Last night, Joe and I were watching some dumb thing on TV, and I was so irritated and he was bugging me (not his fault, though I was sure it was at the time) and my knitting was annoying me, and my email was all terrible, and the weather was impossible and the dinner I made wasn’t very good and the cat was off the hook with the way she was being a cat (I am not snuggling something furry in this freakin’ heat, stay off my damn lap) and I suddenly realized that I was magnificently tired.  Then I coughed – if by coughed you understand that I mean I hacked until I just about wept, then I sneezed. Then I coughed again, and then I said something really filthy, and I went the H E double-hockey sticks to bed.  I slept for just about nine hours – except for the coughing, and when I got up I could see the way forward, and it was a day of rest and solitude, and that is what I have had.

Well, not totally. It didn’t absolutely work out. Joe worked from home for the morning, and Sam was home shortly after he left, and I had work to do, and stuff like that, but I could decide when and how to do it, and I could stay off my road bike for a day – and I did. I plunked myself down in the backyard, where it was pretty and nice to work, and I did the stuff that was vital, and then, a thought occurred to me. I had been planning a 3 hour bike ride today. I somehow found the time to give for that, so if I wasn’t going to get on my bike, didn’t I still have that time? To do something else? LIKE KNIT MAYBE?

Heck yeah.  I wound that little gradient skein of baby alpaca into a ball because I’ve sort of been obsessed with it,  and then I picked a pattern already in my Rav library, and I plunked my little self down in the back garden (until it rained) and then I went inside and kept on knitting until I felt like I’d done a long bike ride’s worth.

The pattern I picked is Zuzu’s Petals (because I was totally happy with the last time I used handspun for it) and I’m churning along, happy as a little duck.  I’m telling you, I’m pretty sure that I don’t have enough yarn to finish, and I don’t care. Not even a little bit. I’ll figure it out when I get there, I’m sure there will be something that I can do. I mean, I’m an inventive person, and… sometimes what you’re making isn’t the point, and sometimes it doesn’t need to work out, it doesn’t need to make something, it just needs to …  make. Be transformed. Move from one state to another even though I can’t.

I’m just sitting in the backyard knitting right now, and sniffling into a tissue a little bit, and writing things as I think of them (and possibly having a beer) and slowly and delicately crossing things off a to-do list that is made up of all sitting down jobs, and I’ve let go of the idea of making dinner (screw it, we’ll have popcorn) and I expect tomorrow to have a lot more joie de vivre in it, and probably, a cowl, which has got to be good news for the cat, because last night her future wasn’t looking good.

Peace out, Knitters.

Ah, long weekends, and this one was longer than most. I started in on Friday, Canada Day here, and got in the first half of my back-to-backs. Back-to-backs are a training benchmark on the Rally, at some point before (technically last weekend but I am running a little late) all riders have to ride 90km (that’s 56 miles) two days in a row. The fact that I hadn’t done them was weighing heavily on me, I’m usually pretty much a rule follower, and if there’s anything the few years I’ve been doing this has taught me, it’s that the benchmarks are there for a really great reason. I also have some strong feelings about leading by example, and I thought it would be pretty hard to start sending out “Hey, why haven’t you met this benchmark” emails to my team if I myself hadn’t done it. (Cameron did his two weeks ago while I was hacking up a lung and pulling off a wedding, so there was pressure there too.) Only problem was that there wasn’t a training ride scheduled for that day, so I invented my own. Blog, it was terrible. It was so windy, and I got a late start because I didn’t have the emotional fortitude to ride in the rain, but in the end I got it done, in a weak and limping sort of way. (Full disclosure, I didn’t do the full 90km, but wait for the rationale.)

