's the only connection that matters).  After dinner we went outside onto the second floor deck and lighted sparklers left over from my birthday party five years ago! They sputtered and sparked and this time the smoke detectors didn't go off.

We have one more day together before everyone has to get back to their lives in New Mexico, Connecticut, Nevada. This has been an extraordinary week and one I'll remember as long as memory persists.

     In words of love
a tiny bit of exaggeration
feels right. 
                          Antonio Machado

a different rabbit hole

Amidst a madly cluttered house (the same one I spent weeks cleaning!) and tons of food being prepared and eaten (two cakes and one pan of brownies so far) four members of our family are here and one more is due tonight. Life has been noisy and funny since they arrived and the house has grown smaller.We all drove up to Taos Ski Valley yesterday and had a decadent late lunch outside on the deck at The Bavarian restaurant at 10,500 feet amidst ponderosas and aspens, hot sun and soft breezes. Our waiter, in a white shirt with billowy sleeves (the same type that look so sexy in old swashbuckler movies) merely mentioned homemade apple strudel and we were on it. It was delivered with several forks, ice cream, whipped cream, and disappeared from the plate in seconds. We did not order seconds and drove off contented, talking about it and naps.

On another subject. For two nights my friend Susana Guillaume performed her one-woman show The Pinnacle of my French Ambition in Taos. It was fabulous. She is a writer and dancer who will be performing again in Santa Fe in September. This is the second in her series of one-woman shows. If you are anywhere in the area, try to catch it. I have written with her at various times and places on and off for more than a decade and always admire her funny and perceptive insights. Now she is sharing them with the public in these fresh and new shows.

So, feeling a little like Alice in Wonderland when she was squashed into the house that had grown too small around her, I will take a drink of something and hope to recover my ordinary size again before going to the tea party that will take place in some version or other when the gang returns from their day at the hot springs.

"She ate a little bit, and said anxiously to herself "Which way? Which way? holding her hand on the top of her head to feel which way it was growing; and she was surprised to find that she remained the same size. To be sure, this is what generally happens when one eats cake."
                                                        Lewis Carroll
                                                        Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

falling into the sky

Since I do not need another obsession I have resisted learning to spin. However, today's clouds look so much like fleece that it makes me want to possess a great big bundle of it in exactly those shades of gray. It has to be cashmere though. I've decided that life is too short to knit with anything but cashmere forever and ever - or until it's out of my system (possible?).

This week I've been a good do-bee. Went to a chamber music concert on Sunday night, met up with a friend for a brief cafe break, bought a great vanilla colored Coach bag in town at the chic resale shop Re-neux, wrote a few rough poem drafts - but mostly scrubbed toilets, sinks, floors, decluttered surfaces and emptied my workroom in preparation for the arrival of family members on Friday afternoon. I'm looking forward to the week ahead with them and just hope I won't be too tired to enjoy late hours of talk, wine, lots of food, some sightseeing (been there, done that), a dinner party and general departure from routine. A big box arrived FedX today and I have been instructed not to open it. I'm itching to sneak a look and can probably close it up again undetected - but my daughter said she's set traps inside so she'll know. Amazing how roles shift after a bunch of decades!

The horses were removed to another field this weekend. After only two weeks or less, three horses can denude even the lushest green field. They are eating machines. But, I agree with Alice Walker who wrote, "horses make a landscape more beautiful". One of the horses came by to say goodbye to Spike.

The problem is, we think we have time
                                     Jack Kornfield