Sunday, April 18, 2010

A Yarn Crawl--sorta

Yesterday my friend Risa and I took off midday and went to Hillsborough for a ladies lunch, then we hit the Hillsborough Yarn shop. The owner, Ann, describes her store as similar to a department store shoe department. She has one of everything out on display, and the rest is in the back and she can get it for you. I would love to walk through the back room.

I took a couple of pictures of yarns and wares. The colors and textures were a joy to the eyes and fingers. The photos don't begin to recreate the sensation.

While we were there, a van-load of ladies from Wake Forest arrived on leg two of a yarn crawl. They had been to a shop in Henderson and were off to Carey next.

Risa had never witnessed a full-fledged yarn crawl. Given the size of the shop, it was overwhelming; there may have only been five or six women, but it felt like a busload. The group was having fun. They are part of a group that meets every two weeks at a library. It was delightful to hear the back-and-forth among the knitting friends.

Ooh, feel this!
Does this yarn go with that one?
I think I must be buying this one; it hasn't left my hand since I picked up.

As a true-blue knitter, Risa was right at home.

One thing we all agreed on is that a real yarn shop is filled to the ceiling and overflowing and overwhelming. Now I understand why the shop we had visited in Rockville two weeks ago was so underwhelming. It had aspirations of being a boutique not a yarn shop.




















I'm hoping to go back to the Hillsborough shop on Tuesday. I fell in love with a stitch used in one of the sample sweaters--a star stitch [of course]. I was willing to buy the book just to get that one pattern stitch, but they didn't have it. However, the owner said she would work it out for me if I came back at a quieter time. And she added that Tuesday and Wednesdays were dead. [In the wall photo, the sweater is the second on the right, the bright colorful one].

Monday, April 5, 2010

The Night before Easter

I wrote this piece in 1964. It conveys a bit of what memories of Easter mean to me.

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The Night before Easter
Although it is only 10:30, the house is quiet now. We have to be up early tomorrow for the Sunrise Service, and Papa still has to finish up preparation for the morning service. Mama is lying quietly beside him, listening sleepily to his occasional comments; she will soon be asleep. Debbi is already asleep; she had a busy day cleaning the house and is tired. I’m tired too, but I’m not quite ready to sleep.
As I lie here writing, I am remembering many of the Easters I have spent in parsonages. There always was a happy air about the house. Gramma and Grampa were usually here. Gramma would spend the evening finishing our new Easter dresses, while Grampa helped Debbi and me to decorate eggs. Sometime during the evening we would all go over to the church and add the finishing touches to arranging the flowers.
As soon as the dresses and eggs were done, Debbi and I would be sent to bed; Papa would go to the study to finish his sermon notes. Mama, Gramm, and Grampa would talk quietly while folding the bulletins in the dining room.
This year Gramma and Grampa didn’t feel up to coming to Pittsburgh, so we’re going to their house after church tomorrow. Debbi and I are now too old for Easter bunnies and colored eggs; our Easter suits were purchased at a local dress store.
Even though Gramma and Grampa aren’t here, even though we aren’t coloring eggs, and florist decorated the church early this morning, there is still a happy, gay air to the house, but this year it is a mature air. This year we are happy with a spiritual fervor; we aren’t waiting for an Easter bunny, but for an Easter savior. This Easter marks the beginning of new grown-up traditions.
I’m ready to go to bed now. I know that Papa will be awake for quite awhile yet. As I fall asleep tonight, a mysterious feeling of anticipation creeps over me, and I roll over hoping that the beautiful, new morning will come quickly, for tonight is the night before Easter.

Note: I wrote this piece the night before Easter 1964. In the fall of 1964, Grampa Starr was hospitalized with blood clots; and the following spring, he died of a major stroke just before Easter. I had no idea how much Easter was changing for us.
Easter 1954: Sporting my new glasses.

Easter 1955, Masontown, West Virginia. Debi and I are wearing Easter coats and dresses that Gramma Starr made for us.
Easter New Florence, 1956: Janet Colbert was our foster sister.

