Rather than simply start the new year by sharing good wishes (although I certainly offer those!) I am joining Becky for her GeometricJanuary challenge. With other bloggers from around the world, I will share images (all squares) that convey this quarter’s topic. The rules are simple: post a square picture that expresses the geometric theme. If you blog, consider joining the fun as the posts are always creatively entertaining.
While I cannot envision posting daily, I promise an assortment of the fresh images throughout the month starting with the cobblestone paths at the Montreal Botanical Garden that I traversed with friends in August 2022.
Lost elm tree – July 2013Effects of a wind storm – May 2024Storm cleanup – May 2024Elm tree removal – November 2024Barren landscape – December 2024
For nearly a hundred years, two trees framed the curb side view of our house. A house that in 1927, early in the development of the second Kutzky addition, was moved from the corner of 5th Ave and 2nd St SW to its current location on First Street NW. The new boulevards in this early expansion of the city limits were planted with elm saplings.
By the time we bought the quirky house that has been our home for the past 40 years, the trees that survived the ravages of Dutch Elm Disease towered over the roof top. For years, we used them as directional markers, telling visitors “Fourth house on the right from Miracle Mile, with the two big trees.”
We lost the first half of our pair in July 2013 after the City Arborist determined a thinning canopy was problematic. We were sad to watch it go but also felt a twinge of homeowners’ relief. The previous summer, a thunderstorm felled a matching elm tree across the street with an earthshaking thud. The trunk, branches and a full crown of summer greenery had filled Leona’s driveway and front yard and blocked half of First Street. The systematic removal of the first of our boulevard duo ensured that this weakened giant would not come crashing through our roof.
At the time and using my naked eye and a fingertip, I counted 82 growth rings. Although this methodology may have been unscientific, a tree planted in 1931 did fit nicely into the neighborhood folklore.
With its removal, we noticed an immediate change in summer temperatures. The north-west rooms that had always had deep shade, beginning with spring buds through yellow leafed autumn brilliance, now bore the brunt of the afternoon summer sun. Proving that urban heat island effect is not a myth.
While the remaining tree continued to look healthy, even to the knowing eye of city forestry staff, we began to notice a significant reduction in elm tree seeds. Those flat, papery, almost translucent small disks with a tiny nutlet at the center. Cleanup up formerly required using snow shovels and our vegetable garden plots produced, what I am sure was a ga-zillion sprouts. Recently, tiny tree garden weeds rarely popped up and a quick swipe with the leaf blower over hard surfaces took care of the rest of the seeds.
A brisk May-day with freakish high winds, where velocity often exceeded 60-70mph brought down a limb, so large, it filled our next-door neighbor’s yard and half of the next yard. This mammoth splinter revealed a deteriorating center, and the tree received the dreaded orange dot making removal.
A two-season delay, May until nearly December, gave us one more summer of cooling shade. Now all is bare. The view from the front windows shows only snow-covered dormant grass. No squirrel antics on rough bark or roosting crows. Even the evening streetlight only offers nighttime brightness without the artful shadows from winter’s leafless limbs. The broad trunk with 95 growth rings has been ground to mulch; a lone patch of black dirt with scattered grass seed remains where the majestic ulmus americana once stood. We miss the tall stately life force that has been present for more than half of our lifetimes.
Mid-December and we have only a light dusting of snow, nothing like the hip-high drifts of my childhood. For this third Thursday Gathering of Poetry, I will celebrate a winter trio: snow (not yet fallen), winter solstice, and Nikki Giovanni’s Winter Poem.
once a snowflake fell on my brow and i loved it so much and i kissed it and it was happy and called its cousins and brothers and a web of snow engulfed me then i reached to love them all and i squeezed them and they became a spring rain and i stood perfectly still and was a flower
NASA technical description: An analemma is a composite image taken from the same spot at the same time over the course of a year. The tilt of the Earth axis and the ellipticity of the Earth’s orbit around the Sun create the analemma’s figure-8 shape. At the solstices, the Sun will appear at the top or bottom of an analemma. The featured image was taken near the December solstice 2022 at the Callanish Stones, near the village of Callanish in the Outer Hebrides in Scotland, UK. Source: NASA Astronomy Picture of the Day
Seashell ShawletteLace details of the Seashell Shawlette
With an observant eye, whether on a sandy stretch of coastline along the Gulf or walking on a rocky Lake Superior shore, a beachcomber can always discover rock and shell treasures. While this winter we will stay cozy and close to home, we will enjoy vicariously the sun of warmer climes through our friends’ travels and as depicted through knitted imagery.
