Tuesday, November 26, 2013
Rippit! Rippit! Rippit! is frequently heard in knitting circles and the act of ripping out one's knitting to start over has become widely known as "frogging".
Although I experienced a recent episode of "frogging" with my own knitting last night, this morning has me contemplating "frogging" in an entirely different manner. Sometimes there are certain things, places, or even people in your life that cause you to drop stitches, so to speak, and otherwise make a mess of things. In order to get back on track it is sometimes necessary to remove those things, places or people from your life so you can pick up those dropped stitches and keep moving forward. In this particular instance, we can assume I am talking about a man. A man who for all intents and purposes is really no good for me. He calls me up out of the blue and suddenly I'm right back where I was months ago, emotions I was certain I had ripped back and "frogged" were really just dropped stitches, lingering in the fabric of my life waiting for me to pick them up and deal with them.
Rippit! Rippit! Rippit!
Sunday, November 24, 2013
There is a distinct ebb and flow in city life and I have settled into the rhythm with gentle ease. Traffic pulses past like a heartbeat forcing the flow and the air is alive with the sounds of automobiles on their way to destinations unknown.
Standing on the sidewalk bundled up in my hand knit wools I lean into the wind feeling its crisp kiss upon my face and breathe deeply of the vitality that surrounds me. I can't help but smile as I open my eyes and continue to walk casually along the city sidewalk, taking in the sights and sounds of my new dwelling place. Home is the word that wraps its arms around me and fills me with warmth. Home.
My little neighborhood is filled with wonders and I love exploring it every chance I get. My most favorite spot is a quaint little coffee house on Leonard street called the Story Cafe. It is warm and friendly with wonderful coffees, sweet treats, and homemade soups full of natures goodness. I come and sit at the shop sipping on cafe au laits, writing blog posts, knitting, or just conversing with friends. It too is Home to me, it is frequented by people I have come to know and love and just walking through their door sets my heart at ease, as if coming home from a long journey, it is the place where I can simply be at rest.
There are so many things that speak of home in my life. Knitting is another one of those things. Wherever I go I always have some sticks and string with me. If grown people could have security blankets I guess mine would be made of wool. I love the hand and texture of natural fibers. The soft fluffy smooshiness of a handspun or soft spun yarn as it flits through my fingers, my knitting sticks clicketty clacking as I create one stitch after another. Its a rhythm I know so well. It speaks of softness and quiet, of peace in the center of the city as if I am standing still while the elements of the world swirl around me in a constant whir of hurry. I am at rest wrapped in the rhythm of life.