worth living for

Here it is. The Raha scarf all blocked and dry, draped around the shoulders of mannequin noir. It's super soft and comfy, but alas, it does curl up serpentine-like. Maybe I'll just leave it hanging on the wall as an art installation. In any case, I'm not thinking warm scarves these days as much as I'm thinking about leaving winter behind. I'll decide how I feel about Raha another time. Right now a strong case of superficiality is overtaking me. I'm reading about spring fashion and blog reports of the Milan shows. Like I said. Superficial. No matter what the new styles are, I'll still be wearing my jeans and tee shirts. Only the colors might change. And of course those colors will be reflected in the newest yarns. Even knitters are slaves to fashion in some form or another. From what I'm reading, it seems like orange and intense violets are the hot colors for spring. Forget the pastel Laura Ashley look, it's Frieda Kahlo colors all the way!  Coincidentally (I bought the yarn last fall) I'm knitting a pair of coppery orange handwarmers. The October aspens were my inspiration back then. Who knew it would be a spring color!

Today is cloudy, cold, windy, more of that wintery feeling than spring. Transitional gloom? To offset it, I'm reading Under the Sun, a compilation of Bruce Chatwin's letters. They're filled with an itchy restlessness - which he kept satisfying through intense traveling, writing, photography, visiting friends in exotic places all over the world. Yet none of it seemed to do the trick for him once and for all. He was interested in everything and died too young (48 years old). We'll never know what more he would have produced or if he could have satisfied his nomadic yearnings. I love his story. Talk about fashion. In all his wanderings and explorations, he carried ample luggage. In the desert he wore khaki shorts and shirts bought in London, with stylish boots and cashmere socks folded over the tops "just so" (that info came from With Chatwin). He carried a custom made leather rucksack, a Leica camera, Mont Blanc pen and a bevy of small Moleskine notebooks. That's my kind of nomad! In my heart of hearts I would like to be him - an energetic, attractive, intense traveler, collector of art and artifacts, cheerful companion, writer.

Instead, I'll read, knit, work a little, dream about transitions, do some creative visualizing - and probably watch the Oscars tomorrow night.

change is the only thing worth living for;
never sit your life out at a desk
                               Bruce Chatwin

back to the future

A few months ago I wrote about a scarf project that I'd gotten halfway through and then didn't like because it was too narrow. I ripped it out and put the yarn aside. Over time I tried several different projects with it and nothing seemed to please. Yet I still loved the Squoosh Fiberarts merino cashmere sock yarn in "Tuscany". So a couple of weeks ago I reconsidered the original project and started it all over again. Last night it was finished, this morning soaked, blocked, drying. Surprise! I love it!

The pattern, Raha Scarf is from Knitted Lace in Estonia by Nancy Bush. With the Squoosh yarn and a 3.25mm circular needle used flat, it came out around 6" by 50-something. A nice size. I'm not sure if once it's dry and being worn, it won't narrow down or curl around. I'd hate that. If not, I may make another one since I enjoyed working the simple satisfying pattern. And I may have to purchase more of this scrumptuous yarn.

once in a while, let life shape itself
                                     Marlena de Blasi

aztecs in town

Anyone who has lived here for awhile is familiar with the sight of dancing Aztecs. Also the pungent smell of sacred copal incense, haunting calls of the conch shell, sound of drums beating rhythmic cadences, colorful feathers, beads, bells and shells. This package of sensory drama comes from the local group, Danza Azteca de Anahuac. They danced this weekend to celebrate the annual Dia de Cuautemoc Ceremony which, according to the newspaper "commemorates the 511th birthday of an indigenous [Mexican] leader who courageously defended his capital, but was taken prisoner when it fell in 1521".  It was quite chilly on Saturday with strong winds gusting and swirling - the intrepid dancers carried on.

Those ancient cultures of Mexico (Incas, Aztecs, Mayans) are mysterious and compelling. Hats off (and fancy headdresses on) to the 21st century descendants who keep them alive in some form.

I was in the Yucatan (Mayan country) three years ago with a group of spiritual and creative women. We spent a day exploring the newest uncovered temple site of Dzibanche.

