It was warm late Tuesday morning, and Julie and I were sitting outside on the home patio, sun beaming down from the east on Julie's back as she faced me in half profile. She was enjoying the first of the warmth provided by the spring sunlight. I was a few feet away in the shade, perched on a painted wooden rocker with legs folded while I removed woolen socks, hand knit a decade prior. "It is hard to part with a sock one has knit oneself with a good quality yarn," I thought to myself as I critically reviewed the wear on the socks.
Silently lamenting that fact as I pulled off one sock, then the other, folding them and stacking them, I said aloud to Julie "it is about time to use these socks as rags." The old variegated wool had been washed way too many times, first as a hand wash, then as time went on, they had been tossed into the machine for thorough washing without further regard for the pilling process. And the pair were indeed pilled, fine wool strands finding other similar worn yarn strands, knotting themselves together to create long errant pieces of extraneous fibers, an aesthetic bane to both knitters and wearers of wool.
Julie was listening to me, watching, contemplating my musing. Glancing over to her as she leaned back in her wheelchair, her head down as she was likely glancing at her iPad to see if a new WordChums play was ready for her response.
But she had heard me, and said "Don't use them as rags, given them to someone at the manor." I was thinking that if this well worn foot apparel was eschewed by me, it would be unfair to offer them as a gift to one of the other residents. Julie then said "Lots of people there are continually cold, no matter how much the heat is cranked up." Then, under her breath, her head still turned downwards, and in a quieter, more high pitched voice, she said "I'm cold. I'm cold."
I must have gasped because in my mind's eye, I saw the very elderly woman who lives on Julie's same wing at the manor. Let's call her Ethyl. "I'm cold, I'm cold," Ethyl laments in her chair parked outside the door to her room. I could very clearly picture Ethyl sitting in the hallway in a passive demeanor, waiting for the next activity to be laid on her by an aide or a nurse or an activity director. Toothless and without aid of dentures, her head bundled in a soft cap that covers her ears and forehead, there was Ethyl speaking through Julie. "I'm cold, I'm cold." Julie had mimicked Ethyl's voice perfectly, and with a fair amount of empathy. And Julie has heard this plaintive cry so many times over the past eleven months that it sprung forth from her being as if Ethyl were living inside Julie. It was eerie how Ethyl was being channeled.
And maybe I will re-think using those well worn socks as cleaning rags.
Another story about an elderly nursing home resident can be read here. It continues to be revised.
Thinking I was achieving a modicum of expertise with the camera, I snapped about two dozen or so pictures at the April 21 meeting of Brush and Palette with artist Kay Crane kindly providing the demonstration. With humility and regret I report now that, every single one was lost due to my error. During the editing process, I inadvertently erased the entire album from my computer. Alas, even after consulting experts from Google and Picasa, it was confirmed that I did the biggest no-no ever by deleting the album with one wrong key stroke. The April meeting will go down without any visuals saved for posterity. And Kay presented so well. And we had a different venue for the meeting, with colorful backgrounds. It is like telling you I caught a big fish, but he got away. Those pictures were pretty good, really they were.
I was humbled by this faux paux but struggle forward and continue to volunteer my humble photographic efforts. On May 7, about 50 individuals will be receiving their First Eucharist at Immaculate Heart of Mary Catholic Church, and a photographer is needed to record their special day. Yep, I will try.
Here is one picture of a baptism I photographed at the Easter Vigil service that has to be tops for sweetness and innocence appeal.
On the daughter front, she is getting along. Tomorrow will be the one year anniversary since her husband's death. You can imagine how that is impacting Julie. She bought flowers this week for Sunday services in their former church in Rock Hill, SC to commemorate that anniversary.
Knitting: Reyna Shawl, about 1/3 completed and linking with Ginny and her Yarn Along:
Click on the Yarn Along Box to see what others are sharing this week on Ginny's blog
While reading Jean today, she reminded me of a conundrum that I experienced last weekend: the sewing machine electrical cord and foot pedal went missing. And I mean nowhere were they to be found. The last place I remember seeing the clear plastic sack containing those pieces was at the repair shop.
That sack was lying last Friday morning on the repair office counter next to the cash register. Inert, innocently bagged along with my name and phone number in case it was separated from the Pfaff. It was just there. I was trying so hard for it not to be misplaced. But it was lost, or stolen, or taken by someone who had not a clue that it was important.
Two phone calls to the repair place assured me that the parts were not in their possession; intensive questioning of the husband revealed nothing (he carried the repaired machine back to its cabinet). A thorough car and then garage search revealed not a clue to the whereabouts of the missing parts. Had I picked up that sack when paying for the repairs? I just cannot remember. So there was nothing else to do except order the missing parts from an internet source. Sigh. $120 could have been better spent. Nothing to be done now but wait and see if the newly ordered parts show up via USPS.
Today is the first day that Julie will be at our house for a short visit since the first of the year. Her visit will include lunch of fried trout that Gene and I caught last week at Corn Lake. Julie was last here at the house on January 1 when almost immediately she became ill with that blasted virus that hit the manor, quarantining the place for about ten weeks until it had run its course of infecting all those vulnerable residents. From New Years' Day until today, Julie has either been recovering from illnesses and surgeries or otherwise incapacitated to the point she could not leave the manor/hospital for a visit home. That is almost four months, so today will be a real treat. Pray it will be a "successful" visit: i.e., all bags stay in place on her body and she does not need to be returned to the manor for nursing care that I cannot provide.
One of her nurses said yesterday that back in the early winter, Julie would begin throwing up on the mornings when she was to come over to our house because of anxiety that all would not go well. That made me so sad to hear that. I will endeavor to make light of any untoward outward expression of appliance glitches today, because it is likely Julie feeds on my nervousness.
Yesterday, I waited almost an hour at the manor for Julie and her entourage of care givers to finish up with her care before our visit. (I brought tamales for our lunch.) While waiting, I finished this little piece in oils and pen, 5" x 7".
Further dabbling yesterday with pansies and poppies in acrylics turned out nothing worth saving. Tomorrow my friend at the manor who also paints with me on Wednesdays may provide something worth sharing. I'll take a picture of the cardinal she is painting for show and tell.
The weather is truly spring-like, and by that I mean it takes its turn being cold and warm, with last night temps going down to freezing. Here is a photo of a few cosmos seedlings this morning. They have spent the last three nights under a south window in my study.
About half of the seeds germinated, so it must be time to start planting and nurturing a second batch.
Last week a newly ordered kit with yarn dyed by KnitCircus showed up in the mailbox. It is Rainbow Trail by Christina Gihrlanda. Lovely colors! The color is named "Quoth the Raven." It will knit up into a striped sweater like this:
