Not Sugar

The last time we had dinner at Juliet and James’ place my assignment was dessert. I made this chocolate pie from Martha Stewart’s Pies and Tarts c1985, a favorite I’ve made many times before. Martha calls it a Fudge Tart, which sounds even more delicious, but instead of her Creme Anglaise & Orange Sauce I use whipped cream for the topping. It’s more my speed, and easy enough to whip up at serving time.

When dinner day arrived, I brought the pie and the cream. I knew Juliet had the rest on hand. At dessert time she brought out the mixer, and the sugar in an unlabeled canister, placing them both on the counter. For 2 cups of cream, I needed 1/4 cup of sugar (though I may have added just a little more).

We all sat around the kitchen island watching as I mixed and the ingredients blended together growing thicker. And as they did, some of us could not contain ourselves. James poked his finger in the bowl for a little taste.

Suddenly his eyes got wide. He jumped up from his seat shouting “No!” – or something like that, it all happened so fast – and grabbed the bowl.

Turns out, not sugar, but salt.

It was salt I added to the cream – 1/4 cup (plus just a little more).

That night we enjoyed our fudge tart without the cream topping, equally delicious.

With precautions now in place, it’s a family tale for the ages.

Sugar Sugar, my next knit design, coming soon.

Feels like home

There’s no doubt my parents liked to party, and I don’t think they’d mind me saying so. When I was young, it was summer cookouts with neighbors, holidays with work friends, or family over on a Saturday night – Dad’s family, 5 siblings and their spouses, who liked to party too.

Beginning in the early 60’s, each summer over the next 20 years uncle Luke and aunt Kay hosted a family reunion in their backyard. The grownups barbequed, and the cousins swam and played. My Dad played too, and everyone knew to look to him for game fun.

c1962

It was through these gatherings that I got to know my cousins, and as time went on, their spouses too. Their children I knew only as the little ones they were then, before I lost track. That was forty years ago.

c1971

Sadly, last month aunt Kay passed away, which is why I’ve been thinking of this. She was 98 and the last of my parent’s generation in the family. Now, we cousins are they. Most of us are still in touch with holiday cards or an occasional text, though haven’t been together “in real life” for a very long time.

When my cousin John’s wife Jan passed away last year, I drove to her wake to say goodbye, and to see him and their family. I wondered who else might be there. Moving through the receiving line I recognized John right away and gave him a hug, then his daughter Kathy and her husband Peter. Kathy and I are Facebook friends. There were two men next in the line that I knew to be John’s sons, Kevin and Sean, though not who was who. They were boys, after all, when last I knew.

Questioning Kathy, she leaned over towards them providing introductions. “This is Debbie,” she said, “you remember, Bernie’s daughter.”

Bernie’s daughter. I smiled all the way home. I’m smiling now.

Let the Games Begin – my latest knit design, published 4/5/2024.
Stitch Study–Chevron Rib, its stitch study scarf, published 3/4/2024, and available for free.

Her Scribble-in Book

Say hello again to Estelle’s Envy – my knit design (c 2014), now revised (slightly), rewritten, and recently republished!  After nine years it was time for a look back and an update. 

I had plucked her name from a character in great aunt Hilda’s unpublished romance novel, prompting me to take a look back at this small treasure now too.

The pages of her handwriting are worthy of framing. Some 70 years later, we’ve lost that art. 

One day I may sit down and read this book through, but for now I’ll cherish it as something of hers, and a source for the names of my knits maybe – keeping kindred spirits alive.

Transcribing her last few paragraphs –

“Never saw any one like you for eating up work,” said her mother-in-law, in admiration.  “But you’ve been mighty quiet for such a long spell – I’ve been wondering what you were thinking about.  I don’t suppose you’d tell?”

Estelle smiled serenely.

“Good thoughts, mother,” she said.  “Appropriate to the day.  Thanksgiving thoughts.”

Even without its context I like this passage, so glad to now know that by novel’s end Estelle’s envy is finally behind her.

Thanksgiving Thoughts, my next knit design, coming soon.

