Leelanau

Home on Sunday - business as usual on Monday

I hear the lake calling...

Just One More

"I'm so glad we had this time together,
Just to have a laugh, and sing a song.
Seems we just get started and before we know it
Comes the time we have to say, 'So long."

- Carol Burnett theme by Joe Hamilton

When I was young, my mother would call me in for supper. I would beg...

"Just one more!"

As I grew older, my family would be ready to call it a day on the ski slopes. I would beg...

"Just one more!"

In college, my roommate would holler from the dormitory hall, "Come on; get a move on!" I would beg...

"Just one more!"

The other night, my husband asked me when I was coming to bed; was I going to knit all night? I begged...

"Just one more!"

I don't like endings, happy or not. I like beginnings.

• The anticipation of a good read as I crack the spine on a new paperback.
• The smell of the water as I approach the shore.
• The delicious stretch in the morning as I wake for another day.
• The way the air freshens and cools as I approach the lake house.
• Greeting family and welcoming friends.

I also like middles.

• The way I shut out the world because I can't turn the pages fast enough, as I become thoroughly enveloped in a fictional world.
• The heat of the sun on my back as I doze off on the beach.
• The feeling of accomplishment, as I complete a good morning's work and break for lunch.
• The sigh my life becomes as I settle into the slower rhythms of life at the lake.
• Savoring the pleasure of an evening with loved ones.

But endings, no matter how happy, leave me melancholy and pensive, as what was draws to a close and what is yet to be remains unrealized.

Except for when I finish a pattern. Them I am happy to call it a day, and move on to something else. Not because I did not enjoy the process, but because I am always looking forward to more ideas than I have time to complete.

If only I could sleep-knit...

I write this from the porch in the lake house. My DH left this afternoon, braving the post holiday traffic so he can be back in Indiana in time for a good night's sleep before returning to work tomorrow.

I, however, am enjoying a few more stolen hours, before packing up and hitting the road early tomorrow morning.

What urgent activity causes me to stay on? What task is yet to be fulfilled?

Absolutely nothing. All I can say is...

"Just one more."

One more night. One more white fish dinner. One more row. One more page. One more dream. One more day. One more kiss. One more hug. One more moment.

Before it slips away.

I feel time's passage more keenly these days. The years go so fast. Nothing lasts forever.

Not even the most intricate of lace shawls.

Has it really been six years that we have been planning our move up here full time? And yet we linger in Indy, trapped by a decaying house and an even more decrepit real estate market.

I am going to celebrate my 53rd birthday this month. My father, with whom I share this day, will turn 77 (I think- 53 year old brains don't work as well as they used to.) This is my 52nd summer at the lake, my father's somewhat more.

And yet the distant past seems so clear, when I close my eyes.

• Coming round the final turn and knowing we were finally here.
• My father's arms carrying me into the dark cottage.
• Checking for spiders before daring to get into bed at night.
• The sound of the Luna moth beating her wings against the screen.
• Helping my grandmother hang out the wash.
• My sister and I taking turns drying the dishes.
• The scavenger hunts my grandfather laid in the surrounding woods.

And memories of a less distant past:

My children:

• Toddling about the yard.
• Playing in the sand
• Sleeping on my husband's shoulder as he carries them into the dark cottage.

My father is growing older, as am I. We have talked of future arrangements and final wishes. It is best to be prepared, though he is yet vital and still beats the pants off younger family members in cards every evening.

I know that my own faculties are slipping with age; my father's are also. Time waits for no man. Or woman.

And yet I would tarry. I would remember the beginnings. I would revel in the middle.

I know that on his last day, as on mine, I will beg...

"Just one more, Lord. Just one more."

Comme Ci, Comme Ça

I always say, "Comme ci, comme ca,"
And go my way - Comme ci, comme ca.
Since you are gone, nothing excites me.
Since you are gone, no one delights me.
And I go on - Comme ci, comme ca,
Midnight till dawn - Comme ci, comme ca.

But should we meet, that would excite me.
And should you smile, that would delight me.
I'd live again to love again,
But until then...
"Comme ci, comme ca."

-Tito Puente

We got back from the great state of Michigan on Monday night, but I have had little time to gather my thoughts or my knitting since my return.