Saturday morning I’d made a commitment to sweep a ride with Ken, since his team lead wasn’t able to be there.  I got up and went to meet him and the 20+ riders who showed up for a Pride weekend ride, and we set out. Saturday rides start early. 7:30, to be clear, and our job for the day is to ride behind the slowest rider, making sure that nobody is left behind.  We “sweep” up after the ride. (There’s also a “car sweep” and they drive up and down the cohort of riders, helping, re-directing people who get lost, handing out water to anyone who runs out, and giving a lift to anyone who’s unable to complete.) We had, it turns out, no trouble staying behind the last rider.  While we were cruising along, our friend Amanda (not my daughter) noticed that my rear tire looked a little soft. “I know, I know” I told her, and said I’d pump it up at the lunch break.  Unfortunately, right before the lunch break, I rode over a set of train tracks, and boom. That tire went flat. Instantly and completely… likely a pinch flat.  We changed the tire, Ken and I there by the side of the road in the blazing heat, and I reflected (while I changed the flat- with Ken’s help) that this ride was sort of crappy.  It was so hot, and the wind! Riding into it was like riding through pudding. Way more work that it should have been, by a lot.  We made it into lunch a half kilometre later (maybe less) scarfed down and unreasonable amount of food, refilled our empty water bottles, and waited for the last rider to leave so we could be after them. No point in rushing.

That turns out to have been misguided, because a few metres after the lunch break, I had ANOTHER FLAT. (My rage was complete, but I directed it towards the effective use of tire levers – which felt sort of good, because a few years ago I didn’t even know what a tire lever was. There was a bike shop nearby so I ran over and bought two more tubes in case it happened AGAIN, and then we were underway again, but by now, we were sweeping ourselves.  Any chance that we would have caught up with the riders was blown a few kilometres later when we were held up by the world’s longest and slowest moving train. We rode the second half after that, hustling at a great speed, and still came in 40 minutes after the last rider.  On the subway on the way home, Ken said his legs were tired and it was all I could do not to kiss him on the mouth. There had been so many hills, and it was into the wind, and he’s such a good egg you’d never know he was suffering at all, and so I thought I was the only one having a hard time. When he said his thighs were sore I exclaimed “REALLY I’M SO GLAD” which in retrospect wasn’t the most empathetic thing to say, but I was just so happy that I wasn’t in such rough shape and he’d breezed through it while I suffered.  118km (73 miles) in the bag, done and dusted.  (That’s why It was okay that I came in short the day before. My total for the two days was still 180km, and in my books, that’s a damn back-to-back.)

Sunday, Jen and I marched in the Pride Parade, holding the banner for the Bike Rally, as all the cyclists walked and rode behind us, and the Prime Minister walked somewhere in front of us, and then after that…there was some dancing and a very late bedtime after we all celebrated the fantastic diversity and acceptance that is Toronto.  It was fabulous. Throw in a little sailing – a little more bike riding, and and then, somehow, magically, I found the time to spin* this roving,

Into these singles,

which were then chain-plied** into this pretty fabulous yarn.

All the kinds of spinning.  Bikes, wheels… the lot.  How was your weekend? American friends, did you have a Happy 4th?

* a few of you have asked if I’m doing the Tour de Fleece this year, and the answer is an official NO, and perhaps an unofficial yes. It’s a lower case yes because frankly, I’m struggling a little bit to keep up with all that I’ve got going on, but I do like this time of year when we think a bit more about spinning, and that’s what I’m going to do. Think a little more about it.

** Because one of you will ask what chain plying is, I put a video on Instagram.

Ah, another fine Canada Day, and who would I be if I didn’t take a minute to write something about the fine country I’m so proud to live in. This is tradition, of course – I’ve done it almost every year I’ve been blogging. There are Canada Day posts from  2004,  2005, 2006, 2007, 2008,  2009, 2010, 2011,  2013 and 2015 for your reading pleasure.

This year I give you: Ten Random things about Canada.

1. There is no cultural taboo about discussing religion or politics in Canada. As a matter of fact, most of us discuss politics everywhere we go. Coffee shops, dinners, parties, the bank… political debate is a sport here. It’s not considered rude to bring up either of those topics. Note: Though religion and politics are fine to talk about, as a a culture, we don’t care for them combined.

2. In Canada, we have no major politicians or parties opposed to equal marriage, which we’ve had uneventfully in place since 2005.  It is a political non-starter in this country, and this weekend, the Prime Minister will walk in the Pride parade here in Toronto. (Me too.)

3. It is free for me to send a letter to the Governor General, The Prime Minister,  the Speaker or Clerk of the House of Commons, the Parliamentary Librarian, all Members of the Senate, all Members of the House of Commons, or the Conflict of Interest and Ethics Commissioner. Any of those people can send me a letter for free too, as long as we’re both in Canada. Note: Not a package. Just a letter, and if an MP wants to send a letter to all their constituents, they can do that for free too, just only four times a year. We’re Canadian. We like restraint.

