I love to swim, and I am a very good swimmer. The whole family is the same, there’s not a one of us that isn’t happiest in the water, no matter what kind of water it is. We’re strong and confident in and on the water.
Several years ago I was on a trip to Mexico with my mother and I went down to the beach for a swim. I went by myself, though there were lots of people around, though none of them were a lifeguard. This didn’t bother me because… see above. I swam out and made my way through the shorebreak, the spot where the waves are dumping and breaking near the shore – and started to swim along. Next – to be honest I’m not sure what happened next, except that I broke a rule (never turn your back on the sea) and a huge wave I didn’t see coming broke right on top of me as I was coming up for a breath. It shoved me under the water and rolled me around a bit, and then released me and I popped and grabbed another breath as another big one broke on top of me again. This one pushed me way down under the water and then I could feel it pulling me fiercely, pulling me away from the shore. I didn’t panic because I am indeed strong and confident in the water, and besides letting the ocean have its way with you is usually safer than fighting, and when I popped up again I could see that I was in deeper than before.
“Crap” I thought to myself, just as another wave the size of a Subaru smashed me under and dragged me further out again. I came up, took a deep breath and wham – under again. As the water pulled me down and under, I started to realize I could be in trouble, and that I needed to figure a way out of this in a really big hurry. I reached for the surface and didn’t find it, and in that moment I remember thinking really, really calmly “Oh wow, I think I’m drowning.”
I didn’t. I mean, obviously since I’m writing this to you now, but it was a near thing, and I only got out of it because I saw what was happening and right away used every self-rescue technique I have ever known. I let the ocean take me for as long as I needed to in order to get control, I took a breath when I was able, I didn’t fight the current and I rested floating on my back whenever I could, and I slowly made my way sideways across the current and waves until I was finally able to wade up on the shore where I sat exhausted on the beach and goggled at how near a miss it had been. If I’d have lost my cool I… well. I wouldn’t be writing about it.
Another story about the ocean. My sister and I were in the ocean, playing around and swimming, and my mum was making her way into the water. She waded in where the waves were small, then deeper and deeper and the waves grew bigger, and mum gave a little hop with each one to keep it from bashing her about. She was about that deep, maybe hip deep when she got distracted by something on the shore, I can’t remember what it was. Mum was standing there, hands on her hips, looking off along the shoreline, and Erin and I suddenly saw a mammoth wave headed right for her. We started waving and shouting and finally got her attention just as the wave reached her. Mum turned to see us madly waving our arms in the air shouting “Wave! WAVE!” and at that exact moment, it crashed into her. Suddenly Mum is gone and all we can see is a jumble of limbs. The wave tumbles her under and over and into the bottom and we see an arm go by, and then a leg, and then the wave starts to recede and mum stands up, bedraggled, soaked, covered in sand, and most spectacularly – the wave has rolled her strapless bathing suit clear to her waist.
Mum staggers for a second, then reaches a hand up to smooth her hair, and completely unaware that she’s absolutely topless – gathers herself to her full height (5’1″) whacks a smile on her face and calmly shouts to us “It’s all right, I’m just fine.”
For most of the pandemic (and more properly, since Charlotte’s death, though the two things happened at the same time and are hard to separate for us) I have been like my mum, I think. Standing there bashed up after every wave, but on the whole cheerfully ready to go on. These last few months though – I don’t know what happened, but I woke up one morning and realized that if I wasn’t didn’t immediately do something I was going to drown.
The anniversary of Charlotte’s birth and death were upon us, and any way you want to slice it it has been a very, very long winter. Joe’s broken arm (still not quite healed and driving us both mad) has meant that anything we’ve tried to do has been frustrating or difficult (and most of the time both) and this last wave(s) of the pandemic really got me down. It was hard enough when we were all in this together, but this phase where low-risk people charge about having parties and vacations while vulnerable people stay home and hope for the best has been the wave where I can see we’re not all in this together anymore. (Also, low-risk people treating high risk people like they are bananas is super not helpful so please quit that.) I can’t stress enough that I haven’t been drowning these last weeks, I just saw the big waves headed for me and decided to do whatever it took to keep my head above water.
I have knit a lot over the last while. I’ve cried quite a bit too – though it is unlike me. Mostly, I practiced a lot of self-rescue techniques. I’ve rested when I needed to, I’ve let the ocean take me when it must, I’ve grabbed a breath when I’m able, and all of this has helped keep me well afloat – just sort of tired, with a lot of yarn lying around.
I’ll try and show you a bunch of knitting over the next bit but let’s start here. Elliot in his birthday sweater -a whole five years old. (The kid, not the sweater.)
Sweater pattern is the always reliable Flax Light, and the yarn’s Targhee/Nylon Sock in “Electric Heel” from Indigodragonfly. (This was from a SQWID box a while back, but they’re always doing more.)
Meg and I knit some shawls too, and show you those – for now, consider this post the internet equivalent of proof of life- me flailing by, all arms and legs in a crashing wave of the ocean, and then coming up topless.
I hear you and I feel you. Hang in there just a little longer, and keep showing us pictures of your adorable Elliot!
I pray for you and your family. I met you at a book signing and am so sorry about your mom. I know you have your own ideas but I feel the need to tell you that Jesus can help you.
