Yesterday I fell off my bike. (Spoiler: I’m completely fine, nobody panic.)

I’ve been struggling with training, not so much the riding itself, but how alone it is. For a bunch of reasons all related to &^%&ing covid, training has been lonely this year and I get worn down by the idea of hours and hours on the bike alone and it takes a huge leap of will to get me out there. When I first learned this about myself a few years ago I was pretty surprised. For the most part I enjoy time alone and find myself pretty good company, usually that time recharges my batteries and stokes my creative fires. (Why, yes gentle reader, this has been a challenge over the last few years as Joe has worked from home and is able to supervise me all day.) I’d have imagined these long rides, hours and hours on the bike (unsupervised) easy for me. I’d hook up with a good audiobook and fly off, but it turns out that really only works for the first three hours or so and then it’s like the whole thing triggers whatever part of my psyche is responsible for self-esteem to start working against me. (“Alone again eh? Where are your friends? Don’t have any? Shall we spend the next 50km reflecting on the disastrous elements of your personality and past mistakes that have left you here?”) I know it’s a trick of the circumstances and I just have to endure it, but I am truly surprised that I am so bad at being alone on the bike when I am so good at it everywhere else. This realization has made something crystal clear for me -there is only one thing missing when I am on the bike, only one element of who I am as a person that I don’t have with me when I ride, and that is knitting.

It turns out that I am not good at being alone, but rather good at knitting alone, and this means that my best friend is knitting and knitting is what I find to be good company, and I know that this would sound bonkers to any other group in the world, dear Blog, but I’ve known this for a while. I’m a dork who’s best friend is inanimate and rather yarnish – but has always been there for me and never let me down, not in the fifty years we’ve been together, so knitting (and how I wish I could be with it while I ride) was what I was thinking about as I left the house yesterday for a 70km cycle. (That’s about three or four hours on a bike – depending. Can you imagine how many socks I could finish the Rally week if it were possible to knit and cycle?)

In no particular order, I was thinking about:

-How the Team Knit fundraising yarn that Indigodragonfly dyed for us this year had arrived and I need to wind it and start knitting – It’s going to be my Rally knitting this year. (I have four skeins and clearly, high hopes.)

-How happy I am with the Deschain I just finished and I wonder what else I could wear it with besides that black dress although that’s sort of working.

(Yarn is a fab 100% cotton from Berrocco called Estiva. I liked it a lot more than I thought I would – it’s got a tape/chainette construction so it’s springier and more fun than I usually think cotton will be. It’s also sadly discontinued but maybe you’ll find some around.

I used just 2.5 balls for this wonder.) I made it an extra two repeats longer because absolutely nothing about my body, age, or personality screams with a desire for a crop top. (Since childhood I have considered my belly button mine alone and nothing about middle age has changed this.)

-That despite wearing my linen Donner almost daily, I still don’t have good pictures of it and I really need to get that done.

-Also when I get home I really have to order my Cozy Knitter advent skein because even though it is freaking scorching out winter is coming.

-Oh, that if I can find a few hours where I don’t have to ride a bike I’ll be finished my Malaquite Tee.

I’ve knit the body and the sleeves and now I’ve just got to sew them together and knit the neckband. So close, so close.

Also I was reflecting that if I could drag myself away from River Ripples I probably would have finished that tee shirt by now and that really my ability to be monogamous to a project hasn’t really changed much over the years, and as a matter of fact, might be worse.

I was thinking about all of this (and a few other knitting related things, as I turned at the bottom of my street and started travelling in the bike lane to the road that takes me down to the Waterfront Trail. (It’s my go-to for riding alone because it’s really long -more than 3600km, but at least in these parts it’s used enough that I feel like there could always be a bit of help if you were in trouble.) So I’m cycling along, and there’s the usual amount of traffic for the city, and I’m mentally winding yarn, trying on sweaters and mucking with mattress stitch while looking ahead (I should order more of that linen from Espace Tricot it was nice) and I see that the light has turned yellow (I’ll block the pieces of that Tee later so it’s easier to seam) so I automatically start to gear down (I wonder if that River Ripples will be much longer after it’s washed) start to slow down (is that swatch still on my desk so I can do the math?) and gracefully come to a complete stop at the light. (I love knit/purl stitch patterns. I should do one on the Rally socks.)