The past week was definitely a family vacation. We spent most of our time with Baby Boy/Family Man and his family, before their departure from the cabin on Friday, then we hung out for a couple more hard earned days of rest and recovery, before heading south again.

We ate whitefish and burgers while the baby chowed down on grilled cheese, grapes, and Cheerios. We wondered when it was going to get warm enough to swim in the c-o-l-d lake, while we took walks with the Cadillac of strollers, and threw the Frisbee around the yard. We stacked cups with Conner, and drank from wine glasses with the grown ups. We played cards with the parents and peek-a-boo with the baby.

And I discovered I can make a killer turkey call that always gets a chortle out of the wee one.

On Monday, my grandson Conner celebrated his first birthday and last night, Eldest Son completed the final requirement for his degree in music from Indiana University - his senior recital. A good time was had by all involved in both events and we are so proud of Eldest Son. The control and proficiency, to say nothing of the artistry, on display last night was absolutely thrilling.

We had a rather helter skelter evening - we actually missed the first piece in the program because we got zapped by record breaking rainfall (4 inches in two hours) which flooded streets, knocked out traffic lights, and snarled rush hour travel for hours on the south side of Indianapolis.

Once we cleared the city, DH drove to Bloomington as if being chased down by the fiends of hell, while my dad, who made the trip down from Michigan to attend, kept a lookout for roving bands of polizei. I would like to say it was an exciting ride, but I was too busy alternately cowering in the back seat and wringing my hands over the fact that we were late, late, late for a VERY important date...sigh...

We had a great week, even when some not so great things happened.

Comme ci, comme ca - like this, like that...

Today my father has returned home, my grandson and son have been suitably feted, and I can finally catch my breath, savor the silence of my empty house, and get a little work done! Family is a wonderful thing - actually the MOST wonderful thing - but it can be hard to get a row in edgewise...

Since I was, technically, OFF last week, I spent what little knitting time I squeezed in, playing.

Some things worked...


This is Nashua Geologie in the color Shale. The yarn is a lovely worsted weight brushed mohair wool blend, with superior color saturation.


I really like the pattern (which will be easier to see when blocked) with the color changes in the yarn. I struggled with the urge to use Noro Yuzen, Silk Garden, or Kureyon, but decided the color of this one is just too hard to resist.

And some things didn't work so well.


This is an attempt at graduated colors, but the colors just aren't working for me.

The yarn is Blue Heron Silk Noil. You will probably see this yarn in Saturday's Stash Sale.


Some things got finished - YES! I can actually WEAR this one...Look for the Byzantine pattern later this week. Need to block her out before her beauty shots. That's Noro Silk Garden Light #2014, btw...

And some things got frogged after multiple fits & starts:

Dream in Color Baby in Cloud Jungle. Too regimented - needs to be softer, more free form. Larger needles. Less edge. More float...like the clouds she is named for.

A little of this...a little of that...comme ci...comme ca...

Hey! Two out of four ain't bad... How's your batting average this summer?

The Bigger Picture

"A frog living at the bottom of the well thinks that the sky is as small as a cooking pot lid."

-Vietnamese Proverb

My husband has become frustrated with many of my pictures. What looks good, or at least passable in a thumbnail all too often looks blurry in a larger size.

See what I mean?

My natural inclination is to put the camera right up on whatever I want to focus on. I have struggled with using the close up setting on my camera. All too often, I waver and the picture turns out fuzzier than Fuzzy Wuzzy (who was a bear.)


He has since introduced me to the wonders of the crop function.

Which turns this picture of Rose...


Into this...


And this...


Into this.


See how well that works?

I have to fight my natural tendency to narrow my focus.

That is what I did on my vacation.

I stepped back from Sunflower Designs enough to see the bigger picture.

Much as I love my work, much as you may love yours, we all need to step away on occasion in order to gain perspective.

In my design process, I work from small motifs to large wholes and back again.

I begin with a big idea, then look for small bits & pieces to work into a harmonious overall pattern.

I step back and try to see with fresh eyes, and then I go back to the particulate and tweak the parts that don;t flow. I figure out how to make it better.