4. Santa Claus lives in Canada, and his address is: Santa Claus, North Pole, Canada, H0H 0H0.  If you send him a letter from anywhere in the world, you’ll get a letter back, almost always in the language you wrote to him in.  This is because he is a magic elf, and also, Canadians are really nice.

5. In 2013, we got rid of the penny.  Our only coins now are the $2, $1, quarters, dimes and nickles. Everything still has prices on it like we have pennies though.  If something costs $1.99, and you pay with a card, it costs $1.99.  If you’re using cash the shopkeeper will round it up or down.  Like a lot of things in Canada, this sounds like it would never work, but everybody is doing it and it’s totally fine.

6. While Canadians have free speech (except for hate speech) and freedom of the press, it’s illegal to lie in broadcast news. There’s a law that says they “shall not broadcast any false or misleading news.” This can make the news sort of boring, especially when it comes to politics, but also means that Canadians can pretty much trust what we hear. This makes #1 less volatile.

7. There is a law against “pretending to practice witchcraft.” Actual witchcraft isn’t illegal, it’s find to be Wiccan, for example, but if you say you can perform magic for money, and then you don’t? That’s a crime.

8. The Canadian Head of State is Queen Elizabeth II, not the Prime Minister.  What’s that you say? The Queen of England is Canada’s head of state? Nope. The Queen of Canada is Canada’s head of state, she just happens to have that other job too.  She’s not around much though, so we have a Governor General to be her viceregal representative. The Governor General is also the Commander in Chief of the Canadian Military, except if the Queen is here. Then it’s her.

9. Newfoundland and Labrador didn’t join Confederation until 1949. My husband’s parents weren’t born in Canada, their birth certificates read “Newfoundland” as their country of birth. That means that although their families have been here for a long time, and my husband was born the same place they were, he’s a first generation Canadian.

10. In Canada, when a family has a baby (by birth, or through adoption) the new mother can take a paid maternity leave of up to 15 weeks. After that, “parental leave” applies – either parent can take another 35 weeks of paid leave after that, and the parents can share the leave however they like. They can both claim it, and stay home together for half the time, or the mother can take the whole thing. That’s 50 weeks total, and your boss can’t give away your job. There’s some problems with this, like that we haven’t figured out how to extend it to all self employed parents, and there’s a cap on how much you’re paid while you’re off (it depends on your income level, 55% for wealthy Canadians, and up to 80% for lower income ones) but for most Canadians, it’s a more or less paid year off when you have a baby, and that’s a pretty sweet ride.

11. I know. I said there would be ten, but I can’t resist this one. When our Prime Minister was asked why he’d selected a cabinet that for the first time in Canadian history, had an equal number of men and women, he replied “Because it’s 2015″.

There you have it, a little slice of Canada for you, on it’s 148th 149th Birthday. (Whoops! Typo!) How about you, my fellow Canadians? Anything you want to add? Any wild or wonderful tidbits about our quirky and kind country?  Have at it in the comments, and keep your stick on the ice.

Happy Canada Day!

(PS. If you want to immigrate here, you can check here to see if you’re eligible. We have lots of room.)

After the Big White (details forthcoming, when Meg gets her pictures from the photographer) I felt a sort of knitting ennui. It’s not that I didn’t want to knit, it was more that I had a kind of knitting hangover. Simple things called to me. Things with no charts, no beads, things with yarn thicker than dental floss…  I plowed through a pair of socks that have been kicking around my knitting basket forever –

I know the yarn is Regia, but once again, the colourway escapes me. I always take a picture of the ball band to try and avoid just this moment, but these ones have been around for so long that it’s hopeless.