Upon our arrival, an elder curandera asked us make a wide circle in a clearing in front of the main pyramid. Next to a tiny copal tree sapling in the center she arranged sticks of burning copal incense, blew through a conch shell in four directions, said a prayer and invited each woman - from the oldest to the youngest - to say a few words. As I was second to the oldest and not adept at extemporaneous public comment, I said something about world peace. Since no one was judging and there were no Mayan chieftains ready to sacrifice the bumblers (although rumor has it that a princess is still buried there), it was all good. The photo of the pyramid is from a postcard. Intrepid photographer that I am, I took hundreds of digital pictures with my trusty little Canon. Within a week of arriving home, the camera was stolen. I'd only managed to print off one contact sheet and hadn't yet downloaded the images to my computer. That incident was just one of many unusual things that happened during and after that trip. When I burn the copal incense at home I remember an intense hot day when I stood in a circle of women surrounded by jungle. Not something I'll ever forget - or understand fully. The Aztec dancers, even incongruously dancing in a small park in the center of a plaza traffic circle, evoke paradoxically temporal memories of ancestors I never had.

small patches of bark
removed to bleed the copal tree
sacred resin heals

around town

I haven't traveled anywhere interesting lately. Not even to Santa Fe. There are commitments here that need to be completed before the end of March and I know that once the season turns, I'll be seriously distracted. I do take time for myself a few times a week and end up in coffee shops or walking in the park. Around here cafes are independent and original. No two are alike. There is no Starbucks or Seattle's Best. I choose my target based on mood or purpose. Work? Knitting? Talk? Food? Each has it's own ambiance and regulars. Yesterday met up with a friend at funky Wired. It was another 50+ degree day and we sat in the atrium which is mostly natural light and plants and a sweet Zen pond filled with koi. I'd never noticed them in the water before. They are either new or have been hiding. A sign informs us that the oldest koi on record lived for 226 years! So we drink our tea, share a Danish, and ponder exactly how that was measured and if it's an advantage to live for two centuries in a small pond underwater in a very small fishy Shangri-La.


more coffee
at Taos Cow writing and sipping a cappuccino (snapping pictures through the window). Just on the other side of the trees is an acequia that when it flows in early spring (not quite yet) gurgles and rushes cold and wild. In summer it flows gently as we sit at shady rusted tables with ice cream and coffee.

But now, there is still snow outside the warm sun-filled cafe. It's melting rapidly and mud predominates. Out my windows at home (there are 51) I'm seeing browns and gold tones again - no more squinty-eyed snow-blinding white requiring sunglasses at the breakfast table! When I opened the slider to let the fresh air into the house, it carried the pungent smell of the field next door where four horses and some cattle have been billeted all winter. Not unpleasant really. More a sign of change. Wet earth sending forth it's richness. Getting ready to fertilize the alfalfa that will be planted in a few weeks.

On my walk through the park's camposanto (not a scary place) I noticed cloth and plastic flowers scattered around that had been shorn from fake stems and blown away from gravestones by last week's capricious weather. They made the old cemetery (where Kit Carson is buried) look very cheerful - as if some spirit had drifted by with a basket of flowers during a windstorm. I've heard tell that there are three witches buried side by side in the cemetery (unmarked) and that they still cast spells, but if my dog is with me when I walk through, I'm protected from their cranky spirits. I do not doubt this northern New Mexico wisdom handed down through the ages. Would you?

and there lie three brujas
vigilant guardians of lingering spirits
and unspoken hungers

sweet moods

A day or so ago, the snowy table out on the deck briefly reflected the soft colors of sunset and resembled buttercream frosting. Next morning the snow was gone and our hard-packed dirt road had turned to squishy mud. Temps are in the 50s again, making this a truly schizophrenic winter weatherwise! Sometimes I feel at the edge of madness - an annual February affliction. But there's hope. I stopped into Francesca's clothing boutique yesterday afternoon after a quiet time writing at the nearby coffee shop and learned that new spring items will arrive in early March. Francesca was heading off to Las Vegas to attend the biggest boutique clothing buying show of the year. I had to restrain myself and not blow my budget on silk scarves, cloth bags from India (which would make great knitting bags) and really cute loose comfortable tops and pants. I may have to go back for a bag today though.