This creative tension between the large picture and the small details is what makes the design sing.

So too, in our lives. If we are always, like the Vietnamese frog, looking at the world from the deep well of our own perceptions and ideas...

The infinite sky looks small.

Sometimes, we need to take a break, climb out of our holes, and look around at the bigger picture, lest we lose our focus.


We can always crop the picture later.


I am off to visit my family in Leland Michigan for a long weekend and will have limited internet access . I will check messages and fill orders once a day from the local coffeehouse. I will NOT be having a stash sale this Saturday.

If you cannot wait on a pattern, I recommend you order on Ravelry.

I appreciate your patience and beg your understanding.

After all, family is a vital part of the bigger picture of life...

Safe Passage

The secret of life is enjoying the passage of time
Any fool can do it
There ain't nothing to it
Nobody knows how we got to
The top of the hill
But since we're on our way down
We might as well enjoy the ride

-James Taylor

We had a wonderful time on our Caribbean holiday. I didn't knit a single stitch.

Swear to God!

I know. It's hard to believe, isn't it?

I also got a great big dose of how things look in the outside world. When I shared my profession with the muggles on board the cruise ship, not one person was overly impressed. No one asked questions. No one appeared interested in the slightest.

It's official. I am a medium sized fish in a small (but extremely convivial) pond.

Nice to be back in home waters...

I discovered that what I thought was Drake's Passage (hence the name of the post) is actually Drake's Channel.

Drake's Passage is a dreadfully hard to navigate traverse around the southern tip of South America. Drake's Channel is a delightful green and blue and turquoise mix of sun and sea and small islands dotting the horizon. See picture above.

Sir Francis really got around...

I kept the title because we still booked passage on a passenger ship, we still passed our time in delightful ways, we passed from our everyday world to the tropics and back again, and because it's my blog and I can call it whatever the heck I want to!

Seeing as how I am a medium sized fish and all...

Our trip started off on the wrong foot. Hell, it wasn't even attached to the right body!

All of the flights leaving Indianapolis between 6:00 and 8:00 AM were checking in their luggage from the same 12 kiosks and 4 baggage stations. This is a recipe for chaos.

After waiting patiently for a half an hour, we discovered they were never going to call our name. They were experiencing "technical difficulties."

As we lined up at the security checkpoint, having finally checked our bags into the system, we heard our names over the PA system, accompanied by the dread phrase, "closing the doors." I ran barefoot from security to the gate, yelling , "Hold the door!" at the attendant as she passed through and the glass door swung shut behind her with a final click.

Buggers!

Delta bailed us out and even got us to the church San Juan airport on time 20 minutes ahead of our original flight. Ha!

We trundled over to the Northwest luggage claim area and awaited our luggage's imminent arrival. Y'all can see where this is going, can't you?

No luggage. No foolin'...

Also, no Northwest agent. No presence in the San Juan airport at all.

Luckily, we have free roaming and plenty of bars. The phone kind, not the alcoholic drink kind, (although that was beginning to sound like an excellent alternative option!)

DH got on his cell phone and within minutes (well 45 of them anyway) they could tell us where our luggage was.

La Guardia airport.

New York City.

San Juan and New York - I get those two mixed up all the time...

We actually paid them $55 to lose our luggage. I want a refund.

What's worse, they only had two of three bags. One of them had apparently, in a fit of independence, ripped off all its identifying tags with their extremely useful bar codes and gone AWOL.

Yeesh!

Long story short (guess it's a little late for that actually) I, like the proverbial emperor, had no clothes.

Imagine my delight upon returning from dinner to our cabin to find the little miscreant safely aboard along with her more cooperative and exceedingly well traveled brethren.

Fifteen whole minutes before sailing.

Hello Gorgeous!

The trip could only go uphill from there. And I am pleased to report that it did indeed.

We swam, we sailed, we snorkeled, we lazed around on deck chairs, we took multiple naps. My idea of a perfect getaway.

Our trip homeward went much more smoothly, but unbeknownst to us, we had another passage waiting for us at home.

Our grand dame, our eldest cat, Jingle died sometime between Thursday night, when Scott's brother last checked on her, and Sunday night when we arrived home.