Sending you all the love. Glad you can still grab a breath here and there.
Your words resonated so deeply… wave after wave. I think I need to go grab some knitting. Thank you for putting words to what I’ve been struggling to wrap my mind around.
Hugs!
What a great analogy for how these past few months have been. Thanks for that. We’ll have to form our own little group of Rip Tide Knitters for people trying to outlast this crappy pandemic tide. I am delighted to know you are still afloat.
Also: awesome visual!! 🙂
((hugs)) thanks for touching base – I’ve been keeping busy going back and reading the blog from day ONE. So entertaining and so many good knits and good friends. It fills the gap, just.
I love your way with words. Great analogies. Keep on keeping on and we’ll see more of you when your time is right. Beautiful sweater for a beautiful boy.
well said Sarah, may I echo your words
Beautifully said. Sending all the positive vibes to all, for healing.
Glad you’re here, with your head (mostly) above water.
Sending so much semi-anonymous internet fondness your way.
Stephanie,
I am glad you are hanging in there. I am a swimmer, like you, and everything you wrote resonated like a clanging gong. Please know your posts are like a life ring to so many, myself included. And the sweater is beautiful. I am about to start an Impervious shawl with a bunch of embers and flame yarn (that’s not the colourway, but that is the look I am going for – so that I can walk through fire) from Indigo Dragonfly… fake it ’til you make it, right?
As always, thank you!
I hear you. Having been caught in a literal riptide, like yourself, it is a perfect analogy. Waving and sending best wishes to you from north of the city. (I’ve been knitting too, but mostly ripping out…)
A very handsome young man and lovely sweater (five – really?) indeed. Hard to fathom how quickly that’s passed when so much seems to drag interminably. Survival means caring for yourself to allow you to care for others; family first. Take care and do whatever you need for you and yours; we’ll be here when you’re able.
Sending prayers and a virtual hug; namaste.
Bonnie
Thank you for using one of your breaths to share evidence you are still alive. Strength to you and yours.
So much in your post. Written so well just like a letter (remember those?) from a dear friend. A lot packed into it. It has been a miserable winter, but so good to see you standing on shore. I’m not going to picture you topless. Just saying you’re fine.
Elliot is five?!?! Well he’s gorgeous, sweet and a charmer. That beautiful blue sweater looks great. Good color on him. Lucky boy. Lucky grandmother.
It is so lovely to hear from you again. Sorry about the waves that have been crashing down all around you (they sure do feel endless, don’t they?). I’m glad you’re a strong swimmer, physically and metaphorically, and that you recognized when and how to care for yourself. Sending love and strength.
I can’t believe he’s five already! Holy cow, where does the time go? These last few years have been crazy, and to pile grief on top of that is heartbreaking. Know that we are here. Thanks for checking in with us.
Hang in there baby, it’s been a hellova historic ride. I’m so glad to see ya, even topless! Lovely birthday sweater.
The only thing normal in this post is Elliot and the phrase “…with a lot of yarn lying around.” It’s been a rough year for me too. Be well.
Always glad to see you here, dressed or not.
Dear Stephanie,
So glad to hear from you and know you are taking care of yourself, and Joe, and no doubt others even tho’ right now you might not realize it because the focus is wisely on yourself. From reading posts about your Mum I can absolutely see her waving and smiling topless from the water. BIG HUG to you! Maureen
Thank you for your thoughtful words. Rip tide- a perfect analogy for the way it is right now. Thank goodness for yarn, family and friends (even via FT or Zoom). One day at a time.
Good to hear from you whenever you’re able. Can’t believe Elliot is 5 already—great sweater! Keep hanging in there, kiddo. Many hugs.
I’m just going to sit here in a big pond of gratitude. It’s been a long (much too long) run of losses with tiny glimmers of hope, and I feel like it’s been a rip tide out here on the West Coast too. The fact that we’ve been able to grab a breath occasionally and float when we’re too exhausted to fight is truly miraculous.
Much love to you and all of yours (and anyone who thinks I’m bananas can just go to places where they can learn compassion) and we’ll all just keep paddling together, one skein at a time.
Bravo
Happy Birthday to Eliott in his most perfect sweater of love.
With K95 masks we did take a trip two weeks ago–because I needed to see my 91-year-old mom and she badly needed to see us; from how she sounded, I was afraid we might lose her soon if we didn’t. Being widowed right before the pandemic had been really hard on her.
But she perked up so much once we were there, finally, for the first time in two years, that I felt like if we didn’t just give her several more years of life (and who could ever know) we at least helped her love her life this year.
Much love to you and yours, and may Joe’s arm heal well. Thank you for writing today; I was hoping things were alright with you all.
(Oh and–I got caught in a riptide in La Jolla the first time I ever swam on a California beach as a teen and it was a close call; I was reliving the experience reading yours. There was a lifeguard, but he went right past me to get to someone further out in worse trouble. Swimming parallel to the beach is exactly the way to get out of it, you did the most right thing.)
This truly seems like the toughest spot (at least in Ontario) in the last two years. If you had told all of us that we’d still be in the thick of the dratted virus (and a war in Europe) at this point I imagine we’d all have thrown in the towel. A lot of us are confounded at our province’s readiness to treat so many of its citizens as disposable. I know blogging has lost its lustre ever since the rise of Instagram, but remember that blogs remain an important connection to the world outside our own little universes. Your readers are grateful to see the embers of your life still afire on this gorgeous spring afternoon. Plus, I’ve always thought about making a Flax and now I’m inspired.