Designer Shaina Bilow describes the Seashell Shawlette this way: “The lace stripes are inspired by the repeating patterns on seashells and the soft, expanding, curled shape is also a nod to these lovely natural formations.” I knit this version using a wonderful blend of Merino and silk yarn dyed in subtle colors (reminiscent of the iridescent hues of mother of pearl buttons) that will drape elegantly across one’s shoulders.
Only the barest details were revealed before the start of the fall Knit Camp mystery knit-a-long (MKAL).
The title: Bubble Wand Shawl – inspired by the whimsy of bubbles flowing gently through a wand.
The yarn: Fingering weight in five contrasting colors. Ahead of time, designer Marie Greene, shared recommendations for fiber content, including the brand and colors she chose for her initial sample. Sleuthing knitters were welcome to make their own choices. I opted to match the Knit Camp sample rather than resorting to the color wheel to find complimentary and contrasting colors that, when put together, played well.
The schedule: Five clues released, one per week in October. MKAL participants graciously kept undercover the developing design by posting progress pictures only after a new clue was revealed. As my early October schedule included hosting visiting Swiss cousins this led to my late start so I benefited from seeing my fellow Knit Campers’ progress reports.
The Bubble Wand Shawl began with a five-stitch cast-on. A four-stitch increase on every right-side row – one stitch added at the beginning of the row, two along a central axis, one at the end of the row – provided the shape and size. From that simple cast-on, the stitch count grew through the final lacy edge and a bind-off of 389 stitches. The Stroll Fingering blend of 75% merino wool and 25% nylon, knit using a larger than recommended needle size resulted in an airy fabric with a lovely drape that wraps nicely around the neck and shoulders. Now, I just need a lucky recipient.
After hosting a Kuster cousin in July and Müller cousins in October, my knitting will vicariously take me to the land of my Swiss grandparents. In 2025, knitting maven Marie Greene will guide knitters on virtual travel tours to Switzerland, Germany, France, and British Columbia. Each quarter, she will share culturally specific patterns, history lessons, and recipes. As with her other workshops, there will be instructional videos to help participants learn new techniques, suggested books to read, and a music list, as well as random prizes, possible even in situ knitting notions. In January, along with my fellow travelers, I will begin this knitting journey at Kleine Scheidegg in the Canton of Bern. It is a magical place which I visited in 1982 and 1991 as the Jungfrau was my grandmother’s favorite mountain. While the sweater that will be the focus of the coming year’s annual Knit Camp sweater knit-a-long (KAL) is still being designed, a sneak peek at the top-down cardigan reveals slipped stitches in red and white, just like the Swiss flag.
Happy Knitting! Or, more appropriately, Viel Spaß beim Stricken!
A recent weekend retreat provided time to feed my soul through calm introspection. Together, with more than 50 women, I explored the theme (Be)Coming: Meditations on Sacred Intersections.
At a time when it feels as if every decision is – this or that, right or left – it is unusual to consider a both-and opportunity rather than either-or choice. The retreat theme, the keynote presentations, the small group discussions, and our activities explored paradox. The idea that at first blush something may appear contradictory but with closer reflection a beautiful, intermingled tapestry may be discovered with the prospect of both-and.
As previously experienced, the sound meditation and “walking” a labyrinth, if only with my fingers on paper, were refreshing. New to me was the mudra we repeated throughout the weekend which incorporated symbolic hand gestures as used in various spiritual and cultural practices while reciting peace-focused words. Our time together provided a nice balance between quiet reflection and intellectual content all with the added attraction of staying in Rochester and sleeping at home rather than a conference center dormitory.
With the conclusion of an emotional campaign season and election results that presented a clear dichotomy between progressive inclusion and conservative isolationism, this poem written on November 6 by Steve Garnaas-Holmes served as balm for my wounded spirit. For those still reeling and wondering what the future holds, I hope you, too, find comfort in these words for the third Thursday Gathering of Poetry.
Take seriously your grief. It is love, stripped bare. Let it flow through you.
Trust that you are held. We all are held by the Beloved, the Broken-Hearted One, the One who Suffers most Deeply.
Know you are not alone. Millions bear your sorrow. Ancestors and even unborn generations walk with you gratefully.
Seek others who are tenderhearted. Receive all the grace you can. In the flesh is best, but even in spirit, know we are here.
Trust the Goodness. God has not given up on us. Through every disaster grace remains. Refuse to despair.
Choose courage over selfishness, trust over fear, love over anger. You do not know the end of grace.
There is much you cannot change, but bring healing where you can. We are not promised to be given light, but to shine with light.
Don’t become an enemy of the world and its brokenness. Stay tender. Become a source of comfort and joy for others. Let this purpose bear you through the darkness and you yourself will become light.
Take courage; trust grace; stay connected; practice love.