It doesn't appear she was in any pain. She was curled up next to the couch, like she had simply fallen asleep. We knew it was coming. She was almost nineteen years old, stone deaf, arthritic and nearly toothless.

I just wish we had been here for her, to hold and pet her as she passed. No one should die alone.

I got up on Monday, went to the bathroom and she wasn't asleep on the bath mat (her preferred spot to pass the long hours of the night.)

I took a shower and she wasn't there to lick the floor when I was done.

I ate my cereal and started to put the bowl down for her to finish up the milk, but she was gone.

We buried her in the back woods last night. I hope that heaven is full of all the milk she can drink, all the chipmunks she ever chased in her younger days, all the shower fetishes she can stand, and enough tummy rubs and ear scratches to keep her happy.

I cried a bit, Scott read a prayer, and I told her to look my mom up. Mom will take good care of Jingle. Heaven wouldn't be heaven without cats, y'know?

Safe passage Jingle...wherever you are bound. We will miss you.

Are We Having Fun Yet?

"Blessed is the man who has some congenial work, some occupation in which he can put his heart, and which affords a complete outlet to all the forces there are in him."

-John Burroughs

WARNING!
SERIOUS DROOL INDUCEMENTS AHEAD
RECOMMEND EVASIVE ACTION
GET BIB...

So...

What did I do on my Christmas Vacation?

No, no, besides filling a ginormous amount of garden variety orders (thank you SO SO MUCH!)

I played.

Of course, my play looks a lot like work. With one critical difference...

I work on play with whatever I want to.

Not what my customers want most.
Not what my family wants most.
Not what is most delayed.

But whatever I darn well please.

What a concept!

Want some show and tell?

Of course you do!

I started with a couple balls I had floating around from the fall that never quite developed into full blown designs.


This is Classic Elite's Moorland in misty morning: a beautiful soft heathered single ply DK wool. It is deceptively simple. The slight halo tends to obscure fine patterning and texture stitches aren't as crisp as I'd like. But I loved the soft, foggy nature of it, if I could just find the right pattern for it.


After much knitting and subsequent frogging, I settled on this simple zigzag pattern, composed mostly of knit and purl stitches, with only one yarn over and decrease each repeat. I'm doing a stole. No name yet.


And this is Rowan's lovely Purelife organically dyed DK wool in Ivy: a very pale and subdued grey green. A natural for this leaf pattern. A scarf, I think...

Then I moved on to the hard stuff...

The Artyarn goodies Santa brought me. Simply the best. Loads of fun. Seriously drool worthy.


This is Ensemble, an absolutely pet-able fiber consisting of one strand of silk and one of (be still my heart) cashmere.

Excuse me for a moment. I'm getting all verklempt...


This one was a challenge. I loved the soft springlike colors, but I didn't want streaks. I settled on this pattern that combines cabling with lace work.



Once blocked out, I should have a lovely open early spring scarf. I think I'll call it Trellis.

Then there is the little lovely I showed you at the top of the post.


This is Drift: a pristine cream colored confection of Silk Rhapsody Glitter. The pattern is a combination of the gentle curves of a snow covered landscape, the tracks which form in the snow from our cars, the footprints of forest animals (or pets), and the schussing pattern of slalom skis.

See the little footprints between the tire tracks?

But the best part is the little silver filament that runs along with the silk and mohair strands. Its subtle sparkle reminds me so powerfully of the way new fallen snow sparkles in the sunlight.


This one just has to be a sumptuous stole. A brilliant bit of comforting warmth to wind around my shoulders on a cold midwinter day. I know it is indulgent, but I rushed right out and spent some of my ill gotten gains on three more skeins of this beauty. It is so yummy to work with and the pattern is just enough to be interesting, but not a pain in the rear.

But wait! There's more!


This is my icicle scarf, knit from Artyarns exquisite bead AND sequins silk mohair.

SHUT UP!

THIS STUFF IS TOO GORGEOUS TO BE LEGAL!

AND YOU CAN GET IT OVER THE COUNTER?

YOU MEAN I DON'T HAVE TO GET IT IN A DARK ALLEY FROM A YARN PUSHER?

NO WAY!