Yes to all of this! : )
Every day or so I check the blog to see if you’ve posted. Friday came and I checked, nothing…”come on Stephanie, I wish you’d surface” was my thought. Then today, a rip tide post.
I am so glad you are continuing to to grab a breath when you can and floating on your back to rest is just fine. It’s been an awful couple of years in so many ways and you continue to be an inspiration to many.
Knitting is a life line not just in “doing” but in the company of of knitters and other crafters there are lifeguards as well as lifelines.
Ha! I’m a horrible swimmer and a scary incident while “body surfing” as a beginner taught me that dry land and knee height is perfect for me.
I will sit on the beach and knit. Hugs, hugs and more hugs.
Dear Stephanie: I have been concerned about you and yours. Checking sometimes x2 daily to see if you posted. Whatever you need to do to take care of yourself we understand. I haven’t been able to pick up my knitting for 18 + months. Hope for tomorrow. Trusting God for all the tomorrow’s.
Happy Birthday Eliot.
With another massive storm heading this weekend, another wave#6 its hard to imagine anything else.
BUT there is signs of hope buds on trees, plants starting to appear.
Glad you showed us Elliot in his new sweater , you should do a collection of 1-5 sweaters some day.
You keep floating and taking breathes. Put you and your family first. There is nothing more important than that.
Thinking of you.
It’s possible that writing while topless may help.
It might cheer Joe up anyway
Jeremy and Presbytera, thank you for the big laugh!
Stephanie, thank you for your writing. It’s appreciated more than I can say.
You wrote my thoughts. Thank you.
This pandemic has taken an emotional toll that none of us ever dared to imagine. My dearest grandchild is suffering. I hope she too can take a breath and eventually get her life back. I wish you peace.
I’ve had that experience of the ocean having its way with me: can’t recommend it at all, though you’ve made it the perfect metaphor for life just now. It was minus 10 here this morning and it snowed overnight, so spring hasn’t yet sprung properly and it’s just been too bloody long! None of the fluid momentum of swimming, just treading water.
Thank you for this post. Insta is great, and between that and the archives, you don’t owe us anything if you’re not up to it, but it’s lovely to have your voice here and to know that you’re still winning against the tide. Proof of life, indeed. Happy birthday to E; best wishes to you and Joe and Meg and the rest, and here’s wishing all of us a nice little stretch of boring – or at least, boring living but with exciting knitting. (Great sweater.) (And is it just me or do our grands grow up much faster than our kids did? How is E five already?)
Lovely sweater and lovely grandson
Like many, I’ve also had a close call with a rip-tide. A lesson learned for those of us who survived while many did not. And so lies another analogy to the pandemic.
I also understand how useless/ helpless Joe feels as I broke my ankle about 8 years ago and spent 7 weeks in a recliner because my foot turned blue if I was up for even a trip to the bathroom.
Glad that you have taken one of your breaths to reconnect with your blog. I have missed you and was beginning to wonder what was keeping you from us. It’s nice to know that you’re taking care of yourself and immersing yourself in knitting to bring you solace.
God bless you. We’re all hanging in together.
Thank you for your words. I see “proof of life” from Instagram, but it’s not nearly as good as your blog posts. You have been missed.
I once nearly drowned as a teenager, suddenly having an asthma attack while swimming because of the cold and wind, and I remember swimming back towards shore, arms hardly moving anymore, stretching out my toes to see if I could reach bottom yet, then somehow keeping on going.
The last two years have felt a lot like that, here, too. My job went the way of so many at the beginning of the pandemic, but as the only income, we couldn’t afford to just wait for something else to come along. So I took the jobs that I had been working the past 10 years and turned it into a work-from-home business, and now have enough work to employ my husband and daughter part-time. It’s still a struggle some days, but the shore is there.
Amazing to me how often you voice the feelings of so many members of The Blog. Rip tide analogy is far more poetic than what I would’ve said—grief is a sneaky bastard. The oddest things gobsmack me…kinda like a rogue wave.
Grateful for the ‘proof of life’ but you owe us nothing. Continue to take care of yourself and yours. Hugs
Wave after wave after wave ….
Glad to know that you’re still swimming. It’s really much better than the alternative. Wishing you love, knitting, and safe waters.
dammit
So lovely to see you back. You have to do what you need to do to get through this crazy world – all any of us can do, but at whatever pace suits us as individuals. Take care of yourself. Knitting always helps!
I found myself ordering a lot of yarn the past couple of weeks. I may not have the mental bandwidth to knit more than plain-ish socks and hats right now, but I will not run of our yarn to do so.
I meant “out of yarn to do so.” Sigh. See what I mean?
We’re standing on the shore with afghans and whiskey for you.
One of my dad’s favorite sayings was “Roll with the punches and get on with your life.” That’s pretty much what we’ve all been doing the past couple of years. Good to know that you’re managing to stay afloat through the rip tide.
So happy to see you back here. I’ve really been needing to hear from you and know that you’re safe and coping. You are so special to so many of us and I know others would join me in wishing you strength and happiness.