knitting update
Have you ever experienced a pattern you've liked and knitted before suddenly turn nasty? I have. And in recent days I've put aside one project and "disappeared" another. It's like starting to read a novel that I just can't get into. Yet I may pick it up again and find it perfect in every way! This is a mysterious moody thing that I don't even try to comprehend. Newly disappeared is a triangle lace shawl that has been driving me crazy on and off for months - I simply can't get the stitch numbers to come out right. I know how to read charts and I've checked for errata - there isn't any. So it's seems to be my brain working on a different frequency from the designer's. R.I.P. shawl, I won't miss you. Then I abandoned an alpaca Gull Wings sock project (made several times with no problem until now). It was a frustrating mess.
        The good news is that my stash produced a mysterious hand dyed sock yarn bought locally several months ago in an impulsive fear-of-loss moment. I was wildly attracted to the muted chocolate candy colors and slubs. I'm loving it. It's merino and I suspect it's actually KnitPicks Donegal Tweed Bare that some enterprising dyer transformed, relabeled and tripled the price on. No matter. It is delicious. Like knitting with chocolate, pink taffy and sprinkles.

Speaking of yarns good enough to eat, a few years ago I traveled with knitting friends to Winslow, Arizona where we stayed in a creepy hotel for a few days and knitted, ate well, talked endlessly. There's nothing much in Winslow. It's major claim to fame is the Eagles song "standin' on a corner in Winslow Arizona..." (remember?) and the historical La Posada hotel. There was, however, one tiny yarn shop called Loose Ends! We waited for it to open the very next day after we arrived and descended upon it en masse. The nice proprietor was giddy with excitement as we filled the entire space and bought enormous amounts of yarn. She had a small selection of sock yarns and because I always buy sock yarn wherever I find it, I chose one that looked like candy. Strawberry taffy, caramel, dark chocolate, vanilla creme. I began knitting with it the moment I returned to the hotel. The result is a soft sweet pair of socks. I still don't have a clue as to who manufactured the yarn (label dematerialized) and I've never seen it's duplicate anywhere since. Today, In honor of Valentine's Day and because the Mystery socks reminded me, they're on my feet. Non-fattening chocolate and candy. Lovely!

not until March, she declares,
but I'm going back today in February mud
for that chocolate and cream striped cotton bag
to stash the candy socks and passport in

those days

I'm in one of those moods and I think it's due to the position of the planets again. Or winter. Everyone I know has had it with winter (I don't know any skiers or snowboarders) and we're all still recovering from last week's survival drill and the new storm that dumped more snow on us even as crews were still out there trying to relight gas pilots. I think they've finished by now but I've stopped listening to the latest updates on the local radio stations. We have a couple of microwaveable frozen dinners left, but get queasy when we think about actually eating them. Plus, the stove is working. That of course means that one of us has to cook!

So I dawdle at my desk, halfheartedly working on an essay for my non-fiction writing class, the topic of which is a picture of myself. That scintillating endeavor led me back to the ms I wrote on the American-Italian (as Martin Scorcese says) New York experience. I found this picture of my mother Elvira (on the right) and her younger sister Jenny, taken about 80 years ago.  They're both wearing hand knitted sweaters that I'm sure they made themselves. I think they look quite fashionable actually (except maybe for the headgear and the rolled down stockings). I'm fascinated with that era.

The sisters considered themselves "good girls" who had a lots of "good clean fun" (their words) during those jazz age/flapper days. Living near a beach there were many beaus who courted them. Sitting in the kitchen reminiscing many years later they told me they played "forfeit" games - like" if you don't do something or other, you'll have to kiss me under the apple tree". Or "in the boat". Hmm.

in this late winter
with scratch marks on the walls
I long for something old or new

here comes the sun

For us the crisis is over. We awakened this morning to an extremely cold house and the promise of a day of sun as we sat bundled up at the kitchen table with microwaved tea and coffee. We watched as the sun struck the Truchas Peaks to the south and waited impatiently for it to pop up over Taos mountain and flood our kitchen with warm light. The sun rises quite late at this time of year, nearly 8 a.m. We get up much earlier than the sun! We notice the horses (who know more than we do) suddenly stop foraging as if they hear a command, and start walking eastward to stand still as statues. Moments later, the sun came.