Update – now newly reconsidered as installments:
Thanksgiving Thoughts wrap, published 12/2/2023, is available for free on Ravelry. I created this wrap-sized swatch as a stitch study in preparation for
Thanksgiving Thoughts, its cardigan cousin, published 1/10/2024.

Follow Every Rainbow

When the kids came to visit a few weeks ago Violet handed me this,

with this inside. I’m Ninny.

We’ve got it on the fridge right now, where it will stay forever.

---

During a recent deep dive into my yarn drawer for inspiration, I discovered multiple skeins of the same yarn in varying amounts of four colors left over from past projects.  I used three of them for my upcoming color block design.  The fourth I’m saving for my Vi.

When she’s ready, we’ll make something fun.

Follow Every Rainbow – my latest knit design, published 10/19/2023.

I'll report back

I’ve always enjoyed riding my bike, from the day Dad took off my training wheels. Yes, I really do remember that day.

c1962

As preteen girls we once rode from our Waltham neighborhood to Concord – a distance Dad later clocked at twenty miles round trip.

c1967

In my 20s I commuted by bike to my job on the Boston waterfront from Cambridge, riding along the Charles River. During that time I was fearless. When Juliet was young she rode on the back in her child seat to and from preschool.

In our 40’s my friends and I would bike along the paths in Lexington, away from traffic. I bought my latest bike then, the one I rediscovered in the basement during our move, covered in dust and with a flat tire, sadly neglected.

A few weeks ago, finally settled in our new place, I had that bike tire fixed. I learned about the Bruce Freeman Rail Trail nearby with available parking that welcomes cyclists and runs for miles and miles. I’m nearing 70 now, and have every intention.

Is age just a number? I guess we’ll see.

Climb Every Mountain – my latest knit design, published 10/2/2023.

Spiderman I love you

My daughter sent this the other day – my grandson Jack’s heartfelt thoughts, in his own words and script. It’s a keeper.

Spiderman
I love
you

Superman
I love
you

Batman
I love
you

So I ran with it.

You see, I love Spiderman too.

Spiderman I Love You, my latest knit design, worked overall in Spider lace, published 5/22/2023.

Angels all around us

On June 23rd 2021, I lost my wallet. A haze to me right now, Juliet remembered the date. I only remember my panic. I still do.

It fell out of my handbag while I was loading birthday balloons into the back seat of my car, and I didn’t notice until I was well on my way, onto my next errand. Driving back to that parking lot I asked god, any god, to please have it be there, sitting there – but it was gone, complete with my license, credit cards, and a coded cheat sheet for all my security passwords. With guidance from our financial person Sarah, I quickly ended all accounts, changed all passwords, and logged the loss at my local police station in the hopes that someone would return it to me. It’s what I would have done.

Two weeks later I received an email naming one of my newly obsolete passwords and asking for $2,687 in bitcoin, else my porn site activity would be revealed to the world. Okay, any other threat would have had me spinning, but this one succeeded at least in recalling my trauma.

Fast forwarding to now, eighteen months later, we’re in the process of moving and I’ve arranged to have our mail forward to an interim P.O. Box. The post office people told me it would take two weeks for the forwarding to kick in so I’ve been making my way back to Brookline to check. On Friday, the last day for potential delivery, I found this.

It’s called closure.

Angels all around us – my latest knit design, published 4/9/2023.

He made my day

We’re moving soon and these days I’ve been over my head packing.

My last task yesterday was to return my cable equipment to RCN and the nearest location was in Boston’s Hyde Park. I found my way there (thank you Google Maps!) and discovered it was closed for lunch (1-2pm) so I decided to eat too and got a McDonald’s 6-piece while I waited. When I returned the office was open, and as I approached with arms full, an older man was coming from the opposite direction with equally full arms. I managed the door and held it for him, but he wouldn’t have it, insisting I go next.