I teared up at the new post, didn’t even read a word. Thank you for returning to us. Really, we love you and would do anything for you. Knitters are the best people.
Steph, you’re not the only one feeling the need for a life jacket and pontoons lately. Take a deep breath when you can, vent to The Blog on the blog when you feel the need, and hang in there. We’re all pulling for you.
A belated Happy Birthday to Elliot, and best wishes for a speedier recovery to Joe. The sweater looks great — a fantastic combination of yarn and sweater pattern — and I won’t ask now many times you had to lengthen the sleeves. Say “hi” to the dust bison for us.
You’re not the only one frustrated over the fact that some people keep this pandemic going by their thoughtlessness.
Hang in there my Sweet. You’re not alone in this riptide but we knitters are survivors so we’ll get through this together. Thank you for your guiding light. Much love and blessings to you and yours. ❤❤❤
so good to hear from you again1 Missed you. You still spread light around the universe! Much needed. Thank you!.
I finished re-reading “All Wound Up” today and I want to say, you are definitely at the “cool table” now, with your people in this blog space. I wonder what your classmates think of you now…famous writer, master knitter and all. Your post today is a heartfelt essay for these dang pandemic years, your family’s struggles plus a war in Europe.
Sending Joe healing vibes, and thanks for your words that offer some comfort to those who are struggling.
Beautiful, lovely sweater, and beautiful, lovely writing. Thank you.
Big hugs to you and yours! <3
I have “checked” on you regularly. First, Happy Birthday to the five-year-old! I was concerned that all that you have faced this past year was trying to drown you. I was beginning to think of ways to find out how to get in touch with you. I have read your blog for many years and I look forward to your posts and your updates on your life’s journey. I don’t mean this lightly – “Just keep swimming.” You are being prayed for.
Thanks so much for the post and the photos.
It’s always great to read your posts and hear your voice speaking to the readers.
Your cautious approach over the past two years has seemed completely correct to me.
What kind of dessert does E like for his birthday? Does he prefer cake? a giant cookie in the shape of a dinosaur? Sorbet? Doughnuts? I am curious.
Best wishes for Joe’s arm to make a very strong recovery!
The spring flowers are starting to bloom in Toronto at last.
Keep very well.
You have been in my thoughts these past few months.
Also sending you love and light.
Many hugs. You and yours are showing such great courage and fortitude in these trying times.
I was reminded today of lessons we learn from nature, and the changing seasons. Blooms and spring growth don’t always happen when we want them too, or when they are occurring in someone else’s yard. Sometimes there is no obvious evidence of growth, but deep down, the dormant plant is preparing for the new season. And we can’t hurry it up to match our timetable. The buds will open when they are ready, and we must patiently wait for the beauty that will come, in the right season. You are treading water now, but you will swim again. And only topless if you want to be!
Sending you all love. It has been hard. I am very glad you have taken care of yourself and your loved ones. And thanks for the sign of life. I missed you
Such work, to put words so eloquently to all the things, and then we gobble them down – just like it’s Thanksgiving dinner! – in `minutes, and always want more. Thank you for making the effort to share, whenever you can. It’s always appreciated.
Thank you for putting into words what I have been feeling. Much of the world is acting normal, while for others, things are still uncertain and we are living the best we can. Sometimes we do pretty well, at other times waves seem to bowl us over. We have to just take the time and space we need, when we need it.
So glad for the proof of life. Take care of yourself. We’ll be here when you’re ready.
I hope you saw The Blog on shore with our knitted rescue rings at the ready.
I’m thankful you’ve got Joe and that Ellott and Meg can spend time with you.
Thank you for posting.
It is so much like being caught in a riptide…been there.. in a bikini watching my top wash up on shore as I struggled to shore.
At this point I’ll easily be mistaken for a beached whale.
The memory of your mom led me to a memory of my mom standing up with her tube shaped swimsuit around her ankles (!) after her first encounter with a swim park slide in the 1980’s. And now I have those boobs – bless us all. Let’s all just try to keep our heads above water. I’m doing my best and I thank you for sharing.
Welcome back, topless or not. Elliot looks very handsome in his new sweater, and very happy to have a granny like the one he has. You do what you need to keep your head above water, we’re all here rooting for you.
So glad you popped in, I’d love to offer a cup of tea and a snack. And happy birthday, Ellie!
You’ve got this. Sending you hugs ❤
Many thanks for the update. I had a feeling you may be struggling. You’re not on your own it’s happening to lots of people due to all sorts of different things (the state of the world at present for example). Take your time, keep breathing and resting and do not feel guilty about the way you feel.
I read a piece years ago by a guy who was learning to surf, fell in, and was being tumbled, like your mother, to the shore — but what he could feel going were his trunks. He was sure he was dying, but the image of his corpse lying there bare-assed to the world drove him to curl into a ball and hang onto the trunks for dear life, so that when he beached the instructor praised him for having great instincts and doing the perfect thing. Here, lamb — have a towel and a mug of tea — and some knitting. We’re glad it didn’t get you.
Thank you for this. I needed it today. :-). We are all tumbling in the surf a bit and hanging onto whatever covers our nakedness. xo
Keep breathing and floating when you can. We are all out here cheering you on from the shore….let us know how we can throw you a lifeline. Elliot is amazing and the sweater a delight.