This stuff is like crack. It is that addictive. And that easy. No crochet hook required. Just knit.

When you have fiber this gorgeous, you really don't want the pattern to get in the way. I worked it with a simple four row, six stitch repeat lace pattern that results in a vertical wave that reminds me of melting ice. Just for panache, I did pointed ends, because that's what icicles do.

I made it thin since the yarn is so expensive, although it will block out a little wider. Besides, icicles are skinny little suckers.

You could get by with one skein for a short little scarf, but I am doing mine long and lean, with two. And this is so fast it is a turbo-aperitif. I knit the full skein in one day. Very gratifying after all those lo-o-o-ong projects...


Just look at that sparkle! I love this so much that I returned the green sweater my DH gave me for Xmas in favor of a light taupe one that will go with this scarf. Am I crazy, or what?

Now surely, I must be done, right?

Wrong.

The best thing I played with on vacation?



My grandson Conner, who accompanied us to the frozen north for a four day post-Christmas visit with family in Leland, MI and then came home with Grandma and Grandpa to stay another two days, while Mom & Dad celebrated the New Year in Chicago.

Six days...

Seriously drool worthy...

Can't say I didn't warn you...

Patience

"Who ever is out of patience is out of possession of their soul."
-Francis Bacon

"If I'm not back in five minutes... just wait longer!"
-Jim Carrey

Well, life is never dull on the sunflower farm, especially when I pack it up and move it to Michigan.

Every time I visit the Northwoods, my email/internet goes wonky. In April I could receive email at the local coffee house, but not send. Now THAT was frustrating.

(Of course, last October, nobody missed me. I had just published my first pattern and the demand was...

null and void.)

Knowing that was no longer the case, I took steps before returning in July. I changed internet providers and glommed onto the next door neighbor's wireless feed (with their permission. Thanks Jerry & Jeannie! Only cost me a plate of chocolate chip cookies.) I had connectivity from the cottage (ooh! revelation by typo - cootage - what you get when the individual inhabiting said dwelling is no long in the , ahem, shall we say, FULL bloom of youth) I was in sunflower heaven.

And now, I have a brand new laptop with built in wifi and everything. I was good to go.

Until I got here last night and discovered no feed from the neighbors. Either they have changed their provider and password, or I am back to checking messages and filling orders once a day from the homely confines of the local watering hole coffee house.

So, patience my friends. I WILL get back with you. I WILL fill orders on a daily basis.

I will NOT, however, live 24/7 at Stone House Bread.

They aren't open 24/7 for one thing...

I'm just glad I don't have to travel to Traverse City to pick up my mail.

Nanook Susan of the North, signing off...

Look to This Day

"The secret of life is enjoying the passage of time.
Any fool can do it.
There ain't nothing to it.
Nobody knows how we got to
The top of the hill.
But since we're on our way down,
We might as well enjoy the ride."
-James Taylor

No matter how much time I think I have, no matter how long I stay at the lake, no matter how much I wish it weren't true...

This day always comes.

The last day. The cleaning out the fridge day. The washing all the towels day. The tying up all the loose ends day. The heading back to civilization day.

The day that can be delayed, but never denied.

The day I have to say goodbye.

When I was little, summers at the lake seemed a stately procession of endless days. My brother and I, cheeks bright with the flush of summer days in the sun, eyes a-sparkle with adventure, knew that school days lay far into our September futures. We lazed away our vacation under the watchful eyes and indulgent smiles of our grandparents and parents. And time stood still.

Now, I visit cemetery point to gaze upon my grandparents' final resting place. Their plots look out over the lake, between two birch trees, marked with bright geraniums, lovingly tended by my father, their son.

I remember the first summer we brought our son to the lake. We plopped him into the stroller one bright morning and wheeled our way down to the point, where he sucked his thumb pensively as I related the story of how my grandparents built the lake house. It was important to me that he know where he was, where he came from.

I lie in the hammock and remember a long ago drive up from Indiana with my then new husband. The rolled up hammock took the entire length of his hatchback from back window to front windshield, lying between us over the tops of the seats like a bundling board. It was our small contribution to family life at the lake house.