Next thing I know, I am lying splayed in the bike lane, half on the sidewalk, across the curb, utterly flattened, and before I can figure out what happened I hear the cyclist behind me say “wow.” I start to scramble up but I’m still attached to my bike by my shoe clips and so I have to sort of lift the bike so I can swing my ankles to release it all the while saying “I”m fine, I’m fine, go around me, go around me” and wondering (for the 938356th time in my life if you could actually die of embarrassment, because here, darling blog, is what happened.

I came to an efficient, well timed and appropriate stop, and then – because I was thinking about knitting and not bike riding, I just… stopped. I didn’t unclip, I didn’t put my foot down. I didn’t even try to do those things. I simply stopped, and then as I reflected on seed stitch vs moss, on cables with dropped stitches, and on straight and tidy seams and pretty sweaters…

I let gravity take me.

I picked myself up and checked myself over and aside from a wicked bruise or two and a scraped knee I had to soak rather a large amount of gravel out of, I’m fine. As usual the biggest injury is to my pride – and to my bike since I tore my handlebar tape, but that’s pretty fixable I think. I got back on my bike and headed for home, having decided while lying in the dirt that maybe it wasn’t my day, but as I got closer to the house my knee stung a little less and my dignity (having had much practice) sprang back and I took a deep breath, thought about my goals and how close the Rally is and turned myself around again, and went to finish my 70km. I am feeling very good and adult about that.

The fall did – um, let’s call it “refocus” me on what I’m supposed to be doing, if rather painfully. For the next two weeks until the Rally I’ve got a few goals. First, I’m hoping that Team Knit will meet their fundraising goals. We’ve got a long way to go. Here’s our links for fundraising – our goals are on those pages and you can see that like almost everything this year- we’re behind.

Me

Ken

Cameron

Pato

Second, to inspire you to help me find ways to meet those goals – I’m going to try and blog as much as I can between now and departure, and I’m hoping we can get into a lovely rhythm. I’m inspired by your giving to write – maybe you’re inspired by the writing to help PWA and maybe we can all see that the people they serve have what they need for the next year. I can’t thank you enough for getting us all as far as you have.

Third I am going to finish that Tee before thinking about it breaks my arm or something.

I’m writing to you from an airport. My first plane trip in more than two years- I’m on my way to the first retreat in more than two years, and to see knitters and teach and see Debbi and Judith for the first time in two years and I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you I’m so happy and nervous and excited and worried that it almost negates the exhaustion I feel from having to get up at 3:30am to come here. I tried to write this post yesterday – because yesterday was my Birthday but it turns out that I am having a weird problem with hope and I spent most of my time yesterday rushing around getting ready to leave because I’d put off packing like some weirdo who can’t read a calendar. It’s a theme right now.

Have I told you Meg is expecting again? I don’t think I have, and that says something, doesn’t it? It isn’t that I am not happy about it – I’m beyond delighted. A new grand baby on the way? The old Steph would have been thrilled, started knitting like mad, ordered a ton of yarn (ok I did do that part) and essentially doubled down on being all in. The new Steph (who is ironically an older Steph) is thrilled but has grown a calm but insistent voice, one that quietly leans over and gently whispers “maybe”. It is the voice of my inner Steph, the one that’s been disappointed so many times over the last while, and now hears about plans and good news and babies and retreats and bike rallies and hedges her bets, qualifies her hopes, keeps dreams a little tethered and makes sure all ideas are properly shored up with that cautious “maybe” to make sure I’m not signing up for any unnecessary heartbreak. I am enjoying the idea of a new grandchild, and whatever time we get to know they exist, but in absolutely no way am I capable of counting any grandchickens before they’ve been hatched for a while.

This “maybe” problem has leaked into a few other things – like the problem with my Birthday yesterday. I didn’t avoid packing because I’m a procrastinator (although I’ve often said that I do work well under pressure, and will often put things off a bit to create that pressure) it was because whether I acknowledged it or not, after so many cancelled retreats and postponed retreats and problems and surprises and really- two years? That “maybe” voice just kept telling me to bide my time. It’s not a pessimistic voice – it’s a realist. “Why” it asks “Why waste your time packing for a trip that’s not a definite thing? Why not wait and see?”