Continuing to be slammed by wave after wave is an apt analogy. I feel like we’re not out of the water yet and won’t be for a while. But even if you feel like you’re only dodging the waves, you’re doing a great job with that grandson of yours, and I’m sure that he has been a bright spot during these difficult times.
Okay, then. Glad to receive a signal from you.
As always, my dear, you speak for many of us. Thank you.
It’s so good to hear from you! You and your family have been in my thoughts.
Happy Birthday Ellie!! What a perfect 5th year gift <3
I hear you on the frustration of seeing that we’re not all in it together- sadly here in the US that hasn’t been the case since the first few months of things. I’ve been watching people behave like nothing at all is happening and at risk friends scared to death because they feel that folks believe they’re expendable. It’s so maddening to have friends and others look at me like I’ve got lobsters coming out of my ears because I still mask up when I go out (and other than my high risk people, mostly folk here have completely given up any kind of caution at all). It’s disheartening and confusing and.. yeah, the waves just keep rolling. I’m glad you’re staying afloat and taking care of yourself and I appreciate you sharing your words and life here because it also helps others stay afloat.
Love and support to you and your loves
I don’t think there are many writers who can make me laugh and tear up in the same post. I was holding on like a Stephen King novel through your description of the ocean incidents, laughing at the image of your mum waving with her suit around her waist while her patting down her hair. Then I was swept into tears at how the pan-damn-it and life has affected your family. Please know that many of us have you and your loved ones in our hearts. Thank you for expressing what so many of us are feeling, but do not have the skill to put on paper (or a computer screen). Much love.
So very grateful for your post, for many reasons. Sending you and yours the best.
You are not alone. not sure if that is comforting or upsetting that many of us are in similar situations.
I am happy you are posting again, have missed you. And always love seeing your grandson…nice sweater by the way. Keeping you and your loved ones in my thoughts and in my heart. One day, one hour one minute at a time.
xx
Thinking of all of you and sending you love and light (and maybe a lifeboat). Thank you for posting, I was worried.
Happy Birthday to the whole handful! All the fingers raised to give him an air high-five (which I am told is what the cool kids do nowadays).
I know, the waves keep coming in, and the shore seems so far away. Plus, people have forgotten how to behave in a society, where it seems as if things are so scarce. And they are so scared.
Jedi hugs (stolen from Captain Awkward)
So glad you didn’t drown, literally or figuratively. Knowing how to float can save your life. xo
Thank you for posting the latest story. Elliot looks so handsome in his new sweater. It’s a good color. I hope you are doing better now. We all love to read your blog.
Thank you for posting. I’ve been checking, and worrying. I like that sweater. Down here there’s a mix of masked and unmasked people. I’m still double-masking.
(Isn’t an “air high-five” just a hand-wave?)
I, too, had a granddaughter who was stillborn. Evelyn. I say her name as often as feels right because I never saw her in person.
June is the anniversary of her birth/death and we remember it by taking roses from the bush called “Evelyn” that we planted in our yard to her grave and talking to her. I have read her mom’s favorite book “We’re going on a bear hunt” and we take our grandson and talk to him about Evelyn.
I know that pain. It’s been 6 years and yet it feels like yesterday. Float, doggie paddle, ride the waves when you can. We all do what we need to.
Thanks for the post. I don’t know what it is about our society here in the USA (And I wonder if it’s the same in your Canada) where we expect that we will just charge ahead, despite all obstacles, and anything less is a failure.
I love your metaphor of the waves and the riptide. Sometimes it is all we can do to keep ourselves afloat using every self-help technique we know. And sometimes we need the lifeguards.
But frankly I count it a rousing success to survive — pandemic, grief, and whatever else life throws at us, whether it be big or small, catastrophic or “merely” irritating and inconvenient. So, I send you a blue ribbon and a gold medal and a trophy as big as you are for getting through. Yay, Steph!
I’m sorry that you have been so bashed about by the waves, though grateful that you know and use self-rescuing techniques to get you through. I know the sadness of the loss of Charlotte will be with you forever, but I hope that there will come a time that her memory can float along side you on calmer seas.
Glad to read a new post. Touch base here, when you can, and of course we always look forward to more photos of Elliott and his newest from your needles.
So happy to read your post. You know your friends are always here to support you. Self care is incredibly important no matter what circumstances you find yourself in. Grieve as long and however feels right to you. No rules. I’ve been thinking of you and your family. I’m glad you have each other.
Elliott could not be cuter! And 5 already?! A ray of sunshine to warm you.
sending admiration, support, fortitude, and virtual yarn.
I must have checked litterally hundreds of times for a post over the past months. Not so much for the sake of reading a new post (although it really is nice to read one again) but more like someone worried about the fate of their friend who is very late in arriving home. I’m glad you are here, banged up as you are.
It’s hard to keep standing through all the waves. We all need to cry and to be able to collapse some times. Welcome back and take care.
I left a message earlier. Have just read all these comments. I have never known a person so well loved and admired as you. You touch so many. That is a gift. Please take strength from it. Many have shared your difficulties. Not as many are able to say they have the family and love and support you have. Keep treading water. It’s still worth it. xo
A new post from you is like my head being above the water for a nice breath. I hope, with summer coming, that Covid will restrict you less and you can find some more joy and connection.