That felt pretty good, so I started another pair…

I’ve got the ball band for these ones, Lang Super Soxx, Cashmere Color 4-ply, colour fetchingly named 904.0010. (There. Now I can lose it.)  I knit along on those for a while, but it didn’t scratch the itch. It didn’t feel like knitting really, just something to do, and this morning the feeling is still there. I picked up my knitting and realized that I’m starting to get over the Big White. The urge to have something a little more fussy is upon me, and I found myself browsing patterns, looking through ideas, re-reading notes that I left myself about things I wanted to knit, back when the Big White was all I was allowed to knit. I thought about starting a bit more lace, perhaps a few cables. Maybe something else beaded, now, while I know where my tiny crochet hook is?

(Upstream Alpacas hand painted combed top, 100% baby alpaca, in “Cappuccino”.) 

Then I went upstairs and got myself something to spin.  Clearly, I’m not totally over it. Maybe tomorrow.

*PS. The hill repeats were a bust yesterday. My cough is better, apparently better enough to let me ride, but not to let me ride hills.  I did three loops through the park to warm up, then made one ascent, tried to hack up the lower lobe of my left lung at the top, and limped home. I suppose one is better than none, but it was pretty demoralizing. Today’s a new day. I’ll try again.

Well, after that mild panic session on Friday, I got it together – or at least I started to.  I Saturday I took myself for a training ride. I planned at least 90km, but it ended up being a few longer than that, 96km.  (That’s just about 60 miles, for my American friends.)

You know, it wasn’t that bad.  I got my hacking, wheezing self out and onto the road, and though I needed a few breaks to blow my nose, I did better than I thought. I was prepared to take it really slowly, as slowly as I needed to to get it done, but despite my cold and the incredibly oppressive heat and humidity, I was both pretty fast and pretty happy. (I wouldn’t say I was exactly chipper on the bike, but there’s only so much you can hope for, and by fast I mean fast for me. Not actually fast.  Other cyclists were blowing by me like I was a toddler on a tricycle, but I try not to compare myself to them too much. I was fast compared to me.)  I wound up the day by riding my bike to the marina, where Joe and I went for the first sail of the year. (We’re running behind. We’ve been busy – but I did practice being helmswoman this time, so Joe got to be a passenger.)

Sunday was a Rally day too – Cameron is my Co-lead this year, both for our team and for the Steering Committee, and it was our turn to “sweep” a ride.  There’s two ways to sweep – there’s a set of Team Leads on bikes, they ride at the end, slower than the slowest rider, to make sure nobody gets left behind, and then there’s the “car sweeps” and that’s who we were.  Our job is to drive back and forth along the length of the cohort, answering the emergency phone, picking up riders who have trouble, and on super hot days like yesterday, set up little stations to refill water bottles and hand out ice. (We had oranges too, we like to overachieve.)

It takes hours and hours – and it’s a lot of time in the car, and usually that would just scream “knitting time” to me, but yesterday, in a wave of generosity…

Cameron got the knitting time.  He’s working on his second project – and it’s a doozy, though he doesn’t know it.  He did so well with his first project that I decided he could handle something really good, so he’s working on a Baby Surprise Jacket – and he’s almost done. A few rows away from the buttonholes, and he’s learned how to increase, decrease, follow his markers, read his knitting, knit into the back of a stitch, pick up a dropped stitch, and cast on and off.  (I find the secret with clever beginners is not to tell them when they’re doing something hard.) It was hard to give up the knitting time, but pretty satisfying to see Cameron churn along.

Today I’m trying to find it in me to get on my bike and go do hill repeats. (They’re exactly what they sound like. Ride to the top of a hill, ride down, repeat.) It’s about a thousand degrees in the shade though, and I’ve decided to wait until this evening when it’s not ridiculous out there. It reduces the amount of swearing I do on the bike tremendously. (Note that I’ve said “reduce”.  A nice knitter on instagram said she passed me cycling on the trail on Saturday, and I’ve been worried the whole time that I was cursing when she saw me.) Let’s do Karmic Balancing Gifts until I can motivate myself to get out there, shall we? To recap: You donate (or tweet, or facebook, or tell a friend) to a member of Team Knit (that’s me, Pato, Ken and Cameron) and send me and email with the subject line “I helped” (send it to stephanieATyarnharlotDOTca – changing the AT and DOT to the appropriate symbols, and noting the .ca) and then as often as I can, I spread the Karma around.