I am no longer innocent. I have drunk from the fruit of the tree of knowledge. I know that time moves on. That the day you say goodbye is always out there, lurking, whether we like it or not. Whether we are ready for it.

Or not.

I get a similar feeling when knitting a lace shawl or stole. It feels endless (especially if it is a circular - new definition of forever - beats "a turkey and two people" hands down!) You spend days, weeks, months, doing the same thing, knitting the same pattern, progressing inch by agonizing (or rewarding, depending upon your point of view) inch. And then one day you turn around, bind off the last stitch, and realize you're done.

This day always comes (well, most of the time, if you like the project, if you don't get bogged down, or distracted.)

Time runs in a circular fashion here at the lake. Some things never change, which is a comfort to me in the all-too-fast world we call home. And yet, the signs of change are ever present, as one generation gives way to the next, as new faces join the parade of family that passes through these doors.

The doors are flanked by the sign my stepmother Molly had made the year my father was trying to decide if the property needed a name. You know something poetic, like:

• Journey's End
• Heart's Rest
• Blue Water Bay

Rough translation: Funny Farm (I think that tells you everything you need to know about my family.)



The rocks lining the driveway were brought here by my grandfather, picked up (and lugged home) in his travels around the world. If you turn them over, and look hard, you can still read their provenance. You can imagine the deep love of travel and our earth that prompted the man who collected them.

And the pained expression of whoever carried the luggage.

Atop the mantel, sits a wooden replica of a Great Lakes ore boat, crafted in my grandfather's workshop when my brother was just a boy, and loved to play with boats. Come to think of it, my brother still loves to play with boats, enjoying both sailing and other forms of boating. His most recent contribution to the lake house? A canoe.


The upper reaches of the cottage feature flags won and signs hung from the family's past entries into the annual boat parade, (the infamous Bar-b-cruise) which we have won twice and placed in several times.



The sampler over the kitchen counter was completed by me in 1982. It is older than my eldest son.









The woods thin out from year to year, as trees planted in the 1930s when the area was logged over reach the end of their natural life span and give way to young saplings. I wonder how tall these oaks will be, when my grandchildren bring their children to the lake.

My brother and I both sat in this same pint sized lawn chair when we were smallm as did our children. Soon, it will belong to another generation, as my first grandchild takes his or her place among the family.

Time once again comes full circle, as the next generation write their own history, make this place their own, and learn to cherish all that it represents.

This day always comes.

Do-Be-Do-Be-Do...

"To be, or not to be: that is the question."
- Hamlet by William Shakespeare

"Do be do be do"
- Frank Sinatra

When I am home, I do many things:

• shop for groceries
• read the paper
• surf the Internet
• knit
• cook
• pay the bills
• exercise
• work on new designs
• meet up with friends
• answer email
• fill orders
  

But the thing I do most often is:

Worry.

I'm good at it; I learned from my mother, who probably learned from her mother.

• How will we meet our various financial obligations? (It ain't easy during your children's college years!)
• Are the deadlines I have set for myself realistic?
• How many mistakes can I make before throwing up my hands in frustration?
• How many mistakes can I make before YOU do?
• Am I overextended?
• Am I underutilized?
• When will I grow up?
• When did I grow old?
• Will my kids learn to live without me?
• Do I even want my kids to learn how to live without me?

But what I worry about most often is:

What do I have to do today? This week? This month?

Our "To Do" lists get longer and longer. Studies show that as convenient and time saving inventions have made our lives easier, instead of doing less, we have simply ramped up our expectations accordingly, taking on more and more activities and responsibilities.

During the days of the Pony Express, the mail coming into town was a real occasion. People waited weeks, months, or even years for word of their loved ones.

Now people become impatient if we don't respond to email within hours, or even minutes, let alone days.

On any given day we may:

• take the dog to the vet
• draw up a guest list for an upcoming social engagement
• order prescription refills
• pick up the dry cleaning
• compose a memo to co-workers
• review a quarterly report
• help our child with her homework
• cook a nourishing meal
• volunteer at our children's school

And, if we are very lucky, take a few moments out of our busy lives to knit.

So how are we doing?

Most of us are "doing" very well.

It's the "being" that poses more of a challenge for most of us.

