Growing Old <> Growing Up

Standing here

The old man said to me:

"Long before these crowded streets,

here stood my dreaming tree."

Below it he would sit

for hours at a time,

now progress takes away

what forever took to find.

~dmb

I've been progressively turning into a grown-up for at least 8 years now.


I've gone from being a college grad, to a temp employee, to hourly, to salary.


I have a piece of lucite with my name on it, celebrating 5 years of employment at the same company.


I know more than I ever expected to about appraisals, blue book value, insurance copays and deductibles, termite contracts, short sales, PMI,  Home Depot, rental cars, diversity training and ice dams.


I moved out of my parents' house, rented my first apartment, bought a house, sold a house, rented a condo, then rented a house.  I've gone through my first, second, third, fourth, and fifth cars.


I know how to balance a checkbook and dispute an overdraft fee, lower an interest rate and read a police report, file for unemployment and make a wage claim.


Here's what those things replaced:


I've forgotten how to play pretend.  

I'm no longer ticklish.

I can't do a cartwheel.

I have volume control.

I think realistically.

I don't remember the last time I drew on a sidewalk, bounced a kickball, explored the woods or climbed a tree.  Played in the snow instead of shoveling it.  I never forget what day of the week it is.

When did gaining responsibility mean sacrificing spontaneity and imagination?  Daydreams and adventures and childlike faith?


I don't have any answers, and I'm not really sure why this struck me, suddenly.  However, I do have at least one thing left that makes me feel like a kid.  The possibilities are endless, and there is joy in making new discoveries, diving in without hesitation, playing and experimenting and feeling the satisfaction of making something that came out of my own imagination.


It's knitting.


Surprised?


Take a look at this:

Does this look like a sensible sock to you?


I can't decide if it reminds me more of Popsicles or Starburst candies.

Maybe Fruit Stripe Gum.  Yes, Fruit Stripe Gum.


I call these "Skyp to Oz" socks.  Reason being: I used Knit Picks' hand-painted Imagination yarn in the Munchkin colorway, and the pattern "Simple Skyp Socks" by Adrienne Ku (free download on Ravelry).  SKYP is an acronym for the repeating pattern: Slip one, Knit one, Yarn over, Pass slipped stitch over the k1,yo1.  I pronounce it "skip" not "Skype" ... reminds me of Dorothy, Scarecrow, Tinman, and Lion skipping down the yellow brick road together.


My favorite part is how the heel worked out with the striping:

I know the combination of the pattern and the yarn turned out rather hideous - there are a whole mess of other patterns that probably would have done this yarn justice - but I still really like the socks.  They're fun.  They're different.  They're whimsical and hilarious and silly.


They remind me that growing old doesn't necessarily mean growing up.  Dorothy knew it.  Alice knew it.  Wendy knew it.


And I'm going to do more things that remind me of being a kid, like coloring with crayons or watching Disney movies. Finding shapes in the clouds and camping out in the backyard (both of which Mr. Pi and I did last weekend):

What do you see?

What would you do to remind yourself that growing old doesn't necessarily mean growing up?


Mrs. Pi

May-June WIPs

Readers, I led you to believe that I haven't been knitting.  Truth is, I just haven't been knitting tonsandtons.  And I'm a wee bit ashamed to admit, I haven't finished any WIPs.


Let me catch you up.


It never fails.  I write up a plan for myself, and I follow it for a while, then I inevitably hit a point where I need to rebel and go rogue.  Every so often, I just want to start something new.

Hehehe...


So a few weeks ago, my college roomie and I planned a movie/crafty night.  It's what we did when we lived together: we'd pop in a favorite movie, one we'd seen so many times we didn't actually need to watch it, then we'd grab whatever item we were crafting on at the time and get to work, side-by-side in the living room of our little apartment.


This time, though, was a little tricky.  You see, she lives in Texas, and I'm up here in Connecticut ... so instead, we coordinated via text, each popped in The Last Unicorn, synchronized DVD players, and had our movie/crafty night thousands of miles apart.  


We are living in a very exciting time, where anything is possible.  


The only reason we didn't full-on video conference with Skype was the inevitable echo effect produced by the sound of the movie in each background, just out of sync.


So what did I work on during TLU?  Well, I only partially broke my 2012 plan for knitting.  I am very far behind on my sock goal, but instead of finishing a pair that's already started, I cast on a new pair.


I used Mirasol Hacho (you may recall it was one of my sweet sale acquisitions at Village Wool earlier this year):

It's so pretty fresh off the ball winder!


The yarn was lovely to work with - soft but sturdy, with a very tight spin, and the colorway produces interesting striping:

But here's my quandary: I'm drawing a blank on what to name the socks.  It's a basic sock pattern (derived from the patterns in the book Learn to Knit Socks by Edie Eckman; I figured any stitch detail more complex would have detracted from the variegation of the colorway).


I would like to keep with the TLU theme - maybe "Molly Grue" or "Schmendrick, The Last of the Red-Hot Swamis?"  No ... neither of those really suit this sock.  Any ideas?


The other project I've been working on is (gasp!) crochet.


One of my good friends was expecting, so I started crocheting a simple baby blanket, with simple baby yarn (Pound of Love, I think).  True to form, I never finished it, and baby June was born (last year), and I threw in the towel (blanket) and bought a gift for her.


But then, at the end of last year, another of my friends found out she was expecting.  So I picked up the baby blanket (thankfully it is a gender-neutral mint green) and vowed to finish it in time for baby Jackson's arrival.