Tanja Luescher is a prolific designer over at Knitted in Switzerland who helps us out every year,  and once again she has a terrifically generous gift.  She’s got 10 (count ’em TEN) copies of her great ebook Stories of Inspiration to give away.  (And if that ebook isn’t quite the recipients cup of tea, she’s willing to let them make their own ebooks up out of her collection. Sweet as pie, that Tanja.)

Fiona W, Liz R, Deborah D, Bonnie J, Janis M, Lindsey T, Erin R, Barbara S, Pferdina and Natalie R will all be enjoying her generosity.   As if that wasn’t enough, 10 knitters can pick three patterns each from her store. (With the exception of Daddy’s prayer shawl, because Tanja’s already generously donating the proceeds from that one elsewhere.) There’s lots of pretty things to choose from. Those are for Suzyn J, Kim C, Ruth H, Irina N, Kathryn K, Amanda G, Leanne D, Dawn S, Sarah L, and Kate E.

Here’s a beautiful hand quilted bag by Kristy, from her very pretty shop Eleven Stiches on Etsy.  She’ll be sending that out (it’s perfect for big knitting projects) to Sarah K.

Jean C made some gorgeous purchases before realizing that she wasn’t a lace knitter (happens to the best of us) and she’s ready to release her lace stash into the wild.  It’s two skeins of Knit Picks Shadow, and one of Jojoland Harmony. (I love that variegated lace stuff.) It will be winging it’s way to Sarah H. (Lot’s of Sarah’s today.)

Kris has two amazing gifts from her stash to yours. (The Karma is strong with this one.)  First 7 skeins of Malabrigo Rueca handspun superwash DK (well kind of thick-thin really) merino 285 yds “teal feather”colour, that will be going to Shanna H.

The second is 4 skeins of Madelinetosh Vintage superwash worsted merino 200 yds in Oak (Oh, so pretty) for Jade O.

Thanks Kris!

Finally (for today – there’s so much more) Jeanne went stash diving, and came up with four beautiful gifts for all of you. Of her first gift she writes “I would like to donate a bag from Erin Lane Bags and a 300 yd skein of Knit Circus Greatest of Ease (80% merino/20% nylon) in the color “Meet me at the Fair”. Simply a lovely little kit I received, but unfortunately they are not my colors.  I know someone else will give this the love it deserves.”  I hope that’s true of Sharon C because that’s where it’s headed.

“Two skeins of Huckleberry Knits (80% BFL/20% nylon, 420 yards) in the colors “WineSap” and “Rock Candy”.  Hoping whoever receives this can enjoy a nice glass of wine while knitting up something lovely!”  I bet that’s exactly what Josiane R plans.

3 skeins of Shibui (100% Superwash Merino, 525 total yards) in the color “50’s Kitchen”. (That’s so perfectly named) for Tia D.

“2 skeins of Plymouth Happy Feet (90% merino, 10% nylon, 384 yards each) in the colors “Tuscan Spice” and “Purple Iris” plus a cute bag from Erin Lane Bags to carry a fun project around!”  And that’s going out to Joy C.

Well, there you go.  28 gifts, all done and dusted, and the hill beckons. (Actually, my knitting beckons. I thought I might get a few rows in before I ride.)  If you think your name is listed here, check your inbox.  I’ve emailed all the lucky ducks.

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There is nothing that I regret about the last few weeks of my life.  That my time went to my girl and her wedding, that my energy went in that direction? A good choice, my knitters. A good choice. The shawl, the arrangements…it was all fine, but the whole time there was a twitchy little voice in the back of my head … a voice that said “What about the Rally?” and in true Stephanie form, I replied that I would worry about that later.

Blog.  It is later, and despite the fact that I am in my late forties, for some impossible magic reason I thought that procrastination would work better for me now than it has in the past.  (I suppose I procrastinated on figuring out that procrastination is a bad plan.) Last night I looked at my fundraising (way behind) at my work on the Steering Committee (barely up to date, thanks for covering me  Cam) and then my Blog, I looked at my arse, and I realized that on no level am I ready.