Monday, March 22, 2010

Reflections on the Civil War

March 22, 2010
Franklin, TN

We are on a short trip in Tennessee. Last summer when our trip was interrupted by a family emergency, we had to cancel a B&B reservation in Corinth, MS. We couldn't get a refund, but were assured a year to use the reservation. So with a good air fare to Nashville, we headed south to visit Corinth and the Shiloh Civil War Battlefield, followed by a couple of days in Franklin, TN.

Several years ago, following a tour of the Fredericksburg, VA, battlefield, I swore off at least the intense Smithsonian tours. I could not bear to stand at yet another place where young men were sent wholesale to their slaughter, as happened so often in the Civil War battles [and in all wars, I'm sure].

I agreed to join Dick on the tour of Shiloh because I can always focus on other aspects of the place and time when not part of a large group "studying the battle".

However, my horror of the war continues unabated. I will never understand combat, especially the senseless slaughter of young men as seen in the Civil War and World War I.


Yesterday while visiting the Carter House here in Franklin, once again, we learned of an insane slaughter based on the hubris of generals pursuing serious tactical objectives. My stomach churns and my heart aches.

However, at the Corinth Civil War Interpretative Center, I experienced an understanding of the greater good of that war.

Art brought that greater understanding in a way that no stone monuments, pyramids of cannon balls, or even acres of white head stones ever will.

Here is the reflection I made sitting at the foot of the fountain.
http://www.posix.com/CW06/Corinth-water.jpg

18 March 2010
11 am
We have just watched two films and looked at many photographs and displays. But then we came outside to the water memorial I was extremely moved.

Art has made sense of it all.
The plinth at the far end is inscribed on the back side with the famous sentence from the Declaration of Independence:
"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness."

And on the front from the preamble to the Constitution:
"We the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America."


The course of time (the water) springs from that plinth, through a time line of the Civil War. It moves through the piles of granite blocks marking year and each battle or arena of the war and flows under a bridge formed with the 13th, 14th, and 15th amendments of the Constitution.






I have walked battlefields and wept at the hills and fields where young men were sent in wave after wave to the slaughter. I've listened to complicated discussions of battle plans and troop positions. I've driven through acres of monuments--some gaudy, some moving, some utterly ridiculous. And I have left feeling dirty and bloodied by something I cannot begin to fathom.

Today sitting at the foot of this simple monument, I feel as if I have been washed in the water of baptism. I'll never be clean as long as men and women wage war against men, women, and children. But I feel cleaner, and perhaps I see a bit more clearly.

 

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

Blizzards of 2010



I'm sure that everyone who blogs in the Baltimore/DC area will be posting about this one. Lines at the grocery stores, power outages, not being dug out, record snow falls, bad road conditions, etc.

Apparently, we are going to top the 19th century snow record. Does that mean we can say this is the largest storm in two centuries?

Folks have started in on some serious punning. Snomaggedon, Snoverkill, Snoverload--you get the picture. Because everyone else has probably said all that needs to be said, Here's the Picture[s]

This series of photos is called "12 hours to go"






Sunday morning, blue skies.





Tuesday, somewhat cleared out. Still no snowplow.




Tuesday evening, Here we go again.




It is now Wednesday morning. Stay tuned for the continuing saga.

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

The Old Lady Caught in the Act



"What kind of people sit together in a restaurant and never talk to each other?"
"Married people"
--paraphrased from the movie "Two for the Road"

"What kind of people sit in a restaurant and talk about their ills and medicines?"
"Old ladies"
-- [or Old people, if you prefer]

This past Saturday afternoon, a friend and I had lunch together at a local pub. We hadn't seen each other since before Thanksgiving, so we had lots to catch up on. Of course, the first thing had to be an update on our health!!!

As we covered all the ills, doctor visits, and, of course, medicine, I said, "And the real kicker for me right now is my right knee."

I heard a hurrumph/chortle from the young man sitting in the booth behind me.

Caught in the very act--of being an old lady. This is even worse than the first time I heard my mother's words come out of my mouth. Egad!!

Happy New Year from the Old Lady.