Once inside I motioned that he should be next at the counter, but he wasn’t having that either, again insisting. When the lady behind the counter began barking instructions I realized my return wasn’t going to be easy. I had to detach (and trash!) all cables while putting my Wi-Fi router and each of my three TV boxes, along with their power cords, into separate large plastic bags she would provide, and currently everything I had was tangled up inside the cardboard box I was still holding.

Embarrassed, I apologized to the man who now had to wait behind this process – but again, he wasn’t having it. That nice man helped me with each and every piece of equipment, even using the wrench (from the counter lady) when a cable connection was too tight.

I never got his name but we chatted and joked as we got my job done.

He made my day in the best possible way.

Pay It Forward – my latest knit design, published 3/5/2023.

Dusty corners

True to the promise I made to myself earlier, I’ve been setting aside time each week to organize and pack for our move. And delving into the contents of sadly neglected shelves has made me realize that I’ve been holding on to some of my possessions for WAY TOO LONG.

Buried in dusty corners, I haven’t seen some of these things in years. Others have been ever-present and continually overlooked, fading into the background. With kitchen shelves emptied, our long-forgotten pencil sharpener has suddenly come into focus. We’ve had it there, attached to the wall next to the fridge, since 1983. If you had asked me if we had one, I might have said no.

Last week I recycled twenty years of Gourmet, Bon Appetit, and Martha Stewart Living magazines. It was a fun ride with them during that time, and I learned a lot, but these days I do my best NOT to cook, and besides, recipes are easily retrieved from the internet. The mailing label on one of my Bon Appetit’s revealed our old Somerville address, the one we had before this one, and we’ve been here for forty years!

Googling I found EverPresent, a local digital conversion store. With our video tape player no longer, I had them translate and transfer the contents of eight tapes to a thumb drive. It was worth the cost to reclaim the visual record of Juliet’s high school graduation, especially with Marlene in the audience.

Once done, I mailed these with three boxes of additional outdated stuff to GreenDisk, a tech recycling company – cd’s, video tapes, ipod chargers...
The not-yet-obsolete dvd’s I delivered quickly to our local library in the hopes of extending their usability to what will likely be only a moment or so more. Or maybe it just seems that way.

The Knitting Connection received 3 bags of my yarn, single skeins and partial ones – a donation suitable for hats and mittens, to be made by loving hands. The company contact met me in Medford for the hand off.

I dropped a thousand pounds of books (no, really) into the collection bin standing in an isolated corner of Walgreen’s parking lot. We kept the art books, photography and design. For the last few years I’ve been listening instead, to audiobooks downloaded to my phone – and by now, I might add, with newfound appreciation of their non-existent physical storage requirement.

Doug’s enjoying our now-empty shelves too.

There’ll be more to come, but I’m making good progress. The monumental task of packing that kept me up at night has morphed into a surprisingly energizing, multi-stage event, that has me walking a little bit off the ground these days. It’s a head-clearing experience that I’d heartedly recommend for my compadres, especially those over a certain age with decades of stuff underfoot, like me.

I can see clearly now the rain is gone
I can see all obstacles in my way.

Okay, maybe the song overstates the effect, but to mark the occasion and my new frame of mind, watch for Sunshiny Day, my next knit design, to be published soon.

Sunshiny Day – my latest knit design, published 9/7/2022.

Precious cargo

We’re moving in a few months and I know it’s too soon to pack, but the enormity of this task has been keeping me up at night. So I made a deal with myself to do something each day towards that goal – clean a drawer, organize a shelf, recycle, or just take inventory and make a plan.

Turns out I have a lot of stuff – sentimental stuff, precious cargo. They say admitting to the addiction is step one.

There’s work ahead.

I’ve had two boxes of sterling silver flatware sets sitting in an upstairs bookcase for the last thirteen years, since we lost Mum. One of the sets was hers and the other belonged to my grandmother, Mildred. I loved that I had them, but had never used them, and likely never would. With an okay from Juliet, and keeping a few pieces for posterity, I sold them to a local jewelry store. It was time. Telling myself the windfall was their gift made letting go easier.

I’m thinking of Juliet through all of this. It’s all heading her way one day.