To me that sounds really smart, I mean the voice isn’t wrong, and the whole thing makes loads of sense until suddenly it’s the day I’m leaving and nothing bad has happened and whammo, here I am spending my birthday organizing underwear, pants I haven’t worn in two years, and trying to remember how airports work. (They are almost the same, by the way, in case it comes up.) I busted a move all day still managed to have a short dinner in the back garden with family and friends and Elliot and I made time for the splash pad even, so it’s not like it was a total disaster – but it was instructive. Obviously I’ve done a good job learning the lessons the last few years have offered, whether they’re totally helpful or not.

As I packed, I thought about the Bike Rally. The first year of the pandemic the whole rally was virtual but we had a little family socially distanced really anxious rally, then last year I thought there would be a rally and there was the abbreviated little version instead, and this year – well this year there’s a full rally. Six days of cycling- more than 600km (about 375miles, for my American friends) from Toronto to Montreal in support of PWA (People with Aids Foundation) and two other ASOs. (An ASO is an Aids Service Organization) and I am signed up and so are Cam and Ken and Pato and together we’re this year’s Team Knit. By now we should be doing a lot of two things. Riding, and fundraising.

I’ve neglected both. I’ve been riding my bike a few times each week – between 40 and 60 kilometres each time, but truthfully there’s been more 40s than 60s and I really, really should be heading out to the formal organized rides – but they are hard to get to without the subway and I’ve been trying not to get Covid so I can do this retreat and not give it to Meg and <insert excuse here>. I finally got out for an official training ride the other day and to be completely honest I rode the whole 80km and then cried the last five home because I had my arse so completely handed to me. Even if the Rally is a “maybe” somewhere in my mind it needs to become a “definitely” in terms of training or things are going to be seriously, desperately ugly out there, but at least if I screw up training that only hurts me – the fundraising needs to be where this team gets it together, and soon.

Usually by now Team knit has things well underway, with every member headed for meeting their goals and we’re nowhere near that now and it’s because all of us are a little leery, holding back a little bit, trying to get our heads back in the game, and that’s a jerk move because here we all moving slowly towards getting our scenes together while time is short and the need is great.

I had a whole thing I was going to say here. I was going to talk about how the Covid pandemic has compounded the HIV/AIDS epidemic, but you know that. I was going to talk about how far from over the crisis is, how things got worse, not better over the last two years. About how in 2020 a child was infected with HIV every two minutes, globally. About how all the things that Covid made worse, poverty, inequality, unemployment, fragile employment, food insecurity, access to health care, mental illness…on and on and on- those things all make people vulnerable and make it hard for them to help themselves and make it almost impossible to deliver services when they can’t help themselves and make the need for agencies like PWA greater, and make it harder and more expensive to deliver those services and I was going to tell you a lot of stuff.. but I think you know, and want to do things about and there’s no maybe about that. You, my dear knitters have never been a “maybe” on the Sign-me-up to help list. You are a definitely, you just need to know how to help. So here we are.

We got together yesterday, your little Team Knit, and because it was my birthday we got ourselves a bubbly drink, and we made every effort to move our tired and nervous hearts from Maybe to Definitely so we can get this thing done. Team Knit this year is:

Me

Ken

Cameron

Pato

We would really like your help, for all the reasons that you know already, because it’s time to try and have a little hope, and because sometimes you really have to make it yourself. All donations to the cause are welcome, and please remember that fundraising works just like knitting – every stitch is important, every dollar is important and it all works together to make something wonderful- one little bit at a time. If you’d ever wished you could get me a Birthday present? Moving Team Knit to the finish line is all I want.

Finally, as a gift from me to you – Bonus picture with Elliot getting us all to pretend to be dinosaurs. I know that’s really the content you’re here for anyway.

No. We don’t know what kind we are. Cam and Ellie were the only two of us with a really clear vision on this one.