Departure is in 4 weeks and 1 day.  This weekend marks the back-to-back deadline. By now, I’m supposed to have ridden two long rides, 90km or more, on two consecutive days.  I haven’t been on my bike in (ahem, I was doing a wedding) more than a week. (It’s longer than that, but there’s only so much panic I can engage in at once.) Last night I made a vow. I looked at the date of the rally, I realized that If I don’t get on my bike in a really, really big way in the next couple of weeks, riding my bike to Montreal is going to hurt like you wouldn’t believe, and I made a commitment to ride every day between now and then.

Then I lay in my bed, cried and coughed, because Blog, I have a terrible cold.  I caught it right before the wedding, and thanks to the miracle of modern medicine and the ancient tactic of whiskey, I made it through the whole thing, but I’m still wheezing and coughing and blowing my nose, and this morning I realized that I’m still too sick to ride, and I felt just horrible. Every minute I am not on my bike fills me with panic, but today I realized that I just wasn’t going to win the day, and I lay down.

Tomorrow I’m going to ride 100km, cold be damned. I might do it slowly, and I will likely be sorry the whole time, but I’m going to ride it. On Sunday I have to sweep a ride in the car with my Co-Lead, and so that day is out.  On Monday though, if I get up and get it together, I can ride another 100km, and on Tuesday, I can do the same thing… and then… If I can somehow repeat that over and over for the next month, there’s a chance that my middle aged self can somehow get myself to Montreal without crying the whole way.

I sometimes forget, because I’ve done it a few times now, that riding your bike 660km is… well, it’s really, really hard.  It’s easy to blow off the preparation, to say “I’ve done it before, I can do it again” but the truth is, I am neither young, nor beautiful, and it is a long way, and I am not ready.  I’ll do Karmic Balancing gifts on Monday.  If you want to encourage me, most of my weekend will be spent serving a cause I think is important, and I’ve set up my phone so that it dings every time I get a donation. It’s motivating.  If you’re thinking about sending a little encouragement my way… this weekend would be a great time.  (Cough.)

May the force be with me.

(PS. You are the force.)

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That was my favourite comment out of all that you left on my last post, and trust me, I loved and read them all. Yes. Man, have you been reading this blog for a long time.  The first time I mentioned wee Meg (properly) was Jan 27th, 2004.  She was 12. The second was May 4th, in a post entirely devoted to her. (In the name of soft warm merino, click on that link.)  That little bundle of knitting energy, of cleverness of… Megan, that teeny girl wed on Monday, and she was not a child.  I had been worried that she would be. That she would still seem too small to me. Too… young. I worried that I wouldn’t be able to see past being the mother of that girl to see the woman she’s so properly become.

Bad news.

I was able to do this, but only on her wedding day, in horrific waves of emotion – which means that for a McPhee woman, I was completely out of control. I was not too bad the evening before.  We went out for a “last supper” just our little family, and her betrothed was noticeably and deliberately absent. We went to a stupid local restaurant we’ve been too a hundred times exactly because of that. We went there, and we ate what we always did, and laughed about what we always do, and then we went home and had champagne in the backyard, and I was fragile, but okay.  I went to bed, and the sisters stayed up and drank bubbly in the backyard and were sweet to each other and I don’t know what they said, and I don’t care.  I fell asleep to their laughter, trickling in my window like bells.

The next morning, it was over. I woke up early and came downstairs and drank coffee, and wrote a post to you, and waited for the girls to wake up, and then they did, and the morning was… perfect.  There was nail polish crisis* and then I tried to make Meg’s bouquet and there wasn’t enough greens and Amanda drove me to get more and… even that was perfect.  We cooked the food for the reception, we tied the bouquet with ribbon. We chimed in on which tie Ken should wear. What lipsticks for the sisters… Right before we left, Megan sat herself down, took a few minutes, and embroidered her wedding date on the hem of the underskirt of her dress.  In blue.

I don’t know what it was about that.  It was, so much a lesson of her youth. A lesson about handwork and the value of it and what it means to wield a needle and my wee girl thought that up herself, and sat there in the sunshine, needle in hand, and it felt like something I gave her, but maybe it wasn’t.

That morning was a poem. It was everything this family was good at… and then we got in the car and went to my mum’s and kept on rolling. My sister was there and my Mum and my aunt and Joe shined his shoes and everyone got their hair done (even me which is why I look weird but good in all the pictures) and we were tight. We were generous with each other. I love us best when we are like this.  All of us. Our family works beautifully when we are all present.