The ashes of beloved pets, Betty, Bill, and Curley, have been living in urns on my bureau since their end. I’ll admit it gave me comfort to keep them close. A few weeks ago I visited Marlene and scattered their ashes around her. At least I know where they are.

One step at a time, this life changing event is clearly underway. Will I know myself when it’s over?

Precious Cargo – my new knit design, published 7/29/2022.

201

Peter caught me making a list the other day of all the traumatic events that have happened in my life during the past 3 years. I was curious. If I saw them together, all in one place, would their trauma seem less pervasive? Or maybe I’m just getting old. I assured him his name was not on it.

With the backdrop of our worrisome politics, never-ending pandemic, and the tragic war in Ukraine, was my laptop crash, breast cancer, and the loss of my wallet complete with credit cards, IDs, and security codes. Then last week we sold our house.

After 39 years living here, it was time. Better to make the change before we can’t make the stairs after all, not that that will ever happen – but it might, it probably will. We’re looking for our next home now, and although it’s exciting to imagine a brand new space, it’s scary not knowing if we’ll find it in time. But mostly it’s heartbreaking to be saying good-bye to #201. We’ve been happy here.

I made these collages around 1988 during my photography phase a few years after we moved in. I was glad to find them framed and stacked on the shelf where they’ve been collecting dust for the last long while. Keeping memories fresh, they’ll be filling the walls of our new place to be sure, wherever that may be and when. I’ll report back.

We’ve been happy here – my new knit design, published 4/12/2022.

New Years Day

I came across my old journals on the bookshelf recently. I hadn’t thought of them for a while, so I took a closer look.

Before I knew it, I was being carried away on their wayback machine, traveling through time (a shout-out to Mr Peabody and Sherman from the Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoons I watched as a kid).

The books tracked most of the personal, professional, and creative details of my life during the decade from 2000 to 2010, with a few years missing in between. Each was a time capsule in sequence. I’ve always felt that I had my own work to do and their pages revealed my brainstorms about what this was and how I might get there. At their start, I was working at Harvard with a bunch of great people. My job was challenging, and fun. I made lists and plans, taking stock of where I’d been, aiming to forecast what was next. By their end, I had retired. My time was my own then, a fresh start full of promise.

These days I find New Years Day is like that for me – a fresh start. It’s my favorite holiday.

Each year on January 1st, I make a new plan, and breathe.

Happy 2022 everyone, full of promise.

Just Breathe – my new knit design, published 2/27/2022.

Sugar Cookies

It’s November 5th and I’m sitting in my dining room, looking across the table at Marlene’s Christmas tree.

When it was hers I made fun of it mercilessly, and now it’s mine, since 2009.

After the holidays one year I had no energy to take it down and it’s been standing there, in that corner, ever since. I tell myself its constant presence is my penance. The truth is, now I really like it. We call it the Celebration Tree.

Soon I’ll be adding Lavalie’s snowflakes to its birds for the upcoming season – the full extent of my holiday decorating, I’m afraid, unless evidence of Santa (or a batch of blue sprinkle cookies) is requested.

Her wish my command. I’m Ninny, and Violet is the boss of me.

Off to find that recipe, Doug thinks it may be here. He’s the boss of me too.

Sugar Cookies – my granddaughter’s baking request, and the name of my new knit design – coming soon.

Update – Sugar Cookies, published 12/01/2021

Hello, it's me

I first met Peter during my days as an art student in Boston. He was my teacher for a two week workshop held between semesters. We started dating a while after that, after graduation, fixed up then by our mutual friend, Jeannie.

It was some time later, when our marriage plans were afoot, that great-aunt, family historian, Hilda recognized the name Hoss from her work on our family tree and dug into her records. Sure enough, she found that we were related – my 1st cousin 3 times removed, and Peter's great-aunt had been husband and wife.

This fun fact came up again recently from an email, prompting me to take a closer look to better understand our connection. (Forgive the bullet points, 1st cousin 3 times removed can be difficult to visualize.) Here’s what I know.