Greetings from Sleeve Island, where I’m still hanging out with Donner. I’ve been knitting and knitting and knitting I finally find myself here:

About thirty rounds until I’m finished the second sleeve. I can’t believe how long they took – I don’t have very long arms and they’re just 3/4 length sleeve so I feel like they should have whizzed by me so fast they made a breeze but nope. The same dumb slog that sleeves always are. Worse – right before the sleeves I had what felt like a wave of brilliance, and turned out (as usual) to be kinda dumb. I was knitting along on the body and wondering how long I should make it, and wondering how much yarn I would have left after the sleeves and the neckband, and I was properly tired of the sweater and eyeing up the next project and I thought about putting it down, and then it occurred to me that I could just put down the body and move onto the sleeves and it would be so totally great. It would be like a new project, and the sleeves would get done and then I’d know exactly how much yarn I had left for the body and after the sleeves were done I could try it on, and decide how much longer to make the thing. It felt like a genius idea, so I pushed the stitches back on the needle, stuck the ball of yarn on there, and then put on a stopper. (I love this clamp kind called “ewe clips” but near as I can tell they aren’t made anymore, which is a sad thing indeed. Cocoknits sells stoppers here that are pretty handy.)

I knit the neckband, and now the sleeves and let me tell you, this definitely scratched the itch I had to ditch the whole thing. Turns out my mum was right and a change is as good as a rest and I’ve only thought about abandoning this sweater 16 times a day instead of a million. The bummer is that it should be that when you’re finally released from Sleeve Island you pack a sweater out with you, but now It’s back to the body for me, which is a bit of a let down but I suppose it’s the price I pay for my clever evasion earlier. Still, I can’t see this going on much longer no matter how much I stretch it out.

I finished a pair of socks, a friendly rainbow pair to celebrate Pride and in a tremendous show of commitment to the sweater – I didn’t cast on more.

(I did bring down another skein of rainbow sock yarn but that was just a moment of weakness and I didn’t cast it on. I also didn’t put it away again when my strength returned so we’ll see how long this lasts. It’s sitting about a metre away from me practically waggling it’s little label at me.)

These are Must Stash Yarn in Kama Sutra (I think) and I knit a plain tube with cuff and toe and whacked a true afterthought heel in at the end. (I documented it for The Patreon, but that particular post isn’t up yet. Joe’s upstairs tut-tutting over the sound edit as we speak so it won’t be too long. I don’t know exactly what he does to it, but I do know that it sounds better after he’s done so I leave him to his own process.) Joe is still pretty one-armed and working a little slowly- the part of his broken wrist that was fixed with surgery has healed beautifully, but five months later the other broken bone is still…broken. We’re waiting on an MRI and a hand specialist, but the pandemic has everything so backed up that it will be a while. I’ve never before been grateful that Joe doesn’t rely on knitting for all the things that I do. I always thought it would be wonderful to have a knitting spouse (sharing of the stash aside) but if I imagine myself not able to knit for five months I’m not sure our relationship would survive and I’m glad he’s got other outlets. (Like editing sound.)

The next time you see me (I so vow) I will be finished this sweater, and it’s funny you know – even though I’ve done nothing but complain about how slow the linen is?

I’ve got another linen top in the queue to be next. (By the way, I’m under the impression that I’m finishing that one by the time I get on a plane next Wednesday. Hilarious, right?)

I don’t want to startle any knitters, but there’s something strange going on over here and who knows where it will end. I’ve been churning along on a summer sweater – Donner, to be precise, and I’m using Louet Euroflax Linen. Nice stuff – and I was sad that it was discontinued but it turns out that it’s been bought by Lofty Fiber, which is great news.

So I decide to knit this sweater, and I had this bonkers idea that I would knit it sort of quickly – which is just to say that I thought that I might give a completely radical idea a go – I’d knit a summer sweater in time to wear it this summer. I knew it was going to take a little longer than my knitter’s heart thought it should because the style of the thing is oversized, with great gobs of positive ease, and that always means a little extra time, but I saw that coming and I was emotionally prepared. I sat down and started in on it and right from the get go I noticed that it was slow. This seemed reasonable, it’s the yarn’s fault. I always find plant fibres to be slower on the needles than wool – they’re not stretchy, they’re a little stiffer, the whole thing is just… slower and I’m down with that. The transformation that occurs when you wash a linen garment is worth it. So I’m plodding along and that doesn’t seem too bad, totally to be expected for a linen thing this size. Then. something strange happened, which is that I stopped making any progress at all.

