A scrapbook of the knitting related things & times and events while the knitting was taking place.
My friend, Adrienne, home on a lightening visit and making me feel very honoured by still wearing a cowl made last year from Coolree chunky alpaca, which Adrienne says feels like a mini electric blanket on a cold day; the stitch is a lace one which Alex McLeod passed on from a stitch dictionary.
Preppie Sweater and Vintage Racing Helmet by Sublime in Baby Cashmerino
For Marcus
I began stopping off with the papers for breakfast in a new local café each morning when my youngest started play school – time away at that hour was luxury beyond dreams, and it became a habit to which still I cling, come hell or high water, on a daily basis. There've been changes in the cafe - people have come and gone, and the business itself developed into a local chain over the years. My own habits are pretty much as ever, though, and as ever I'm still very well catered to - often as not these days, by Sue.
Sue came to Ireland from China twelve years ago to study accounting by night and work in the café by day, where she became a manager and, I suspect, their most valued employee. Her smile is wide and her work is meticulous : orders arrive fast and exactly as requested. When customers are impatient or bad mannered, or kids get loud or exceptionally messy (and I'm talking serious food fights and broken cups) in the company of self absorbed parents (who present an awesomely compelling periodic Saturday morning hazard there), Sue's serenity remains unshaken - she just goes and gets out the brush and dust pan while less stoic staff call down curses. Sue didn’t have much English when she got here first, but she worked very hard on that too and learned. As is probably apparent by now, she's not much given to complaint, but did concede (under cross questioning from me) that at the start she found life hard here and some of our customs very different to that which she was accustomed in China. As her confidence grew, she got to know her regulars well - including me, and my children too when I brought them in holiday time. How tall one of my sons grew was a source of amusement to her.
Sue worked right up to the wire last year before giving birth to her own son, Marcus. And for a while she vanished, and I was just beginning to regretfully think that she was never coming back, when one day she appeared again. She looked amazing - best I ever saw her - rested and well, and having spent some months in China with her mother - with whom, she explained, she’d left Marcus.
I was stricken at the thought of a mother being such a distance from her infant and said so
“I’m so sorry, Sue. This is really terrible", I said. "Lee and his wife had to do this too - just awful”.
And now she was shocked - “It’s ok”, she said. “Really, it's ok. I talk to him and see him on skype – he is growing big already. It really is ok”
At this point customers arrived in the cafe, and Sue went to tend to them, but she came back with something she wanted to clear up.
“Please don't be sorry", she said. "This is our culture. The custom in China is that older people care for babies and people my age go to work. My son can learn many things from my mother, and my mother is very happy to care for him - I am happy too. In time he can come here, but for now this is good for everyone”.
Buttonhole Scarf in Two Shades in Malabrigo Rasta
For Maeve
Lucy, my daughter, thought this multicoloured wool was Maeve's style, and even more so in a combination of two shades. Then she asked me to do the knitting in time for Maeve's birthday, My knitting for Maeve's birthday had precedent, because the very first time I met her was when she had arrived a few weeks ahead of schedule, and I was handing over some hastily completed baby knitting. As soon as she and Lucy had any say in the matter, they became inseparable friends - inseparable meaning many things in childhood...
Lucy seeing Maeve for the first time in a sweater knit for Lucy to which she had been allergic, knowing that, unlike herself (Lucy), Maeve cared nothing for pink (or not up to that point she didn't)
The good days far outnumbered the bad, however, and it’s hard to think of any time when Maeve didn’t play a huge role in our family – Never more so than when I saw a photo of myself and realised it was all wrong in a way that had nothing to do with the dress. And as Maeve was working in a gym close to my house and (fearing that at any second my moment of truth would pass) (as other similar ones had) (to be perfectly honest), I got in the car and drove (..) the short distance to Maeve's gym (...), arriving mortified and slightly hysterical. Maeve was cool as a breeze - everything was possible, she said, even as I immediately began searching for gaps in the fence to avoid what I knew had to be done.
I snorted..
“Even a washboard stomach? That's possible too? Huh?”
“Don’t see why not”
I sneered...
“But I never had one - even at my thinnest. This will never work”
“Well you could in time, if you wanted to bother”
... played helpless..
“What should I do? I have no gym-type things. I don't know where I'd get that stuff”
“Just wear any old thing and get a pair of trainers. You need a pair of trainers. See you tomorrow at 11”
... and dumb..
"Don't I need, like, special spandex or something?"
"Of COURSE not. See you tomorrow"
No getting round it, and as much out of embarrassment (in front of a someone for whom I'd babysat...), I went...drove... to the kind of place that stayed open late to sell people trainers and showed up miserably next day. And logically I ought to have known of the existence of Maeve The Teacher, but in reality I didn't because I'd never thought of her in that light. The role reversal came as both total revelation and joy - This Maeve was a source of authority, trust, positivity, possibility, and above all calm… no panic, even when in my opinion there was every reason that there should be panic...and an awful lot.. She's quite simply a natural - and the good news for a new generation of musicians, as well as gymnasts and swimmers, is that she also teaches piano! And of course I didn’t end up with a washboard stomach, but I did keep going... more or less... which was pretty miraculous. In truth, a washboard stomach wouldn’t have been very me anyway... Which is very much on point, as the identity of the pupil is a factor which Maeve not only takes into account, but fundamentally respects - the secret ingredient which holds and inspires wonkier contenders such as me.
I really hope she knows she's a very rare breed and am daily aware and thankful that, however bad things are with me (and I'll always be far from exemplary in the fitness arena), they'd be a whole lot worse had it not been for Maeve.