• Brothers Ulrich and John Ziegler immigrated from Switzerland in 1867 and settled in Malden.

  • Among their children, each had a son – cousins: Albert (my maternal great-grandfather) and Edwin.

• In 1868, one year after the Ziegler brothers’ arrival, Johann Hoss immigrated from Germany and settled in Dorchester.

  • Among his children were Oscar (Peter’s grandfather) and Ernestina.

It was my Edwin Ziegler and Peter’s Ernestina Hoss who had married, connecting our families before we did.

The email prompting my family review was from pal Sharon, who had sent along this property map, found while delving into her own ancestry research.

I had previously discovered that Peter’s grandfather Oscar once owned a house on her street – a coincidence we both enjoyed at the time and had made note of. Her map confirmed what we knew – 15 Maple Street was indeed owned by O.H.E. & H.H. Hoss (Oscar Henry Emil Hoss & Hildegard Hanschumacher Hoss). The year was 1930.

She also sent this – a map of the same area, circa 1873.

57 years earlier, Oscar Hoss’s Maple Street property had been owned by E.H. Luke (Elijah Hedding Luke). My maiden name is Luke. Was this my ancestor? Could one of my paternal ancestors have sold this property to Peter’s grandfather?

The thought fascinated, but after a brief ancestry search I determined that Elijah’s family’s US arrival, predating that of my great-grandfather Bernard Luke by a generation, made the prospects unlikely, and sadly, I could find no mention of Elijah or his father James in my tree. Although it’s possible a connection existed years before in Germany, that research I’ll need to save for another day – my knitting calls.

But all was not lost. My search for Elijah produced unexpected discoveries. (There’s a lesson there.) Placing our trees side by side during my review had revealed that several members of both families had immigrated to the US within a short time of each other, arriving in the Boston area between 1865 and 1868.

With newfound perspective, I see now that my great-great grandparents, Johanna Stepat and Albert Stieg, who settled in Dorchester, likely walked the same streets at the same time as Peter’s great-grandfather Johann. And my great-grandfather Bernard may well have bumped into the Ziegler brothers going about their business in Malden. The truth is, Peter’s and my people have been swirling around each other for generations, proving, I suppose, that six degrees of separation easily applies both to current space and over time.

Pondering this, and tapping the eerie potential of past lives (queue the spooky music) – when I first met Peter in the classroom that day, maybe I should have asked him if I looked familiar.

And now, trying to remember, I wonder… did he?

Hello, it’s Me – my next knit design coming soon.

Update – Hello, it’s Me, published 7/12/2021

Cleaning my closet, or not

Interest in de-junking one’s house seems to be a phenomenon of growing older. It’s the sense I get from talking to my pals. One has had cleaning my closets as a regular task on her to-do list for as long as I can remember, another wants to but can’t seem to get there. I fall somewhere in between.

A few months ago Peter was looking for something in our sadly neglected kitchen junk drawer. He couldn’t find it so I helped. One thing led to another resulting in this.

Even now I find myself opening the drawer just to look at how pretty it is. Peter says they’re going to lock me up, and he might be right, but it’s this pathological organizing that saves me, saves us, else we’d be overcome with unruly stuff. The truth is, I don’t rid myself of personal items easily – my internal tug of war: paring down while holding tight. Retired now and doing my own work from home, I no longer own any of my previous business attire. My practical side won out that round and all have been recycled, on to their new life with someone who’ll hopefully treat them well. (Another pal, similarly afflicted, has a habit of kissing her unneeded items goodbye before sending them on their way. I’ve tried that, it helps a little.)

Recently with the weather turning warmer, I moved my down coats to the back of the closet and brought my few lightweight cloth jackets up front. Among them I found the jean jacket that I’ve had for decades, and a second one previously belonging to Marlene. Dad’s linen shirt is hanging in the closet upstairs. His baseball mitts are there too, complete with balls in place to keep their catch-able shape. And his navy hat is in the archive box under my desk along with his father’s inscribed cigarette lighter. None are needed, but all – to steal a line from a favorite movie – will be staying where they lay.