It seemed to me that I was knitting and knitting and nothing was happening. The sweater wasn’t getting any longer, none of the yarn seemed to be disappearing and it was starting to bug me. I looked within myself and wondered if (upon honest reflection) I wasn’t working on it as much as I thought? We’ve been very busy with a little project for the back garden (it’s not little, the roof of the shed caved in) and a chunk of my time goes to knitting, filming and editing for the Patreon, I’ve quietly been training for the Bike Rally (more on Team Knit later – but here’s links to our pages – me, Cam, Ken and Pato) and still haven’t made any progress on riding and knitting at the same time. (I’m starting to think it’s not going to work out) and Elliot is… well, I can’t really blame him since he’s only here a few days a week, and we’re working on his tolerance for my time spent knitting rather than playing board games or reading books. Even when I was honest about my time spent knitting, it still seemed like I should be farther along. *

Then a few days ago I decided to really start making some progress. Crack the whip of self discipline and get it done. Go, go, go. I knit in the park.

I knit in another park.

I knit while Ken read Ellie stories (That book is called The Little Wooden Robot and The Log Princess and it’s terrific.)

Another park…

I knit in the car,

While Elliot played lego…

I knit the heck out of that sweater. I knit on it so much that I started to think there must be progress. A shocking amount of progress. The ball of yarn got a bit smaller (though not much, this might be weird yarn) and after a while of trucking this thing around everywhere I went and cashing in on the stupendous magic of a round here and a round there – I have made no progress. Sure, a few centimetres, maybe eight – but eight centimetres is nothing like what I deserve.

Tonight, I’m going to politely announce to my knitting that it is time to move along. That whatever time dilation it has itself stuck in it needs to make a commitment to growth. I am going to tell it the truth, that am not even a little bit of a monogamous knitter, and that it is lucky that I have stood by it this long. I’m going to tell it about how I have been feeling about a certain other knitted top that I saw the other day, and I may even get the yarn for that out of the cupboard so that it may see its competition and know fear. Hell, I may even put it on the counter while I make dinner and put “Jolene” on the stereo. Then I’m going to try again, and if this sweater knows what’s good for it – we’ll be talking about ribbing and some sleeves tomorrow. If it doesn’t, well. I know a nice tank top looking for a start.

PS. It is worth noting that a great deal of time was spent the last few days staring appalled at the news. It goes without saying that my heart breaks for those families and the thousands of other families who’ve lost loved ones and children to firearms. I’m not going to say much more than that. My feelings on guns and violence are well known and if you disagree with me, I doubt that my thoughts presented on the matter will change your mind. For the rest of you, I cannot imagine living in a country where the leading cause of death in children 1-19 is a firearm, and I bet it’s really scary. I hope you can change it. I know that so many of you feel that it’s not changeable – that somehow you’ve been stripped of the power of democracy or public assembly or the ability to rage in the street at the top of your lungs screaming “Not One More Child” as passionately for this as other causes, but it’s not true. The folks you have the power to toss out of their jobs would sure like you to believe that though. Hang in there. Keep trying.

Last week something happened. That alone is the start of an interesting post because – well, not much has been happening around here for a year or two. The thing was that I got on my bike and rode across town to Ken’s house, and I had dinner on his porch. We had a lovely time and shared food and wine and then I rode my bike home and when I got there, I realized that I’d left the fun rainbow coloured socks I was knitting behind. Ken rescued them and then said that since I was going back to his house in a few days for a Bike Rally thing, that I could get them then. This made absolute sense. I’d be reunited with my socks in 48 hours and goodness knows that I have a million WIPs here that I can turn to in my time of need, but it still didn’t sit right, you know what I mean?

I looked around the living room to see what was nearby and sure enough another sock project was within my grasp. It was a pair of socks I’ve been working on for months, in fact I cast them on for Joe last year and had every intention of finishing in time for Christmas but I didn’t and now I have been slogging away on them for what feels like eons. (It is worth noting that while Joe has terrifically large feet and the socks are patterned, it is actually not possible for a knitter of my experience to be working on a pair of socks for months. It just isn’t. If socks are are still on my needles after this long, then you should know that I am using the word “working” to mean that I look at them often and feel bad but opt for something more fun.) They’re nice yarn, it’s a super cool pattern, there is nothing at all to account for my uncommitted nature except for (well see the name of the blog) and the fact that the big men’s socks in plain colours just… well, they do go on, don’t they?

In this moment though – with my “real” knitting stuck at Ken’s, I picked up those socks and beavered away on them, and do you know, they only took a few hours to finish?

Now, you would think that there is a lesson here, and you would be right. It would be a good idea to learn it too, because a little while ago I made a commitment to myself that I was going to tackle the bigger socks earlier this year so that I didn’t get stuck with them at the end when my commitment is low. Now – Now I tell you, now in the cheerful spring and soon in the bright colourful summer – these are the times to be knitting enormous socks in bland colours, not in November when the world’s nothing but bland itself.

So like I said, there is a lesson here, and I should learn it. You would think that maybe the lesson is that determination, commitment and perseverance are good traits to cultivate, and that if you do manage to summon up that trifecta of character gold – the rewards are immediate and many, and that the work is never as hard as you think it’s going to be.

You would think that, but instead I think I’ve learned that I’m only going to knit boring socks if they’re the only things on the needles and I shouldn’t have a temptation pair within reach. I will knit the boring socks if they are the only socks.

I’m plowing into another pair now, and they’re (almost) the only socks on the needles. (Ignore the colourful self striping in the background. I’m just having a look at it.)

PS. I know I said that originally those brown socks were for Joe for Christmas, and you would think that would mean that they would be in his possession now, what with being almost five months late, but you would be wrong. I’m considering myself ahead a pair for this year.

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.

February isn’t my favourite month. I know that at least in theory it’s got a few decent attributes and is nice and short and I understand that a lot of people like it because it is simply not January, but I just don’t care for it, and this year… even less. There’s no Madrona to see my friends at, there’s still an International Travel advisory, Joe’s arm is still broken, Elliot’s not yet eligible for a vaccine, and it is really, really cold and just keeps snowing and snowing and snowing.

I had a bit of a think about that, and decided that no matter what February’s intentions for gloom are, I am not buying a ticket on its dreary train. It can snow all it wants, I am planning beautiful dinners and buying flowers and pushing back against this abbreviated annoyance of a month and also? I am knitting whatever the hell I want and embracing the little seed of startitis that’s lurking around, and I’m just going to cast on whatever I want. Why not. It makes me happy and I have lots of needles.

I finished Elliot’s sweater – as a matter of fact I finished it two and a half times. The first time I almost finished it I had the body done and one sleeve, and I popped it over his head for a quick check, and it was too short in the body and the arms. I took it off, pulled back the ribbing on the sleeve and the body and added another few centimeters. During this time his mother and I both measured him multiple times and were completely reassured that it would fit, which… it did not. It was still way too short in the sleeves, so I can only assume he grew faster than I could knit, which is a shocking thought. The whole thing was way too nice a sweater to be unhappy with it, so I pulled back the ribbing again and added a nice generous amount, and finally… success. It’s warm and cozy but lightweight enough for everyday, and Ellie chose the button himself. (Not shown, but it’s yellow.)

I finished Alex’s socks too, but handed them over without taking a picture, I’ll get one soon. The only thing I didn’t finish before I decided to scratch my startitis itch any way I want to, was Joe’s socks, but I did start them and that’s good… right?

Once I felt like I had done my duty (sorry Joe, but in my defence I have literally been your right hand for a month) I turned me and every little whim I had free on the stash. In my first attempt to bring joy to February – I got out a kit that I bought at the Knitter’s Frolic years ago – for Shorescape. I spent a good chunk of time arranging the gradient skeins to amuse myself, and then cast on.

