Until then I'll work on the next pair of mitts in soft English wool (Marion Foale). I've given myself the whole month to complete them. This yarn shows off the cables and lace pattern very well.
I know there has been some cruel weather around the country recently so my problem with wind seems wimpy by comparison. However, it seems I'm susceptible again (not since childhood) to strong cold wind blowing in my ears and causing stinging little pains and lightheadedness bordering on dizziness. Drained of energy yesterday as a result, I surrendered to dozing and reading while the wind howled outside and Spike wouldn't leave my side, stubbornly refusing to go out. Feel fine today, but my head is now filled with nostalgic thoughts.
form and content of nostalgia
I reread Pete Hamill's wonderful 2004 book Downtown: My Manhattan. He defines nostalgia in a way quite different from the usual meaning. Rather, it's a nostalgia based "in the abiding sense of loss that comes from the simple fact of continuous change". Nostalgia can erupt any time by seeing or hearing something from the past, but that to dwell upon it without cease would be to live as a bore. "New York," he writes, "teaches you to get over almost everything".
Hamill is a few years older than me, but much of what he captures of his youth in the 1950s and early 1960s, coincides with my memories and experiences of Manhattan at that time. The book is much more than a memoir. It is a blend of city history, myths, places, people, flows like a novel and informs like a guidebook. Hamill is a brilliant writer.
Certain tiny restaurants in the Village, or wanderings through the Metropolitan Museum, or trips to the Five Spot to hear Thelonious Monk. We could remember a time when we were so young that we thought the things we loved would last forever.