Last Sunday I unearthed the Easter trinkets I’d saved from my daughter’s baskets over the years.

Recycle? – not on my watch. Honestly, who could.

We’ll rent storage space.

Neatness Counts – my next knit design coming soon.

Update – Neatness Counts, published 6/7/2021

To every thing there is a season

For those who follow my designs, you may remember Humarock – a neat little summer vest published during the summer of 2015. It’s shown below with a photograph supporting my motivation – Dad and me at its namesake beach sometime in the 60’s (I know the year, but let’s leave it at that).

It’s what I jumped from when pondering my latest design, this time for winter.

Following my seasonal theme, while Humarock was cast in warm summer light, this winter version spoke to me of a turbulent ocean in howling winds. Too poetic? probably, though I do enjoy the tidy package – that even includes my new hair color of late! Oy.

And just for fun, I have a supporting family photo for this version too, that made me laugh out loud.

Taken during a Sunday drive to a random destination (Revere beach, I’d guess), Dad snapped the photo just as a wave broke at our feet. Marlene’s low cut driving boots did not save her. I remember the incident, though not exactly what she said – perhaps for the best.

What She Said, my latest knit design, published February 21, 2021.

To the little girls she is a fairy queen

I ran across this children’s book on a rare housecleaning binge recently, prompted in large part by the crash of my laptop. With my technology in disarray I found strange comfort organizing my shelves.

The Circus by E. Boyd Smith was a gift to my uncle Sonny from aunt Hilda on his birthday in 1942. Sonny was only 7 then, and hopefully distracted from current events as WWII raged. An imaginary trip to the circus would help. This little book has lived in our bookcase for as long as I can remember, and I’ve never read it through. A few of its storylines are sadly outdated – politically incorrect by today’s standards, but its book art and illustrations still draw me in.

A welcomed respite from our current events, look for me on Make Believe Boulevard, the street where my grandchildren play – for the next little while anyway.

I’ve got two new knit designs waiting in the wings, ready to make their appearances. Their names I plucked from the fanciful fun I found there.

Make Believe Boulevard – my next knit design coming soon, followed by
The Circus is Coming and Boxing Bears – soon after.

Update:
Make Believe Boulevard, published 3/5/2021
Boxing Bears, published 3/20/2021
The Circus is Coming, published 3/27/2021

What she said

Marlene was always one for signature phrases – go-to stock responses she'd use without really thinking. These evolved over time, becoming part of her identity for a while before being replaced – like bookmarks on her chapters. Remembering some, I can hear her voice.

When I was young, "Oh my word!" was her classic comeback. A few years later, in response to blasphemy from her belligerent teenager (me), she would wail "Never mind the 'for God's sake!'" This came up so often my Dad got to saying it too, and we'd all laugh.

I've been working recently on a raglan sweater design – its shaping new to me, taking longer than I planned – and found myself anxious about upending my too-ambitious, self-imposed publishing goal. I had finished its knitting, but telling the tale of its making was proving unexpectedly difficult. It seemed that recounting the stitch sequence of every knitted row would be required for the clearest instructions, and I found myself now in the middle of that tedious task.

"A month of Sundays" popped into my head. "This is taking a month of Sundays!" I groaned. – yes, another phrase in Marlene's signature series. Familiar, and popular in its day, I don't think I've ever uttered these words before, but there they were. There she was. Mum sometimes makes appearances to me in this way if I'm paying attention, and happily, this time I was.

A Month of Sundays – my new sweater design has found its name!

Remaining open to guidance, there's one more of Marlene's phrases that bears mentioning, one I've thought of more than once during the traumas of our 2020. In her later years when life became sometimes difficult, "Don't let the turkeys get you down" became her mantra. It got her through.

I'm aiming now to make it mine too.

Stay safe everyone, wear a mask.

