Being a Jane

Rachel and her Jane (2010)

I had an encounter yesterday that didn’t evaporate during the night, and that is still sitting in my gut. A woman I know fairly well—my age, with grown children, who thinks of herself as a feminist, a forward-thinking and compassionate woman, and a nurturer—made some remarks that astonished me, and left me reeling a bit. I have a few things to say about it.

First, some background: I’m not a mother. I didn’t give birth to or adopt children. Rosemary, as dear as she is to me, is a cat and not a substitute child. 

However, I am a kind of parent. I am a Jane. There are children in my life, all grown now, who have counted on me, come to me, needed me in mundane and extraordinary circumstances. I changed diapers, read bedtime stories, had adventures, dried tears, watched “Milo and Otis” too many times, rocked babies, cooked meals, righted wrongs, gave advice, helped with homework, enforced rules, endured more school plays than any parent I know, gave first aid, made mistakes, played Go Fish, and cheered from the bleachers at little league games. I didn’t want to be a mother to all those children, because what I was and am is as satisfying and just as necessary. I am Jane, their Jane, the one and only.

Those children—the ones going off to college or raising children of their own or venturing out into the great big world—know the difference between their parents and their Jane. The parents—their actual mothers and fathers—have for the most part fostered my relationships with their children. There are benefits to them, too. And being a Jane, like being a mother, is a real job.

So back to the conversation: I was explaining to the woman I know fairly well that I'm going to spend part of Labor Day weekend taking Rachel to college in Maine. I’m one of her parents, I said, and I have the same responsibility to her as you do to your children. Her voice grew so chilly that I’m surprised the phone receiver didn’t ice over. It’s not at all the same as it is for me and my children. Not at all. It’s not as important. 

Where did that come from? I know that she is proud of the children that she and her husband raised, and that she loves them deeply, and that they have grown up well because of that. Somehow I threatened her, and so she tried to obliterate the truth of what I was saying. I began to get angry, really angry. But in a split second I decided to hold tight to what I know—that there is more than one kind of parent—so I waited. She flailed. I don’t know the history of your relationship with Judy’s children, she said.

No, Woman I Know Fairly Well, you don’t, and it’s too bad.

Obviously, her children never had a Jane of their own, poor things. There must have been no room for one, no room for someone else to love them, befriend them, or take care of them. They missed out on the fortune of having an extra parent, the awesomeness of having a Jane.

What does this have to do with knitting? I don't know, but I'm going to knit while I ponder.

Two leaves

Brooklyn Tweed's Wool Leaves Pattern, with leaf appliqués added.

Queensland Collection Kathmandu Chunky Yarn

Rachel and Rebecca

My summer knitting can be revealed: two blankets for the Remarkable R's. I began knitting in early July, and I stitched the leaf on to the second blanket on August 1st. I love this pattern, and I'd like to make it again sometime. It was so comfortable to knit — repetitive enough to be easy but complicated enough to keep me interested.

As I went along, I though about how much the girls love each other, and how they'll miss their sis when they're at college. That's when I decided to make a little leaf for each one's blanket, using the yarn from her sister's. I was very proud to see the grey one folded at the end of Becca's dormitory bed as she unpacked on Saturday!

My second summer project has been a new blog, The 40-Year Round Trip. The R's mother Judy and I met on our first day of college, and here we are forty years later, taking her girls to college — so we decided to write about it. Judy wrote an especially lovely post on Sunday morning, after we'd delivered Becca to her dorm at Bard College. 

We'll be driving to Maine at the end of the month to take Rachel to school. By then I'll have something new on the needles — something for the fall, perhaps, or something to pass the time on the long drive, or maybe something to commemorate all these milestones.

Representing

I can't show you all the knitting and the washing and the blocking that went on here yesterday, so I'll give you this: Clara's biscuit recipe (modified a little) with fresh peaches and sweetened yogurt (because I was too lazy to go out for cream, and besides, it's a little healthier).

The big knitting projects will be revealed before long.

Consumed

Yarn from Appalachian Baby Design

I've been a bit random in my knitting lately. I'm spending most of my time on a couple of secret gifts at the moment, but when I want to take a break from the luxurious Queensland Collection Kathmandu (merino, silk, and cashmere!) I have this wonderful yarn discovery to occupy my hands. It's sport weight organic cotton, loosely plied, and it's making the best washcloths ever.

I came across it near the end of a road trip I took a few weeks ago. I had some time off from work so I went down to the Eastern shore of Maryland to visit my friends Kris and Roy. Kris and I knit our fingers to the bone while the three of us had a wonderful visit. On my first day there we drove to Philadelphia, where I got to go to the incredible wish-it-was-my-LYS, Loop. It was everything I'd dreamed it would be: well-curated, full of natural light, and staffed by people who know their yarn.

Then we went to the Italian Market, where we purchased and consumed lots of things like this:

Cheese!