It’s beautiful and I love it and it’s knit on 2.75mm needles and for some crazy reason, that didn’t quite do it for me, so after a little bit…

I found some other yarn in the stash and it was so pretty and so spring-like and so I cast that on for a Rock It Tee– and started knitting the heck out of it until I sort of started to wonder about a mohair summer knit and if that and menopause are really a thing? Anyway, I decided the answer to that question was rather inexplicably more, not less, so I ordered more of that yarn and I’ll give it 3/4 length sleeves but that didn’t seem pressing anymore, I mean… I don’t even have all the yarn so…

The last time Meg and I were at Indigodragonfly, I saw these two skeins of robin’s egg blue yarn with fun sprinkles on it, and knew it had to be a sweater for Ellie. Soft, cozy.. it’s destined to be a Flax Light.

Then suddenly last night I was knitting along on that, and looking at the mohair and thinking about the cardigan and noticing Joe’s socks and an urge came over me, I put down all four of those projects and sighed deeply in their general direction, then got an idea, and made this.

Suddenly, I felt like I have a purpose for February. I’ve ordered more lights.

1. I had this bonkers idea that I could get everything from before Christmas off the needles by the end of January so that I could start a big new project as a midwinter treat. (I use the word treat here to mean “a reason to keep going on as the snow keeps falling as though it could bury our tattered hearts in the lassitude of our second covid winter. Loosely speaking.)
2. This is a very motivating thought – starting a big new…. something. I don’t even know what the something might be, but I do like the idea of it and its shiny newness.
3. Unfortunately, I have a sweater and two pairs of socks to finish if I am going to put a bow on this month. I’m not sure why they aren’t all done anyway, because I have been so diligent all month.
4. That is a lie.
5. I have been knitting rather a lot of mittens. While I do not regret this choice for a moment because mitten knitting is one of the true joys left to us in this world, I do kinda wish I had applied myself to the other projects sometime before this afternoon because I am cutting it a little close, ya feel me?
6. Technically, I came very close to finishing Elliot’s sweater, but that tricky wee beast must have grown while I was making it because even though his mum and I both measured him multiple times, because when I popped it on him it was too small. I ripped out the bottom ribbing and added a bunch, and the same with the finished sleeve. The audacity of some children, I tell you that.

7. I have no excuse (except mittens) for why Alex’s socks aren’t done (except his feet as as big as Joe’s which scarcely seems fair) but I feel like there is hope.

8. Joe’s sock’s….

9. Perhaps we must assume I have other charms that bind him yet.

10. What should the something be?

If the blog was a person, today they would be an adult. Someone who can vote. Someone trusted to make big, important decisions and be responsible for their own selves. Upon reflection, that’s probably good since The Blog has been on its own more than I intended this year – so it’s good that you’ve all got some practice being a grown up.

Every year I write a big sappy thing about what the blog means to me, and this year is no exception – but let’s start here. When the blog began, I wrote to you from a spot in the dining room. We had one family computer, and I had this parenting philosophy (still do, though now I am outvoted I think) that the best way to manage kids and the internet was to let them at it- but in a family space. The kids could use the thing, but they had to understand that the rest of the family would be…around. They would be on the net and all around them the family swirled. They weren’t the only ones either. The first day that I wrote to you, I walked the kids to school, then came home and made myself a cup of coffee, and sat down with my laminated html cheat sheet, and had at it. This is a link to the very first post.

In those days Sam was 9, Meg 12 and Amanda almost 15. I used a digital camera, I went to spinning class at Parks and Recreation on Tuesdays, I’d written no books, I worked as a doula, Lactation Consultant and Childbirth Educator, and Hank was 4 – the age that Elliot is now, and I wrote every post to you from that dining room, amongst the noise and commotion of a young, busy, wild family.

I don’t have to tell you how much things have changed. Today, I write to you from here.

I almost always write to you from that space, the crazy little office I built for myself sixteen years ago- which reminds me, I should paint. That room is a little different now, in the beginning I had what felt like an expensive Ikea desk (we were so broke) and now I have my mum’s tiny desk.

Still, plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose, and after all these years, an adult human number of years here we are, me and you. Today I struggle to explain that almost everything I have (outside of the family I had when I started) is because of the blog, and Ken’s decision that I should have one. Everything changed the day he sat me in front of a computer – showed me this URL (it’s still the same) and told me that my people were… there. He wasn’t wrong, and today I’m so grateful to him for knowing me and my talents well enough to know that this was something that would resonate in my life like nothing else.

