The Beginning Of A New Beginning
Yes, it’s time for another Druidic festival! This one’s a “cross-quarter” day, meaning it’s not a solstice or an equinox. (There’s also a Christian equivalent, Candlemas, so nobody feels compromised reading this blog post.)
The festival? Imbolc, celebrating the very beginning of spring and all it entails, including lambing season, early bulbs, longer days, etc. Brigid, later a saint but first a Celtic goddess, is celebrated along with it and people used to have all sorts of fun making predictions for the coming growing season (Groundhog Day, anyone?).
So praise the lord God (or St. Brigid, or whomever), we made it through another winter. Here are some fun things to do today:
It is traditional upon Imbolc, at sunset or just after ritual [because you’re all performing rituals, I know you are], to light every lamp in the house – if only for a few moments. Or, light candles in each room in honour of the Sun’s rebirth. Alternately, light a kerosene lamp with a red chimney and place this in a prominent part of the home or in a window.
If snow lies on the ground outside, walk in it for a moment, recalling the warmth of summer. With your projective hand [I assume the dominant hand? Maybe it’s your most magical hand?], trace an image of the Sun on the snow.
And don’t mind the stares from the neighbors.
When Is It Official?
When I get a cat? When I get five cats? When I can’t use my hands anymore? Is there an official point you reach to becom a Crazy Knitting Lady?
Because it seemed perfectly normal to watch both Kill Bill movies (talk about Madame Defarge!) until one in the morning and finish the cabled fingerless gloves (the right one was begun and completed last night, a new record). It also seemed normal, when I discovered I was out of my special wool wash, to use my shampoo instead. As I told myself, “Wool is just hair, really.”
On the bright side, they turned out very nicely and the yarn colors are perfect for early spring–like a Beatrix Potter illustration. When the gloves are dry, I’ll put up a picture; in the meantime, enjoy Peter and Benjamin:
Multi-purpose
Oh, the mileage that you can get out of a poem…I’ve used parts of this one for a post about trees, a post about finishing a sweater, and now this:
it was this night I believe but possibly the next
I saw clearly the impossibility of staying
Wait and see–I bet I can get at least two more mentions out of it before it’s done.
Questions
There’s a long poem by Mark Strand called Dark Harbor, and one section of it starts out,
“How can I sing when I haven’t the heart,
Or the hope that something of paradise
Persists in my song?”
Today, I will demonstrate how easily poems by other people can be adapted to one’s own circumstances. Look!
“How can I post when I haven’t an idea,
Or the hope that I’ll find something to rent
In my range?”
It’s Like Little Sweaters For Your Feet
Happy BIrthday, Virginia
If you couldn’t tell from the title, it’s Virginia Woolf‘s birthday today.
Home
From, of all books, Thunderhead (the sequel to My Friend Flicka), by Mary O’Hara:
“…if you go away from your own place and people, the place you spent your childhood in, all your life you’ll be sick with homesickness and you’ll never have a home. You can find a better place perhaps, a way of life you like better, but home is gone out of your heart, and you’ll be hunting it all your life long.”
I think this is mostly true but a little bleak. But, since this is the sequel to My Friend Flicka, here’s the speech that follows the one above:
” ‘And so–‘ she had leand to him and slipped her hand in his. ‘Here–this–your hand, is home for me.’ “
Aww…that’s why I love the fiction of my youth. Did I mention there were horses on a ranch in it, too?
It’s Cheaper Than Therapy
Well, what have we here? A sweater, completed in about three weeks, made from 12.5 of the 15 balls of birthday yarn!
Sorry about the blur, but the lighting/distance conditions in the apartment don’t lend themselves to self-portrais. At least this gives you the general effect.
Here’s a close-up of the nice buttons. And look at that tidy arm seam! (Seaming is something I just recently learned how to do well.)
I finished it Sunday, and this line from Jorie Graham’s “Le Manteau de Pascal” popped into my head when I was sewing on the buttons:
…filled with the sensation of being suddenly completed —
as then it is, abruptly, the last stitch laid in, the knot bit off —
Really, needs expensive therapists when you have lots of knitting projects and some post-modern poems to mumble to yourself?
More Song Lyrics
I realize these may get tiresome to people who don’t know the music, but “A Fine Romance” put me on a Billie Holiday kick over the weekend and the songs she sang have such delightful lyrics. Like this, “Comes Love”:
Comes a rain storm
Put your rubbers on your feet
Comes a snow storm
You can get a little heat
Comes love
Nothing can be done
Comes a fire
Then you know just what to do
Blow a tire
You can buy another shoe
Comes love
Nothing can be done
Dont try hidin
cause it isnt any use
Youll just start slidin
When your heart turns on the juice
Comes a heat wave
You can hurry to the shore
Come a summons
Hide yourself behind a door
Comes love
Nothing can be done
Comes a headache
You can lose it in a day
Comes a toothache
See your dentist right away
Comes love
Nothing can be done
Comes the measles
You can quarrantine the room
Comes a mousie
You can chase it with a broom
Comes love
Nothing can be done
Thats all brother
If you’ve ever been in love
Thats all brother
You know what I’m speakin of
Comes a nightmare
You can always stay awake
Comes depression
You could get another break
Comes love
Nothing can be done
Nothing can be done
Three reasons why this is especially delightful:
1. Comparing falling in love to calamitous things
2. The 30’s slang (“shoe”= tire)
3. The line, “Comes the mousie, you can chase it with a broom.” What other love song says “mousie”?