Dear Size 15 needles,
I’m pretty much in love with you. I made the long overdue conclusion that I can do lace as long as you are with me for the ride. The leaves in my scarf are so pretty. Thank you size 15 wooden needles; thank you, cozy Lorna’s Laces bulky yarn . And no I haven’t blocked it yet, but I shall.
Dear Susan B Anderson,
Thank you for the pattern, published by Spud and Chloe via Blue Sky Alpaca. Susan B. you have so many great patterns. I just sent your darling, adorable, stuffed toy pattern book to my pal, Karen. But lets get back to this pattern. Susan, your pattern was perfectly written: Leaf: a Scarf or Bookmark. a free design by you. For tiny needle knitters , they can use the size 2 needle instructions you give for a bookmark. Susan, I believe I am one of those who will always use a bookmark, so thanks.
We got some pretty wonderful news yesterday at the doctor’s office. When Fireman and I got home, he had to leave for the barn immediately.
The house was quiet. I started sobbing. The relief of this news came over me like a blanket of it’s okay. My phone a friends, are in Hawaii and Mexico right now and I wasn’t going to call them.
Suddenly, I felt my mom near me. She had a ritual when she had a cigarette in the winter. You have to know , that my mom smoked from the time she was 15. She did so much self loathing about it, because others shamed her so. All of her friends understood she wanted to quit and couldn’t. I understood.
Secret: I encouraged her to keep smoking. The poor woman had no other vices. When she would try to stop smoking, which was every single LENT of my life with her, she would just be in a panic. She didn’t count Sunday’s for Lent, so she’d quit for 6 days and then go to town on a carton on Sunday.
She was ashamed but always found another smoker, at a wedding or a event, outside sneaking a cig. She was not alone.
And she wasn’t alone at home either. I never smoked a cigarette in my life. My father, I’m not kidding, said he’d break our fingers if he ever found a cigarette in our hands. He was like that. He also told us he’d break both our legs if he ever found us on a motorcycle.
I digress, but it is worth noting, that his grandson got a motorcycle, (not my son) and my father was the most fascinated and delighted about it.
Once my father had his quadruple bypass surgery, my mom was forbidden to smoke in the house. In the dead of Chicago winter, she’d put on her very puffy white coat, grab her cigs and lighter and go the outdoor screened porch, or the garage if it was really bitter.
Which was often. Whenever I was there, in a show of love, I’d go out with her while she smoked.
Yesterday I put on my biggest winter coat and took a pencil and pretended to have a smoke with my mom. My God, I could see her every move.
Her shaking head, and her shaking hands at work. She lit her cigarette while it was in her mouth. Between her head shaking and her hands shaking, it is truly an act of God that she never lit herself on fire. But, by God, she’d light that thing. Then she’d take a big drag, (is that right?) and her whole body would relax.
We’d start chatting. She would barely smoke the cigarette down at all. But after about 5 minutes, she’d say, “ok, lets go back in” and she’d crush the tip of the cigarette in a little cup of sand. And she’d be golden for a few hours.
So yesterday, I pretended I was having a cig with her because by God, I needed to have her there with me. Fezzik came out with me. I talk to mom. She told me to cry and just let it out. “Just let it out” she always said.
I could be a mime with the cigarette thing. It was such a part of my mom. Cigarettes are horrible. I know that. My mom was wonderful. I know that with 100% certainty. Yesterday, though, in some odd, weird, way I picked up a pencil and pretended to smoke with her. I felt so much better.
Then I came in and opened this champagne bottle that someone gave us a bit ago. I had to google how to open a bottle. I did well. Then I felt my mom’s mom with mom and I . Nana always put a cube of sugar in her champagne. So I put some sugar in mine. It frothed over like crazy and I thanked Nana.
Dear those of you who stayed to the end of the letter to you, thanks. I know it all sounds rather kooky, but I can’t tell you the comfort that those memories bring. My mom was all around me.
Exactly when I needed her to be. Just like when she was living here on Earth….
love kathy b