Thank you for the post…..proof of life……
Life – well it certainly has its moments. Your words will resonate with many in these crazy times. Nothing like taking a breather and floating along while planning the next moves. The ocean will surely keep us all grounded – both physically and mentally. No better place to be calm when all heck is breaking around you.
You just enjoy that tossed and topless moment of sheer glory – I can just picture your Mum…..she would have looked amazing – ” its ok girls, Mums got this ” !!!! And a good dumping from the waves certainly clears the mind.
Love, live and roll with the craziness as best you can – love that family and that handsome Elliott is certainly a reason to just make new memories and new family rituals.
Perhaps there is a new knitting book in the future….. How to ride the waves of Life….Topless….. (metaphorically speaking of course !! )
FIVE
Love, love love, the beautiful turquoise-flecked sweater you made for Eliot. Love the wise, sly-coy expression on his face. He knows he’s cute. Love the lighting .
The problem when you have been facing wave after wave of hard stuff is that you are like a piece of elastic (a swimming costume?) that stretches and stretches until it doesn’t and then it snaps. Well done for recognising that you have to stop and rest. It is absolutely essential that you do so – if you snap, the recovery will take a long time. I hope that the knitting helps you to recover your resilience.
You just have to keep on keeping on. Tomorrow is another day, if that’s crap too well there’s a whole new day scheduled for the day after that. Today is not the rest of your life, there is joy out there waiting for you. You do whatever you need to do to get you through today and then deal with tomorrow tomorrow.
Good to hear from you!
Dearest YarnHarlot,
We love you and hopefully everyone knows to go to Instagram to see you waving as you flash past in the current. I’m very grateful that you keep posting there.
Acceptance of how you really are is a step that can’t be skipped indefinitely, although my bet is you were putting it off partly so you could be there for Megan.
Internet hugs and kisses and thoughts and knitting !
All love
So many of us feel as you do, too. It’s been a long haul, punctuated by the usual goings on without us. During this time (2 years) we have lost a dear sister, a former neighbor boy/man, and beloved pets. And yet, as you say, still flailing abut and noticing the arrival of spring in the woods – skunk cabbage in the bog, trees greening up in the woods, and daffodils blooming bravely in a late-winter cold snap. Thank you for posting again. I’ve missed you.
Stephanie, Thanks for bringing us up to date. I’ve found myself checking your blog every day, like a neighbor. It seems as though we’re all at a point of looking into each other’s faces to ask, “Are you okay?” Just when the news can’t reach a new low, it does. I knitted a sunflower hat and donated to Ukranian relief. Knitting has power. Somehow holding needles and yarn makes me feel as though I am touching the world, one stitch at a time.
Hi Stephanie. Thank you for the eloquent post and picture of Elliott. Hard to believe he is 5 already … my grandsons are growing entirely too fast, just like him. I hear you on the pandemic frustration as well. We are still requiring masks here in the wool shop, and refusing to hold classes and group meetings inside. Some folks are outraged, but we are determined to keep everyone as safe as we possibly can. Also, last summer I had to wear a cast for two months — the best sailing/canoeing/swimming/biking weather of the year. Tell Joe to keep getting better, and no more injuries!
Sending you and your family my best wishes.
So relieved to hear from you but so sad to learn what a tough time you are going through. Take care of yourself and know there are many people who are sending positive thoughts your way.
Me too, over here.{waving}
What can we do but get up, put one foot in front of the other, and muddle through another day. Rest, read and knit when possible; be grateful for food and shelter and CoVid free status(so far); support the refugees and work for peace. Another day-week-month-year will come and go. Believe.
Glad you’re as ok as possible. Your family is never far from my thoughts. Much Love ❤️
The sweater is beautiful.
Thank you for sharing your heart. Keep on swimming.
Thank you for putting words around how I have been feeling the last couple of months.
As a breaved mom, I want to say that I see you and Megan and your amily, and I remember Charlotte, although I never knew her, and I hold all of you so close in my heart. You are all so very loved.
I feel for you! I actually checked myself into a partial hospitalization therapy program at a mental health hospital, on the advice of my therapist. Basically, it’s about six hours a day of workshops, group therapy, one on one therapy, and a consultation with a psychiatrist. It’s been tremendously helpful, if you’re open to therapy, I really recommend it. It can take a couple tries to find a good fit, but it’s a relief to know I don’t have to navigate this on my own, or risk putting more on my partner than is fair to him (he’s not a trained therapist!)
My best wishes to you and yours. <3
Just a little internet hug from a longtime reader. Take care of yourself. That sweater is gorgeous!
Flail away however you need to. Life gets in the way and sometimes, it doesn’t go the way it should. I’m coming up for air after getting Covid for the second time in 3 months (different strains)…..I don’t even want to think about where I’d be if I wasn’t vaccinated and in fairly good health. I was making progress on my crafting space after our cross-country move and then got hit with this. ::sigh:: I’ll get there. It’ll be fine. Also, it’s super windy today in southern Wisconsin.
I so feel you. My husband and I stand mostly alone in a sea of people who believe that the pandemic is just another flu and we should just “get over it”. It is so disheartening. On the knitting side, though, I have been concentrating on WIP’s and have gotten a lot of them completed.
