The other day, I bought some yarn and have started knitting a scarf. I am your basic knit-and-purl knitter, slow and steady. If I have to do any major counting or figuring out of designs, "fuggettaboutit." So far, I've only gotten about five inches into the project, as I am only knitting when the nightly news is on TV. I cannot bear to watch it, so if I focus on the stitches, I can at least keep track audibly of what is going on in this absolutely crazy world.
"Knitting" can be added to my growing list of metaphors, a good one for now. I have sloughed off so much, and what hasn't been shed has been blown rather to bits from outside. Here I am, by the shores of Lake Superior, trying to knit remaining strands back together. It is involving a lot of decisions and energetic matches and mismatches, things that I thought would work out but are not, people who I thought I would immediately connect with but haven't. The lake remains a beloved constant. I am here, now. But is it "home"? "We shall see," as my mother used to say. A lot of until-now-not-fully-understood aspects of the topic of "home" are coming into focus, for future blogs. Plus, there's the old problem here that there isn't a C of E cathedral on the horizon. I still have to rely on photographs of Gloucester, Wells, Lincoln, Salisbury, Ely, etc. online.
A violent near-tornadic wind hit last night, and I was further chilled to the core to read a public quote by Dr. Blasey Ford's father. It sounded so cold, so familiar, so arm's length, the words I felt being "we know who she is, but we no longer embrace her." I doubt that she reads my blog, but wherever she is, I hope she knows that many of us embrace her.
I have seen a lot of women knitting recently (at the bus station, in church, etc.) or walking out of craft stores with bags of wool. A whole lot of knitting going on. A whole lot of women knitting their shattered lives back together.
