Friday December 10, 2010

We get to see our girl this weekend! I miss her more and more not less and less. 

My wrist is sore from knitting and crocheting so I am learning to knit in 
a new way where I try
not to turn my wrist. I should
probably get some sort of wrist 
band to help this. 

I finished an afghan I started more than a year ago and it’s
prompted me to finish all my
other lingering projects one
by one. Slowly by slowly. 

Today I finished a scarf for my
Wild Woman of Borneo, I hope she likes it as much as I do. It’s a cross between a scarf and a blanket in a soft fluffy white yarn, how could she not love that?

She still has a raggedy old piece of a blanket she loved as a kid. It’s a tattered shred really but she
won’t get rid of it. She’s not like that about anything. She lets go pretty easily so the fact that she hangs on to this one thing, well, she does hang on to little pieces of paper too and butterfly wings…

and stones.

I guess she doesn’t let go. 

I guess I don’t either. I have
all her drawings. 

The one above was her first attempt at Chinese brush painting.


  1. Sometimes I secretly think of you as my mother. I know how tragically weird this sounds. Don't be alarmed. I just think if I had had a mother like you I could have owned the world in my heart like a saint.


  2. You and I are having similar conversations with our daughters and sending up similar prayers. This weekend, I'm reminding my dear girl she once knew how to knit – and loved it. We are knitting two things, separately and together – one, a scarf in softest white mohair – the other, a gossamer rainbow. It seems we need the lightest of touch and most exquisite of fibers for this knitting-and-so-much-more-than-knitting project.

    My thoughts turn often to you and Scott and your Wild Woman of Borneo. Our stories have much in common. I hope it's alright to say we carry a similar ache and sense of faith. You are not alone. And neither am I. I wish I could leave a basket of something – wool, stoneground bread, flowers – on your doorstep.

    May your time with your daughter be graced.



  3. Dear Yo
    Oh, I am sad for you that you had to cancel your visit. Light candles? Or groves of candles in lieu of meeting. I find these rituals help.
    I think the fact our daughters are artists is their lifeline; creativity is born to burgeon, is ultimately hell-bent on transformation? We have to trust this, I think, and meantime, don our breastplates and stand in the heart.
    That's my mantra these days – 'stand in the heart. Stand in the heart.' For the heart knows.
    Love, Claire


  4. Knitting and crocheting make my wrists hurt too and I wake up at night with numb hands but there's nothing like it, the way the yarn becomes something solid and yet light.
    It's worth the pain. As so many things are.
    As you well know, obviously.


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