To add to your wave stories, my son, husband and I were at North Carolina’s Outer Banks. Son was a toddler with some exposure to swimming but not yet a swimmer. He was on a beach raft and husband was beside him. I was sitting on the shore.
I look up just in time to see one of those rogue waves rising behind them…not even time to scream a warning before it crashed down on them and they disappeared. I dropped my book and run for the water. Son and raft pop up as soon as the weight of the water passes; husband pops up more slowly…because our son’s head had banged him in his eye socket as the wave released them, propelled by the raft.
It is the only black eye my husband ever had.
That wave in the ocean analogy really resonated with me. It’s been a tough winter of pandemic on my end, too. Good job with the self-rescue!
Selfishly, I was glad to see this, as I so miss your blog posts. And yet, I also know that this has been an incredibly difficult time for you and your family. I simply cannot comprehend the loss of a child – let alone have to process that loss during the long years of this pandemic. Wishing you continue healing.
Thank you. Didn’t realize until reading this post that this is very much how I’ve been feeling lately as well. Being of only 2 people in my office still wearing a mask, I’m familiar with the constant “are you bananas?” stares 🙁 And although many people around me are raring to get back to “normal” life, I’m just not there yet.
I discovered your blog last year and finally, earlier this year, I finished reading it all. I’ve been waiting to be part of The Blog so I’m so happy to see that you are slowly getting back to it (hopefully).
In Denmark, we are pretty much back to normal and it’s like everybody has completely forgotten that there ever was a pandemic. In my family, we just got home from our first trip outside the country since 2019 and it felt so amazing to be able to get away, even though it was only three days. I totally understand what you are feeling because this trip was so freeing, even though we are living pretty normal lives. Hopefully you will get to this point soon. Sending you positive thoughts, best wishes and yarn dreams.
Hi Stephanie. I met you very briefly several years ago at Rhinebeck. A very big thing for me. You were really nice, to someone you did not know at all. All of us felt so terrible about Charlotte. So much suffering has happened. I’ve been crying a lot too. I decided to up my intake of B vitamins and it has actually helped me. We are all trying really hard, but very few of us can put it into words as well as you can. Thanks.
SO SO SO good to see you on again!
I wasn’t worried, exactly, but I have been checking for updates increasingly frequently to glean a clue. Thanks for the proof of life—the world waves a fond hello back.
No words, but we are here. I wish you hope and light.
When my son died suddenly, it felt exactly like that—as though I were drowning, with waves crashing over me, rendering me helpless.
You have written the best description of the experience of losing a child I’ve ever read. From a distance of thirty years, I offer you this—that grief, the worst there is, is like a 50-pound ball chained to your ankle. It never gets lighter, but you get used to dragging it around, and eventually function with a semblance of normalcy.
From this mother’s broken heart to yours, I send you love. The days will get better. It just takes a very long time, so be kind to yourself.
I grew up at the ocean, in fact, probably IN the ocean, and I know that there’s no way to outrun those waves, but if you wait, dive under and then resurface, it’ll work out. So, I’ve been doing that. It’s the perfect analogy for me. BUT I’m &^*$@ sick and tired of diving under those waves. I just want to get back to shore and solid footing. So, thanks. Thanks for the ocean analogy, for the knowing I’m not the only stressed knitter, and just for your incredible writing and absolutely adorable grandson. Somehow, I look at Elliott and think, hey, it’s gonna be okay.
A wonderful post, much needed and appreciated.
Thank you.
I’m glad you are taking care of yourself, and finding your way back to shore. I appreciate you being here.
Your post put me in mind of Canadian poet Stevie Smith’s “Not Waving but Drowning”. Take care of you.
I am a retired nurse and as I read your post I felt that you are struggling with depression. There is nothing wrong with that except that you may need a little more help at this time. I’m not sure where but in the US primary care doctors usually can be very helpful with this. It’s like the airline thing, put on your oxygen mask first so you can help those around you. I believe that a lot of people count on you. Take care.
Yes, she is depressed. I’ve lost a child and that depression comes and goes at varying intensities pretty much forever. I did see a therapist, but the only way to work through it is to just keep on keeping on.
I echo your hope that she sees/has seen a professional, but there’s no magic wand to make things better. It was four years before I began to feel some sense of normalcy. And after thirty years, sometimes I still get snakebitten. That piece of your heart never truly heals.
Well the last sentence of your post made me chuckle, but this is a serious post. I have been looking for a way to describe how my isolation during this last omicron surge (compounded with other losses) has affected me, and you nailed it: another big wave crashing down on a weary person who has been out there fighting the waves all along. Someone for whom this most recent wave was somehow more of a struggle than the previous ones, and also which served as a wake up call to do something salvational. And the thing that is helping seems to be doing a bit of something positive here and there, not all at once. Thanks for helping to put this in better perspective.
Thanks for posting again. I’ve been checking the blog every so often, hoping to hear from you. Glad you’re up for air and ok-enough. Sending love to you and family and really, to everyone now. We all need love. And knitting never hurts either. xoxo Susan.
So happy to see your new post full of wisdom. “Radio silence” from you always concerns me, as it usually seems to indicate troubles for your family. I’m so glad you have made it back to the shore and the blog. You were missed and you are loved.