Going home again

Rooting around in the archives in search of a name for my next sweater design I came across this beaded toy in Dad’s keepsake box. A poignant childhood memory, I see it hanging from the rearview mirror of my parents’ gray Buick as he drove. Sometimes I sat in Dad’s lap as he did. These were simpler times to be sure, before we knew better.

In that same box and stemming from that same time period I found the purchase and sales agreement for the house I grew up in. It turns out that Dad saved things too. Renters up until this point, on July 18, 1958 my parents bought their first home for $14,200. We weren’t rich, and this was surely a financial stretch, but the bank granted the mortgage and there we lived, in this house in the suburbs of Boston, for 16 years – idyllic years as I recall them, through the haze of my childhood.

My memories of the neighborhood are good ones, with some of the friends I made there still in my life even now. And when I’m nearby I often detour through its streets to conjure up cozy thoughts.

Prompted by our current political and social climate I recently read The Color of Law by Richard Rothstein (A Forgotten History of How Our Government Segregated America), and I thought back to my old neighborhood. In the mid 60’s a black family moved into a house on the next block. Following that, several of their neighbors – my neighbors – put their houses on the market and moved away.  I wish my parents were still alive so I could ask them more about it from their adult perspective at that time. My new classmate Teddy and his sister were the only two black children in my elementary school and I can only imagine their experience. The thought makes me cringe. Armed now with newfound knowledge from my reading I see that their ability to purchase a home in our middle-class white neighborhood was likely a result of Fair Housing Acts initiated by our government during that decade. Prior to that it’s very possible no mortgage would have been made available to them.

I was on my way to a pal’s house for dinner yesterday and decided to visit my neighborhood again for a quick reminiscence. As I traveled familiar streets, I now noticed many front lawns with newly placed placards posted in support of the police – coded racist responses to Black Lives Matter. Deflated, I turned around and went on my way. I don’t think I’ll go back. My comforting nostalgia is no longer found there. Maybe it never was. Maybe it lived only in my child-mind’s eye, recalled during simpler times, before I knew better.

Where My Heart Is – my latest knit design, published October 3, 2020.

Because she likes it

With my hair ever shorter these days, I felt suddenly adventurous about earrings. Let’s try something new, I considered. The thought led me next to the stacked boxes on my bureau – Container Store purchases that stored Marlene’s and Mildred’s jewelry, now intermingled with my own, and with Juliet’s left behind from her childhood. Armed with a dust cloth and silver polish I dived in – like an archaeological dig. The favored trinkets from four generations were sure to provide fresh styling perspective, and a surprise or two.

Each of us unique in our fashion choices, a sign of our times and our selves – we knew what we liked.

Mildred wore these in the 50’s, and later. During those years she dressed for dinner, even dinners she cooked herself for her family at home.

Marlene was a statement maker – the jewelry wearing equivalent of go big or go home. One of her last jobs was behind the counter in the Museum Store at our local mall. She spent most of her salary on the merchandise there, taking full advantage of her employee discount.

My taste has always been understated – plain, I dare say. I made the silver pendant shown below in the bottom row when I was 18 and hadn’t seen it since then. After a polish it came back to life and I was glad to find it. It still appeals to me. I’m wearing it now.

And here are the sweet jewelry vestiges of my teenage Juliet whose style preferences were just then coming into her view.

I apologize in advance for all of this that’s surely heading her way someday, though she’ll likely enjoy its explorations as I am now, while adding more of her own adult collection to the mix.

There have been other discoveries too, worthy of note, such as this charm bracelet – my first piece of jewelry.

And this.

As I recall, my standout early childhood toys were Lincoln Logs, an Erector Set from Uncle Sonny, a miniature car racing track, and a cowboy costume complete with this sheriff’s badge – shown peeking in from the lower edge of my portrait.

“Why do you let her play with these things,” my uncle once asked Dad, his question undoubtedly prompted by the gender roles of the times.

“Because she likes it,” my Dad responded, as simply as that. He knew his girl well, and let her be.

How lucky am I.

How Lucky Am I, my latest knit design, published 6/20/2020, and

Because She Likes It, published 7/1/2020.