I just tried to write a paragraph about what these years have meant to me, and it ended in tears, and I deleted it. Here is what you need to know. Everyone I love and everyone who loves me, has been touched by The Blog. This last lonely, empty, wild year has been less lonely because I could walk through that little door to my tiny desk and know that you were there, whether I was able to do it, or not. I know that I haven’t always been there as much as would have been comforting to you, but these are strange times, and I want you to know that even though I haven’t always been the magic you wanted, you have always been the magic I needed.

I don’t know what I would have done without you, my sweet blog.

Don’t forget to vote.

Love,

Stephanie

PS. As is traditional, today is the day that I kick off fundraising for the Bike Rally. Hopefully that’s actually happening this year, though honestly I worry about sparking a new variant just thinking about it. In years past we have amused them mightily by donating a dollar for each year of blogging, a load of donations all the same amount (or a multiple) has always weirded the staff out over there, and I like that. I know that for many of us things are tight but honestly If you’re feeling it, we can keep the weird going with an $18 donation.

Today I’m wicked tired. Just… all in. It’s sort of a nice change from the aimless drifty feeling of the last while, that’s for sure. Last week we managed a ski-holiday of a sort, despite Joe’s broken arm, and I am here to tell you that I miss hotels and restaurants. We had a good time and it was very nice to be somewhere else, but when the covid-times finally end I am going to go somewhere that is unequivocally not self-serve. A person, a person that I am going to tip very well, let me tell you, is going to bring me a meal and clean up afterwards and I am going to be crazy about it because now that I’ve done a ski trip where you get up and cook and then get a kid to ski-school (outdoor and distanced for the win!) then come home for lunch and cook and then ski and then make dinner and clean that up is completely amazing and so much fun and I am awash with gratitude that we got the hell out of this house – but it’s a lot of work for someone who’s partner in crime is one-armed. (Tip of the hat to Meg and Alex who busted themselves helping out with everything.)

Still, Elliot did learn to ski (he’s an animal out there. Zooms past you with this little voice going “whoo hoo!”) and Alex and Meg learned too, and Joe had as good a time as he could, poor broken chum.

We drove home just before the big blizzard that’s buried Toronto over the last two days, and today I spent hours trying to shovel out our everything. In the end it was impossible to do by myself and when I realized that I was on the brink of tears with how huge the task was, I remembered that I’m in a family and called for help. Carlos turned up almost immediately and he and I shovelled while Luis and Frank did their best to knock down our snow mountains.

I don’t know if you live in a place where it snows a lot, but if you don’t, let me tell you this: Shovelling is some serious work, and I am feeling it in my back and shoulders, and just as soon as I’m finished this post and a bit of work, I’m going to have a bit of a rest and spin.

Like so many of us, my sweet little Ashford has been languishing these many pandemic months, but last week I had an idea and I’m going to need it up and running to make it work. I am still wildly in love with thrummed mittens (still going to do a thrum-along on the Patreon) and I was ploughing through a ginormous one when I had an idea.

How much fun would it be to find myself enough fibre that I could spin yarn for mittens, and then thrum with the same fibre. Don’t answer that, I know you’re aquiver with the excitement, as am I. I’m almost embarrassed by how exciting an idea this is. Exciting enough that I hauled the wheel out, dusted it off (I mean that literally) and did a full workup on it. Cleaned, polished, oiled, a new driveband and new tension, and it’s spinning like a dream- I am wild with passion for this concept, let’s just cross our fingers that it’s captivating long enough to finish the project.

So – off I go. It’s almost dark here, and I’m going to light some candles, make a nice dinner, and then have a date with a friend I’ve missed.

PS: This Sunday, despite having discovered that teaching live online is not my jam, I’m going to do a Fiberside Chat. It’s an hour long Zoom thing, and while teaching by seems funny to me, a chat seems lovely, doesn’t it? You can click on this link to register, and scroll through the yarn shops listed on the right to see if there’s a shop local to you that you would like to support- if you’ve got a preference. It’s a collaborative thing and there are 30 shops taking part (including one Canadian one, River City Yarns). See? Right up my alley.