When we were all ready, I was going to go, to get in a cab and take Joe and Ken and go to the restaurant (did I mention Meg was married in the restaurant my sister owns? Perfect.) and I had a bag and a camera and a thousand details, and then Meg asked me if I would come up, and put her in her dress.  Blog, I swear everything was fine until then. At the risk of being overly intimate, I went upstairs, and my sweet daughter stepped out of her jeans and her tee shirt, and she stood there, naked and perfect, and moved from one space to the other, and I held her wedding dress out, and she stepped into it. I don’t mind telling you, as she stepped in, and I held it up, and it slipped up over her hips and into her form, and as I slid the zipper up over herself… it ended.  I wept. I took the shawl I had made her and placed it round her shoulders, and I kissed her, and fled cowardly to the kitchen.

Her sisters came up then, and were with her. Joe and Ken and I a lift with Pato, and we went to welcome guests.  We waited there, me being the only one who had seen her, and the text came, saying she was in the cab, on her way. Her bridegroom stood (I told him she was coming) and then I moved to the back, to take her in though the back door.  As I waited, a storm of feelings, my brother stepped up next to me and asked if he could come with. “Oh Please” I said, and we met our girl.

From there, it is a train wreck.  From there, I wept every minute.  She was, Blog… so beautiful.  She was perfect.  I mean that. She was generous. She was kind. She gave her day to so many people, and I have never been prouder, and I don’t even know why because I think that marriage is optional.

She walked down the aisle with Joe and Ken, and she moved from their arms to his… and somehow, we let go.** Off she drifted. Off she decided. And I wept, just because she was not my baby anymore.

I’d promised Meg that we would make every minute of her wedding special, and we did. The flowers were done by my mum.  Her bouquet was by me. Her venue was my sister (as was hair) Her cake was made by a childhood friend and knitter (Hey Katie it was so beautiful!) We cooked the food ourselves and Blog – you were there. Presbytera, Our Lady of the Comments – sent the most beautiful package of Greek pastries.  (Think about that. she baked them, then mailed them… all so we could have a Canadian version of My Big Fat Greek Wedding. Meg was so touched, and they were devoured.  (Note to Presbytera: I love you. You’re one of the best things to ever come out of this blog, also Rams.)

The evening went on, and yeah. You’ve already asked, there was a song.  I won’t post the video, I think Joe and Ken would kill me. We practiced and practiced, and everything was beautiful, and Meg loved it. (We are a musical family, and there’s no getting around that. Joe played the guitar, Ken played the drum, Amanda sang and played the violin, Sam was our ringer, playing the ukulele and lead voice, and Pato and I sang too.  (I sing once a decade. Usually at family stuff I knit.)

She wed. We welcomed the lad and lo, he is ours.  I cried, somewhat helplessly, throughout my whole toast.  I kept trying to reign it in, but she is mine and I love her, and I didn’t know how to let go of that whole thing.

My daughter is a married lady.  I am still… overwhelmed by that. I think the thing that is the finish of me is that I cannot make her a baby in my mind any longer.  Sam – Sam still curls into my bed from time to time.  Amanda seeks advice, and is going to school. (Clever, clever girl.) Megan is married, with an unpredictably weeping mother by her side.***

Oh Meg.

That will be all.

*The nail polish crisis was me. The ladies put it on me, because of some ridiculous Mother of the Bride rule that I think they made up. it was pink.  I wore it until today, when a nice person at a Bike Rally meeting had nail polish remover, and I got it off me.

** This is not even remotely true. I told her husband during my speech that we would not surrender this girl, that at the best, he could share.

*** Joe and Ken you were very strong. My sister and brother cried though.

**** (There is no **** in the post but I wanted to add something) Joe asked the DJ to play “our song” after Megan’s choice at the wedding.  I was incredibly touched by his romanticism… Except for when I had to remind him it was our song, and dance with me. We are old. Our daughter is married.

***** Any rumour suggesting that Joel Plaskett attended Meg’s wedding and sang to her and Alex is totally true.  Also? Alex? Welcome to A REALLY COOL FAMILY. We’re loud and weird, but as long as you’re this good to our Meg, we’re on your side.