Oh Stephanie … sending you much love and strength to keep on swimming in the direction of the shore. You are so brave. Keep doing everything you need in order to stay afloat … the whole Blog is there cheering you on. We hold you and all your family in our hearts.
And that’s a gorgeous sweater!
It is so good to hear from you again. Please continue your self-care and of course knitting.
Elliot is five, and may be overtakingthe former World’s Best Knitwear Model. Helps that he’s got such nice knitwear to show off.
Sending hugs (masked) and hopes for calmer waters for you & your family, with all the love The Blog can unleash upon the great white north.
Oh Stephanie…same channel, different plot line….hang in there…nothing to do but be strong and hang in there AND knit the hell out of it 😉
See, stuff like this is why I think your writing is strongest when you branch out from knitting. And your knitting writing is plenty strong. Glad to hear your voice again, it is always such a pleasure. Let’s pull our tops up and see what we can do. Gently, slowly, feeling our way through.
As we say in my family (coopted from Hunt for Red October), One ping only.
“To move, to breathe, to fly, to float,
To gain all while you give,
To roam the roads of lands remote,
To travel is to live.”
Hans Christian Andersen,
Tides may create wonderful travel opportunities (someday). Riptides become the strongest where the flow is constricted. Please know The Blog is here for you, to remove constrictions whenever possible, and to listen, to hold, to love you when we cannot remove them. Please take care of yourself and those you love. And hang on to the laughter.
Another year of same-old, same-old, yet now full of changes. You posted on my Meg’s birthday, so you can grab hold of that. She has grown up to be an amazing, beautiful woman and I couldn’t be happier about that! Changes? Well, I’m retired now and trying to figure out the new “schedule”.
Dear lady, I am not in any way surprised at your current state of mind. Your life has been such a lot of strain the last couple of years that it is no wonder you are overwhelmed. Sending all of the empathy and understanding your way. Grief in particular is tenacious, the only way out is through. I lost a brother when I was 15 and he was 19. Over fifty years later, it still gives me pause.
I want to weep in recognition of the emotional undertow. I want to embrace you and all of us flailing in the same manner.
Lots of love. So many people are struggling through so many extraordinary things lately. I know the last two years have not made me stronger, but softer, and I mean that in the kindest sense of the word. If you’ll pardon the movie reference, I always felt I could Cool Hand Luke my way through any situation, but now I’ve learned to turn to my “cellmates” (in whichever situation) and ask, “What do *you* need?” We are all still in this together, some people just struggle to act like it. I’m grateful for all that you’ve shared over the years.
Thanks for continuing to write. The past two years have been challenging and infuriating, with politicians letting us down, social media letting us down, and all the usual comforts being far less comforting. I am so glad I was retired when the pandemic hit and yet retirement in a lockdown was a whole different kind of ennui. Spring seems to be here and that usually does wonders for me, so we shall see. Take care.
I’ve always lived by the “if you don’t take care of YOU, who will?” Take care of you, then the family. The blog family will be here.
Sending love to you, whenever and however you post, and even if you don’t! Sometimes when you post after a long hiatus I start to read thinking, “Oh dear, I hope this one isn’t goodbye,” and I’m overwhelmed with gratitude–as always–that it isn’t. It has been a horrible stretch of time for so many, and particularly for you and yours. Sending love and knitvibes.
As always, you express things so beautifully and succinctly.
It is good to hear from you, though I suspected that pandemic times and Charlotte’s anniversary were the cause of your absence.
Your blog readers will be here whenever you are ready to talk.
Take good care of yourself, Steph.
Xxx
Ya know, down here in the States they’ve decided the Pandemic is done. How about gathering up your loved ones and heading south for a little R & R?
I realize one person saying it doesn’t necessarily make it so, but there may be a (responsible, respectful, self distancing) light at the end of the tunnel. We The Blog will be here when you get back.
Thanks for this image and for sharing, as always.
Just stopping by to say I’m thinking of you and hoping things have eased up some. And Eliott is so adorable, all the more so in that beautiful sweater.
I love you and your writing. I love the thought of you topless, but not in a creepy way, rather upright and sand covered but ready to do what needs to be done.
Take care friend!
Margaret in Port Ludlow
Made me cry, too. You can get through this, too. Sending love.
Your posts have always brought me a lot of comfort over the last many years, and while I’m a long-time lurker, I want you to know how much I appreciate your openness about these things.
I read an article on BioSpace about the science behind Sudden Infant Death Syndrome, and I thought that knowing more about what may have happened would bring some comfort to you and your family.
All the love to you and yours while you ride this next wave. We’re in this together, even if it feels like some have gotten lost.
https://www.biospace.com/article/researchers-answer-how-and-why-infants-die-from-sids/?fbclid=IwAR0t7YAPXlMDPb4hDw42eUsJ7PjQLEzeGE0Fwa1pRoSJr2BL8-0aI3z9P24
I don’t check in very often, but today has been a hard day, and I thought of you. This post was exactly what I needed to hear. Beautifully expressed and pretty much how I am feeling, also. Thanks, Stephanie. I miss you.
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I can’t stress enough that I haven’t been drowning these last weeks, I just saw the big waves headed for me and decided to do whatever it took to keep my head above water