Thunderstorms, rain, basement flooding, tea with my dearest and oldest (of the duration kind) friend T. We picked through her photos for some shots during the 1980s when we used to live in the same apartment building across the hall from each other. I was hoping that somewhere in there I would find a picture of my old knitting basket. It was large enough to store a body, and before I was able to put my wool stash in a closet (and then a small room), I thought my hoarding capacity was unparalleled. It is so nice to have old friends. None of the catch-up talk on what or why I loath or love. No pretension, just gratitude on my part that I'm still on the journey with someone I recognize and love.
Knitted object today is the very first thing I knit, outside of the yearly half done scarves I did with my grandmother during summer vacation. My grandmother, Meme, died when I was 21. She was my first great loss. She loved and nurtured me and my sister. When she died I was so desperate to connect to her, to never forget her, that I resolved to teach myself to knit. Meme was always knitting socks for my cousin Francois, and I thought that by knitting I could hold onto a piece of her. During those summers as a nine and ten year old, one of my cousins was doing "real" knitting when I was struggling through 3" of scarf, knitting sweaters for her dog. I wanted so badly to be able to knit, that I taught myself from a 20 page "beehive" booklet on "hobbies" that included crochet, tatting and embroidery. I had just graduated from university, into a recession and severe underemployment, and general depression. Learning to knit was a major accomplishment. Translating two dimensional illustrations, and text, into a three dimensional motion with my hands that produced a fabric was miraculous. I attribute that long winter year of mistake, repair, mistake, repair, redo, cast on, ripping out, ribbit, ribbit, ribbit, with shifting the little logic gears in my brain into the "on" position. The development of linear thinking allowed me to teach myself anything from text. With it I was able to read and understand technical manuals, I taught myself to type, all range of "producing" got better. Of course, the linear thinking got pretty strong, and I had to find the other side again, but that's another story. This sweater, is literally the first object I ever knit, in 1979/1980. I wore it as a winter coat for two years when I moved to Toronto. I slept in it when the landlord didn't turn on the heat, used it as a pillow, trampled and mangled it. It was a Chatelaine kit, which came without needles as I remember. Finding needles probably took a couple of months alone. I couldn't understand what ribbing was when I started the body, but I learned what it was by the time I did the sleeves. I knew no-one who knit. But I struggled away for the love of my Meme, and it was the a-ha moments of the fog lifting that kept me going. And I'm beating back the same fog today.

I didn't take this picture. But this is the coin bra I ordered on line. I'm already a hefty babe, so I can't imagine what I'll look like wearing one of these. Oh, but I can imagine how it will feel, and sound. Only in the privacy of my basement of course. As an ambassador of joy, a belly-dancer descriptive I think is perfect, maybe I'll feel the joy and want to share it eventually. Or maybe this coin bra will be art on the boob gallery, aka the dining room. A propos, yes?