I was up early today,  sitting in a quiet house, waiting for the house to explode around me. The ladies all slept here at home last night, and stayed up long after I went to bed, laughing and talking in the backyard, being sisters together.

I find myself emotional today, though I have a cold, so I look tearier than I feel.  Everything feels like a “last time” to me. The last time we’ll have dinner together, just our little family. The last time that the girls will sleep here, just the three of them. The last time we’ll have breakfast the way we do… after today, everything changes.  After today, one of my daughters is a married person, and her husband will be part of this family, and he will come to dinner and… wait, you don’t suppose he’ll sleep over when the girls do? Best not to worry about that today.

Today is a landmark. My little Meggie.

I’m going to go make her bouquet.

When I wrote “see to-do list 3a” on a spreadsheet this morning, I knew that things were getting intense, wedding wise. We’re just a few days out (I refuse to calculate how many hours away Monday is) and things are hairy over here. Everyone is on their own personal set of missions (Hey, how long does Bleeding Heart foliage stay perky after you pick it?) and jobs. (Where’s that ribbon? Did you have the ribbon? Wasn’t the ribbon on the piano?) We’re slowly getting it together (That is definitely not enough candles) and getting ready for the whole thing. (I really do think I can core 50 roma tomatoes in an hour.)  One thing is (almost holy cow do I ever need a bunch of pins) off the list.

My little Meggie’s shawl is done… The cast-off took much longer than I thought, which is okay now that it’s over, but was a little bit of a panic last night. (And yesterday, and this morning.)

Blocking, I am in you. Joe, we might sleep on the chesterfield tonight.

Today is my birthday,* and I plan to spend it doing things that I like**, with people I love, and as is the sometimes tradition*** around here, someone else wrote the blog for me today.  I found this amazing thing in my inbox this morning – a beautiful birthday present from Ken that made me cry.  He’s been with me for 33 of my 48 birthdays, and this sort of thing is exactly why.  Ken’s wildly overstating some (well, most) of my qualities here, and leaving off the part where I make him and everyone else crazy, but that’s just another reason to love him. ****

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Because she doesn’t work on her birthday, I thought I’d share with you what Stephanie looks like in my head:

(Note from Steph: I think I’m about 25 there. This is one of the terrible things about people who’ve known you for years and years. They have all the damn pictures.)

Okay, she looks like this too:

But when you’re old like I’m old (I’m much older than Stephanie, so this is in no way to imply that she is old), there’s a multiplex lens on everything, especially people, and you see not just what they are, but what they’ve been to you.

This blog, which I gifted to Stephanie so long ago because she so clearly needed more people to talk to about knitting, is more than simply a blog. It’s a community. The message that Stephanie takes from knitting is that small actions add up to large outcomes, and that is the backbone of this community that collectively has raised (and continues to raise) over a million dollars for Médecins Sans Frontières / Doctors Without Borders. It’s a community that has surprised, delighted and flabbergasted the Toronto People With AIDS Foundation’s staff, volunteers and clients, who are all so fortunate to have made your acquaintance. All because Stephanie wanted to do more, and knew that as a community, you could do so.

Stephanie has given me a life I thought I would never have, held to a higher standard, filled with more love and more fun, than I ever would have or could have believed. That’s what she does, really, she gives, more than anyone I’ve known, to a degree that even I, after all this time, find incomprehensible. So much more than just friendship, she has given me my life.

Our relationship remains 999 cranes.

All my love, Stephanie.

Ken

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* If you wanted to give me a present, a donation to the Rally would be pretty amazing, and the icing on my virtual birthday cake – which would be kinda great because I don’t like actual icing.

** That includes knitting on the Great White.  3.5 rows to go, 3 days to deadline. Unless I break my arm in the next ten minutes while sitting quietly at my desk, I think I got this. Actually, let’s not say anything like that.

*** Ken did it last in 2004, then over the years, my Mum, my girls, my sister and Jen all took turns. I must be getting really old to have wound around back to Ken again.

**** There are a lot of reasons to love him. Ken is not just the reason this blog exists, he’s also the way this whole family got into the Rally. This year – despite a fall from his bike that resulted in a separated shoulder, he’s riding again, and Team Leading. If that impresses you, you can say so through his donation link.