There are two states (yes, I know you thought there were fifty, but stick with me...)

There are two states: being and doing. At any given time, we are usually doing a lot,

but we often forget about the being part.

And (I believe) that is to our eternal detriment.

We are human "beings" after all; not human "doings."

*****

In our book on parenting teens, Greg Sipes and I propose that parenting is not something we do; it is who we are. And who we are makes a lasting impression on our children, far beyond anything we do.

How many times have we met someone, and immediately asked, "What do you do?" as if that is the most crucial bit of information we can glean from them.

To which they respond, "I am a: dentist, stockbroker, stay at home mom, writer, etc."

But that is what they do, not who they are.

Who they are is much deeper, more complex, and not easily encapsulated in a brief engagement.

*****

I used to be a real type A personality; I did it all.

I was Executive Director of a not for profit organization. I met with board members, volunteers, advertising execs, the press, and potential donors. I wrote solicitation letters, contracts, grants, press releases, and newsletters. I put together budgets, collaborative efforts, and sponsorship packets.

I was a wife and mother. I cooked, cleaned, shopped, did laundry, ran errands, and drove car pools. I was treasurer of the PTO and a Cub Scout Den Leader.

I was active in my church. I sang in the choir, sat on the worship committee, designed and constructed liturgical banners, contributed food to every pitch in, participated in every service.

I was a great human doing.

And then I crashed.

I could no longer hear, let alone heed, my inner voice; that of God which dwells in each of us.

I had completely lost touch with who I was.

So I stopped...

Everything

I fell into deep depression, and spent one very long year doing nothing. And two more years learning who I was and reordering my activities accordingly.

I quit my job. I attended seminary. I wrote a book. I became a mindful person, one who lives as much as I can, in the present moment.

That is why I took up knitting. To learn to focus on now. To learn how to turn off the product-oriented "doing", in favor of the process-oriented "being."

I find it interesting that "vacation" comes from the root word, vacate, which means: to give up possession or occupancy. We vacate our usual routine, our daily lives, full of all we have to do...

And reconnect with who we are.

That is why I love the lake house. My time here lets me connect directly with my past, my present, and my future.

I am not the same person today as I was a year ago, nor am I yet who I may grow to be in God's good graces. But I do know that, for me, a large part of knowing myself and knowing God means clearing a space for him (and for me) within the activities of a full and rich life.

Therein lies both the challenge and the joy.

*****

My husband sneaked around the outside of the cottage a few days ago, and snapped a picture of me lying on the couch on the porch, reading (and yeah, OK, maybe napping, just a bit.) He told me he wanted to take a picture of the...

"Lazy Susan"

Then he proceeded to nag.

• "Want to go swimming?"
• "Want a glass of wine?"
• "Want to take a walk?"
• "Want to go tubing?"
• "Want to play shuffleboard?"

"Well, what do you want to do?"

Answer?

"Nothing. Really. I am cultivating holy leisure. Just let me be."

The Beatles had it right all along. Who knew?

"When I find myself in times of trouble, mother Mary comes to me,
speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
And in my hour of darkness she is standing right in front of me,
speaking words of wisdom, let it be. "
- Beatles

Everything's Coming Up...

You'll be swell! You'll be great!
Gonna have the whole world on the plate!
Starting here, starting now...
Honey, everything's coming up roses hydrangeas!
- Gypsy

Just because it's vacation time, doesn;t mean I'm not working. After all, when you love your work as much as I do, work and play get all mixed up together.

And don't you worry your little head about whether I am getting the rest and relaxation I need to recharge. I have slept in till 10:00; I have played numerous games of Aggravation, Oh Hell, and shuffleboard with my family(and I have even won some!) I have gorged myself on whitefish fresh from lake Michigan; I have spent lazy afternoons reading on the porch, listening to the rain beat down upon the roof.

But I have also been a busy little bee, pollinating knitting the hydrangeas, both bridal white:


And pink & blue:



But enough about me. You want to see pictures, right?


Had enough?

Me neither.

Hey! It beats chasing a little white ball around a big green grassy area. At least in my book.

The only question is: Which hydrangea commands my attention today?

Hmm...