Steve Garnaas-Holmes is a retired Methodist Minister living in Montana who shares daily reflections at Unfolding Light. His weekday thoughts are “rooted in a contemplative, Creation-centered spirituality … which invites readers into a spirit of presence, compassion, justice and delight.” His blog is Unfolding Light, which is also the title of several volumes of poetry.
My Dad could fix anything. Or so I believed as a child as I saw the bits and pieces, he made whole. In the fourth grade, I fell on the ice-skating rink at school and broke my blue glasses that were only three days new. He closed the break near the hinge (a tricky spot), and I wore those glasses for the next two years. Or, when he glued together the lid of the Red Wing Pottery Cookie jar, not once but twice. Both times, years apart, I had dropped the lid while sneaking Pecan Crisp Christmas cookies. Only the nearly squished frog that I rescued when crossing Vine Street was beyond his saving. Somehow Momma convinced me, in my very distraught state, that the frog was not really appropriate for a “glue job.” We waited patiently for the small green creature in my hand to stop wiggling. Then, with care, we dug a hole together for the frog’s safe resting place under the apple trees in the back yard near the black tire retaining wall.
Unfortunately, the certainty that one’s parents control the whole of the world is an illusion left behind in childhood. Through years of growth and decades of study, right directions and missteps, love found and health challenges, I realize there is very little within the realm of personal control. We find reassurance but not control in the predictable (fall leaves cascading in riotous color, the coolness of November days at our 44° latitude, or bluejays frolicking in the neighbor’s crabapple trees.) Even as I acknowledge those scenes are beyond my control, my brain drifts to November 5 and I slip towards dismay again, shocked by the name of another nominee; worrying about the safety of friends who choose to love differently or whose faces are not the color of mine.
As a result of this month’s assignment for my writers’ group, even in the midst of these anxieties, I experienced a positive mental uptick. Yesterday morning, while waiting in the Physical Therapists’ lobby, I realized that my malaise over the election has altered my behavior. Suddenly, I have been “doom scrolling.” Spending far too much time scanning social media for an uplifting image, an inspirational quote, or just watching random clips from previously viewed HEA movies. I mean – really – who needs to watch disjointed scenes from Pretty Woman?
Today, I am expanding my self-care regime hoping to repair my bruised psyche. My plan already included drinking more water and limiting the time spent reading the news. I will replace “doom scrolling” with reading poetry. And, following the advice of poet Steve Garnaas-Holmes, I will “seek others who are tenderhearted” rather than cocooning. Today’s gathering of my writers’ group served as my beginning.
Photo credit: Red Wing Collectors (Please note: The cookie jar from my childhood is yellow, still in regular use and it will be filled with Pecan Crisps next month.)
On a lethargic morning suffering from an election induced migraine, I found it easier to concentrate on the old Betty Cocker recipe for chocolate chip cookies than to contemplate the former president’s re-election to a second term. His promises for the “first day” of his administration are chilling and include initiating mass deportations of migrants, pardoning January 6 insurrectionists who violently sought to overthrow the Constitution, and cutting climate regulations despite evidence of ever more severe weather conditions.
All day, ping-ponging worries bounced through my brain while I creamed the butter and stirred in the chopped pecans, all the while trying to breathe deeply and to re-direct my focus.
Worries that eliminating Head Start will enlarge an already existing education gap between those children ready for school, those who can count and know their colors and those who have never held a picture book.
Worries that the end of prescription price caps will only serve big pharma’s bottom line and cause those on tight budgets to have to choose between paying the rent, putting food on the table, and buying lifesaving drugs.
Worries that a greatly curtailed National Weather Service will return us to the “old days” when checking the sky and feeling the wind on our face were our only weather alerts rather than using science to identify the path of approaching storms.
Worries that banning books, like giant book bonfires of earlier generations, will chill the creative spirit of writers and artists and curtail the mission of public libraries as the “people’s university.”
Then, late this afternoon, I listened to Vice-President Kamala Harris offer a gracious concession speech that acknowledged the exact range of my emotions. She advised, “Do not despair. This is not a time to throw up our hands, this is a time to roll up our sleeves”.
I began to shift my energy from worry by focusing on her words and a prayer shared by Rev. Robin Tanner, “Beloved One, hold the pain and the fear, hold the dream and the fury, hold us as we hold one another. Call us into being with a love that does not let go.”
And more words of encouragement from this evening’s Election Vespers: Mary Housh Gordon – “I think humans in western cultures often need to feel there is an upward arc to history and some promised arrival in order for there to be meaning. But the place we are going is just around the sun on a miracle of a planet – and we are still alive in a world that is so beautiful and so brutal all at once and always has been. And it is all drenched in meaning no matter where it is headed and it matters that we love each other well and drink up the beauty and resist the brutality.”
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