That didn't happen.  Baby Jackson arrived three weeks early, just before Memorial Day Weekend:

... and I threw in the blanket, again, to buy a gift.  


It worked out ok, though, because Memorial Day weekend was blisteringly hot, and the crocheted blanket probably wouldn't have been as useful as the gauzy blankets I bought for sweet baby Jackson.


(P.S. The mommas I know swear by these swaddling blankets.  They can be used to swaddle, as a nursing cover, as a stroller cover, burp cloth ... and 101 other things.  They also get softer the more you wash them, which is always a bonus.)


Anyway.


Here's the crochet blanket:

Modeled by the ever-reliable Ikea Chair.

Up-close detail.  I think I got this pattern off the back of a skein label.  It's thick but squishy, and super-soft.


Once I finish it (and I WILL finish it!!!) I need to figure out a way to make it unique - maybe a simple brown single crochet border?  I like the color combination of pastel with a rich, chocolate-y brown.  It's been overdone lately, yes, but I'm not tired of it (yet).


So there you have it.  Progress, if not completion.  The old adage holds true: So much knitting, so little time ...


Mrs. Pi

I Stand Considerably Corrected

Image Source

When last we left our hero, I was saying that I'm in a category of one, and it's very lonely, and I am just certain that there is no one like me out there, who would be even marginally interested to read anything that I have to say.*


Well, I was wrong.


They're on Twitter.  Not that they'd necessarily want to read what I have to say, but at least they're like me.


Let me step back and give you an idea of what took me so long to sign up for Twitter.  


Since 2007, I have been operating within The Social Network (yes, That One)'s Weltanschauung.  The one where status updates are mundane, photos are only taken of pets (guilty) and children (guilty) and food (guilty), and everyone tries to show their best face (pun intended) to the people they now know or once knew.  There is a subliminal pressure to post only what is socially acceptable, what you think will make people think more of you, or pity you, or just plain pay attention to you.  


Example:


The Daily P90x Progress Post: 


Just started P90x, Day 1! Wow this is AWESOME!
It's day 8 and I'm PUMPED!  
It's day 16 and I'm in AGONY! 
It's day 89 and I already ordered P90x2 and Insaneoworkout because I'm ADDICTED to ENDORPHINS!


Am I alone in feeling like (nearly) everyone is the fake version of themselves in that universe?  Or maybe just the hyperbolic version of themselves.  Parents are SUPERPARENTS and that's all they post about.  Runners are SUPERRUNNERS and that's all they post about.  Angry people are ALWAYS ANGRY ABOUT SOMETHING!  Sad people are PERMASAD and post on loneliness and destitution and sickness and Mondays!


As a result of my growing weariness of this banality, I have become even more aware of and constrained on what I post.  I try to avoid topics that I see consistently on my newsfeed, because I know that others won't care nearly as much as I do, for example, if I am folding laundry and watching grass grow.


As a side note, I still enjoy The Music Lyrics Status Update, mostly because I like to quote them myself.  Often songs speak to feelings and thoughts so much more profoundly than your everyday-average words.  So I won't knock that girl who only posts lyrics, because I know that as she's thinking of that song, she's also feeling a particularly strong and real emotion.


As an aside to my side note, I find it a cruel twist of fate that I should have a freakish ability to remember song lyrics and love singing, but couldn't carry a tune in a Vera Bradley cross-body hipster.  It's everyone else's fault for not enjoying listening to me.  I'd be a smash hit on a ship in the Vogon Destructor Fleet.


Where was I?  Oh yes, That Social Network.


So my running assumption about Twitter has always been that it's just a bunch of people typing rapid-fire status updates.  Like a stripped down version of that other site, on steroids.


I couldn't have been more wrong.


What Twitter is is a forum.  It's also a conference.  It's a place for me to find My People.  People who have interest in the same random jumble of things as I do.  Knitters who enjoy punk rock, gaming, and chromafashion (first day on Twitter, and I was introduced to someone who fits this description).  


I just made up the word chromafashion.  I use it to mean: incorporating gorgeous color into the personal fashion, i.e. crazy nailpolish colors and bright hair colors.  If I weren't in such a "sensible" career (seems the wrong word for a place that actually dulls the senses), I myself would color my hair like this:





and I would paint my nails like this.  I would also wear pretty much any dress found here.  Every day.  With mary janes AND socks.  And maybe a fascinator in my multi-colored hair.


I've ignored the mathematical statistics of it all.  With however many gazillion people on this planet, how could I assume to find someone precisely like me in such a small radius?  Even if you add up all the people I have met in person, and add to it all the people that I am connected to by one of those people (with the idea that one of the people I know could introduce me), the odds are STILL VERY LOW that I could find even one of My People.


"Butterfly, in all your wanderings, have you seen others like me ... Have you seen even ONE? Tell me that you saw only one!"  ~TLU


It's a wonder I even met Mr. Pi.


However, when you have the ability to make your ideas searchable to others who have similar ideas, you increase the odds of connection exponentially.


This, dear readers, is why I am now a huge proponent of Twitter.


Don't get me wrong, I still only have 15 followers, and I'm not certain that anyone has actually clicked on my link to this blog from Twitter, nevermind actually read it, but the potential for readership is there.


Twitter may be my catalyst to unleash the restoring force, and give me kinetic readership.


And again, I've taken a metaphor too far.


Mrs. Pi


*This excludes the few and faithful who already love me and will read anything I write no matter how arbitrary (you know who you are)