And this:

Cappuccino!

Back at home, there was lots of this:

Espresso!

And this:

Brunch!

And some of this:

Libby!

Kris and I even managed to start a summer knit along project. We're making Color Affection scarves with my yarn crush, Brooklyn Tweed Loft. Purchased at Loop, of course. He's probably finished his by now, while mine is waiting while I finish those secret gifts.

On the day before I went home, Kris and I went to Chesapeake City, Maryland to visit Vulcan's Rest Fibers, where I found the beautiful yarn at the top of this post. It's a little town on the Chesapeake & Delaware Canal, and the yarn shop is lovely, with a good selection and great staff.

Today is one of those Sundays. It's hot, I have things to do at home (not just knitting!) and I'm happy to be here. So, here we are. 

"Why are you taking pictures of a washcloth?"

It's a process

Today is the fourth anniversary of my surgery, the day I began many long months of recovery and treatment and recovery from treatment. Coincidentally, it's also National Cancer Survivors Day. I've been a bit stubborn about adopting the "survivor" label, but I think it's time. I don't have cancer any more.

It's a process. Cancer is a process. Treatment is a process. Healing is a process. Surviving is a process. The process has been hard on me these past few months, harder than I thought it would be by now. I needed to remember that it's different for everyone, that we're all on our own timeline. I needed to stop and rest, stop plowing ahead.

It took a while for me to realize that for me, healing and surviving isn't simple. It's hard work. Careful management of my lymphedema, the leftover effects from chemotherapy, a seismic shift at my job, and losing my mother — my plate is full. I've been working on it. It's a good process.

So, today is the fourth anniversary of my surgery... I'm looking back, but I'm right here. I'm trying to be right here.

Peace Love & Yarn Bluebird BFL Sock Yarn (Thank you Liz!)

(Silent) Poetry Reading

To the Surgeon Kevin Lin
by W. S. Merwin

Besides these words that are made of
breath and memory with features
of both and are only mine as
                I address them to you

what do I owe to that steady
fire I watched burning behind your
glasses through the dire spelling-out
                when we met that first day

and to the passion of the boy
from Taiwan and the sharp knowledge
it burned a way to until it
                stood before the open

red cavern and between pulses
was sure how to do what came next
had it not been for that would I
                have been here this morning

at home after a night's rain as
the first sunlight touches the drops
at the tips of the leaves I owe
                you the sight of morning

from Present Company (Copper Canyon Press, 2007)

I chose this poem for Dr. Michael Pearl, the wonderful gynecologic oncologist who continues to travel the road with me, his patient patient.

Corresponding

I don't know how many times I've said to myself, "I wish I/I ought to/I want to write more letters." I just don't. I email, talk on the phone, text (I have several ongoing text conversations that are priceless), use Facebook, or play Words With Friends (you'd be surprised how connected you can feel when you're trading words with someone you don't see very often).

I have a lot of excuses for not writing letters, none of them very good: My handwriting has gotten sloppy, I'm not comfortable holding a pen for very long, I'm busy, I don't have anything important to say... Hogwash. I think I spend more time justifying not writing letters than it would take to actually write one.

Writing letters was always a pleasure. I used to correspond with friends and family. I love that word. Correspondence. When did I begin to neglect it? I'd like to get into the habit of writing a letter or a note, the same way I email or call or post on a wall.

So I decided to participate in the Month of Letters Challenge, which I think I read about on Facebook. It can't be that hard, and it promises be interesting! February is the perfect month for a daily shake-up, too. It's such a long month, even though it has fewer days. I feel like challenging myself out of the winter doldrums, and a little letter-writing might to do the trick.

I even unearthed my trusty Parker 45 "Flighter" for the occasion, figuring that I'll be more inclined to write if I have a nice pen. It was a gift from my parents some time in the late 1960's, and was most certainly purchased at the House Stationery Store, since both of my parents worked on Capitol Hill then. It's a simple, inexpensive pen, but I've always loved it. They aren't made any more, but I still found ink cartridges at my local office supply store. I don't know what happened to the little converter that lets me fill it from a bottle of ink; it will appear one of these days.

After the yarn stopped flying at the end of my Family Project, I took a short knitting break. I've been knitting, but slowly. I always cast on a new project at the New Year, and this time it was a Ptarmigan Cowl. I had the perfect skein of cashmere for Spirit Trail, too.

I'm working on a scarf for a friend, and another Brooklyn Tweed pattern, Winnowing by Bristol Ivy. It's going to take me a while, but every time I pick it up, I'm mesmerized by it. I'm two repeats further into it than this (not very attractive) picture:

It's a rainy Wednesday — a good time to dash off a note, wouldn't you say? Happy February! I'll be posting a poem tomorrow for the annual Silent Poetry Reading, a blog tradition that I've participated in since 2006 (wow).  Do you have a favorite poem to share?