Later, the same two gas guys from Denver who came last night, appeared at our door and after lots of searching finally found our gas meter on the state road five or more acres away! After they'd turned on the gas, we four sat in the kitchen for a brief time drinking coffee before they went on their way talking about how hospitable Taos people are and how they were being offered food, hot drinks and warmth in every single house they went to. They were also incredulous over the lack of zoning and organization in this place - quite different from their home city of Denver where there are rules and easements, accurate lists of gas customers and street names! As of early afternoon, there were still 11,000 homes to be reconnected. The radio station has been inundated with phone calls from worried, cranky, grateful, and angry people. These two were just a small part of the gas restoration effort. By late afternoon, our house had warmed up, hot water flowed and we were able to take luxurious hot showers for the first time in five days! Do we really appreciate this small major pleasure in life?  We do now. I will try to remember. But now, I'm going into the next room with my knitting, turn the movie channel to Mrs. Miniver and try relax, unworried, for the first time in days.

         

         

masonry of ice

It sure is cold. We are in the fourth day of an ongoing state of emergency as natural gas has not been restored yet to northern New Mexico. So far we've survived by wearing layers, wool socks, wool clogs (me), sweaters and fleece vests (him). We're using the microwave (bless it) more than it's ever been used (it takes a long time to boil water for tea that's never quite hot enough), frozen dinners, canned soups and fish, toast and coffee. Oh, and wine. Washing in cold water has been brief and terrible until this morning when the day dawned gray and fiercely windy. Couldn't face the ice cold water again so warmed it in an old ceramic pitcher which just happens to fit in the microwave (bless it). I'd kill for a long hot shower though. Spoiled! a voice whispers in my head. Each time I washed I remembered what Edward Weston wrote in his Daybooks long ago about how he took a cold shower or bath every morning,  how invigorating it was, how it set him up for his day of photography and printing. If he could do it, you can do it I told myself (I love Edward Weston's writing and photographs and he's been my hero for decades) - until I remembered that he lived in California and Mexico when he wrote about those showers! Betrayal!

Meanwhile, since we live in a two-story house and heat rises and it was cold downstairs, we tacked up a curtain between the living room and the stairway. It's silk, from India, bought long ago but never used (we don't do curtains and drapes) and looks quite bohemian and gypsy-like, reminding me of a home we once visited. Mrs. Lee was a psychic in Narraganset, RI who lived in a weather-beaten beach cottage festooned on the inside with colorful silk drapes and beaded curtains. She also had two beautiful dark haired daughters who quietly watched soap operas on TV in another room of red and gold. Our silk drape pales by comparison. I still remember Mrs. Lee's reading and it seems that everything she told us has come to pass.

We've heard that there are 255 gas company men, national guardsmen and firefighters arrayed all over the Taos area turning on gas one house at a time and can expect to be online again before morning. A friend just had her gas turned on "by two nice men from New Orleans"! So we keep hoping.

But now for the important news. I finished two more pairs of socks! and the bag of UFOs is dwindling.

Alpaca Sox in "Roger" pattern on the left, straight Opal on the right (labels lost as usual). They are soft and warm and if they weren't already claimed, I'd be wearing them.

Today begins cold and bright,
the ground heavy with snow
and the thick masonry of ice,
the sun glinting off the turrets of clouds.
                  (excerpt from Days by Billy Collins)

survival mode

How boring is this post!? Flashlights in case the electricity goes out, canned fish and soups because the stove and oven are out, hardboiled eggs made yesterday with the little gas that was left before it disappeared. We're surviving this natural-gasless state of emergency as well as can be expected. It's all about acceptance, preparation, and letting go for awhile of things we take for granted. As long as we have electricity there is access to water, microwave, radiant heat. The fear is that the grids could be overburdened so this area of northern New Mexico is being asked to conserve electricity. Apparently that's not the case in places like Albuquerque and Santa Fe and it seems that when the gas is finally flowing again - which could be 5-7 days - they will get it first. Our only problem right now is keeping the pipes in the studio from freezing. There is a woodstove out there but someone has to traipse through the snow into the subzero night at least twice to keep it going. We're taking turns but Ron is the main woodstove guy and  knows how to set it at dusk so that it burns slowly and efficiently. And since we hardly use it (using the gas heater instead) we don't have a huge supply of firewood. I have always been a proponent of earthship living, but he's never been keen on it. Something about all those tires and aluminum cans is off-putting. I did hear him mumble something this morning about building an off-the-grid house, only I think he imagined it in Arizona!


yarn trifles
Browsing through patterns last night (by candlelight at the kitchen table) I caught myself thinking I should be doing something more important. Like helping people who have no heat at all in their homes and have to go to shelters or neighbors and are suffering through temperatures that were expected to dip to -26F by morning (they did). This morning we learned that the shelter was used by only about five people and the list of volunteers is endless. So what to do? Wool warms and the most fundamental thing I can do at this point in mid-winter is knit warm things and give them away. So today I'm going to start a pair of chocolate brown alpaca mittens with stash yarn that's been languishing downstairs in a basket for two months.

I promised to share the information on the gorgeous Classic Elite Alpaca Sox yarn I received the other day and here it is: the color is #1870 "watercress".

 I'm spending way too much time gazing at it (thinking of new leaves on trees still dormant) and trying to decide what to knit. It has to be special. I've made numerous Lace Ribbon scarves and socks with this yarn and they're nearly perfect (although several people who own the socks have reported "accidentally" throwing them in the washing machine, causing SFD (serious felting disorder). This alpaca and merino yarn absolutely must be hand washed. I'm still finishing up other projects so maybe by the time they're done I'll have had an aha! re this yarn.

What I'd really like now, though, is a shower. But there's no hot water and our well water is deep cold snowmelt down from the mountains. Clear and cold to drink.....

the mountains look black
in the cold half light of dawn
he gets into the swing of survival mode
suggesting blueberry waffles
for the toaster

a mixed-up day

There's good news and bad news today.

the good news
The red Lobster Pot cashmere lace shawl is finished! I loved working on it and the finished product exceeds my highest expectations! soft, warm - and long. After blocking, it's 10.5" x 76"! I'm not tall so I usually stop short of recommended lengths, but I wanted this one to wrap around my shoulders comfortably enough to not require a shawl pin. Success! It was a satisfying project and I feel sort of lost now that it's finished. Not that I don't have ten more projects to finish, but this one was special. I'll be wrapping it around my neck next time I go out since Taos has been hit with snow and subzero temperatures. My car was encased in icicles this morning! I'm writing now because we're in a state of emergency and have been asked to not use extraneous electricity during the 5-8 pm peak times (which is when I usually do my posting).

now the bad news
Apparently much of New Mexico gets its natural gas from west Texas where they are experiencing "rolling blackouts" that have effectively shut off our state's supply. Space heaters are sold out everywhere, cell phone service is overloaded and we're being asked to use our phones for emergencies only. Shelters have been set up in schools and other buildings in town that have propane or electric heat. Volunteers are at the ready to help anyone who needs it. Firewood sellers are driving all over the place delivering enough wood to keep  stoves  and fireplaces going during the night when temps are expected to dip to -6 degrees! (it was -16 this morning!). People are helping each other out. We have supplemental heat that runs on electricity and a wood stove in Ron's studio.  I've always chided him on his penchant for "layers" of home heating, but now I'm extremely grateful. The gas stove is useless so I drove around earlier and found that Walmart was the only food store open. It's not a super Walmart (we don't want one here) but I was able to get some canned goods and bread and other non-cooking staples to get us through. Since then a couple of supermarkets have reopened. We called an older friend who has no heat and she's planning to sleep here tonight. Our next door neighbors called us (we're older to them) and offered to shelter us in their propane-heated house. Hopefully, the electricity won't go off and we'll be fine. It may be cold but our hearts were warmed by that phone call. So I'm going to sign off for now - I'll tell you about the lovely green yarn tomorrow - because it's getting late and the sun is awfully low on the horizon.