more knitting revelations

1) A few weeks ago I was at my grandparents learning how to cable knit. I ran my thumb along the raised pattern. My grandmother put on her glasses, attached to a string around her neck, and waved me over to where she was sitting, in the process of knitting a sweater. "Looks good," she nodded. "Yeah, I messed up a couple times though, purled when I should've knit," I bent over and pointed. My grandmother removed her glasses, "Mmmhmm. It happens. The lady at the knit shop reminded me that, to be honest, nobody will notice these little things, so you shouldn't worry about it. They only stick out to you because you made them."

2) After finishing my scarf, I believe I was in Santa Barbara at the time, I was trying to explain to some friends how knitting works. It's all one string (unless you are making a sweater or something and have to sew the arms to the torso, but just ignore that for now) connecting the thousands of knots. That fact reminded me of the Buddhist concept that there is no self, that the only thing that strings our individual lives together on a day-to-day basis is the chain of memories and pain. It's like every day we wake up and are not the same person we were the day before, save for our memories. And it could be seen as bleak, but it could also be seen as a fresh start. Or a really great scarf. Ba dum chhh.

lessons in humility

It's healthy to be reminded of your place in the world, the fact that there are things above and below you in all matters. About two years ago, a fellow showed me one of his "favorite spots", which was simply the farthest point out on the wharf. Being dark out, there was nothing to disturb the surface or the sound of the water. If I stared directly out at the ocean, all dark dark blue and grays of the reflected moon, it felt like I wasn't standing on anything, that the water had swallowed me whole. On all sides I could see the heartbeat of the ocean, sliding steadily and sure and indestructible and silent. And it went in every direction, the same pulse all along the length of the beach as far as I could see. After barely being able to make sense of and stow away this image in its entirety, I remembered that what I was looking at was only the bay, the Monterey Bay, that the entire ocean spread out for thousands of miles past where I could see and unlike the land around me, punctuated and abridged and divided by trees and mountains and rivers, the ocean was one. The pulses I witnessed had traveled the length of its body, and I was simply witnessing the subtle twitch in the wrist of that body. I could feel myself shrinking in relation to the growth of my comprehension of that body of water. Along with it went my worries and my pride.

patrick's job

I currently hold the position of baker at the Spicy Pickle in Licoln Park, and I would like to officially declare the things I have learned in my month of employment there:

-the general weight and size of a 5 ounce ball of bread dough and a 4 ounce ball of cookie dough (I have had at least one dream in which I am chopping up an endless pile of dough, I am covered in flour, and I and weighing the pieces into 5 ounce balls- if I don't get it right I cry)
-that tedious tasks can have beautiful ends
-to trust my eyes
-to follow a recipe for gods sake, it makes things so simple!
-to take time
-that sleep doesn't disappear, it just reappears in new places of the day
-to clean up as I go
-that I can lift large bags of flour and gently measure ounces and cups and tablespoons of salt yeast and durum
-that I can bake in a large pickle costume
-that even if you mistake sugar for salt you can still save yourself; there is always a way to work it out so it won't happen again, there is always someone you can call.
-a trade, I have learned the basics of a craft, a skill set that brings people what can be considered a necessity; something that involves labor and mental capacity, and using my hands to create a gratifying and tangible result. I am able to take home a few of my rolls and have a reminder of my accomplishments, I can feed myself to a degree with what I do.

elements of the good days

I just came back from back from a mighty fine show at the Fun House tonight. I was condensing it into something more manageable while on my ride home. Here is what happened to come out of it.

what a joyful sound

He dances like 5 pine planks painted black and nailed together;
And another, he moves like those plug-in Santas that light up and jingle bell boogie.
Heads and arms are spinning like Saturn rings, their finger tips are many moons;
I dance like a lazy donkey, ears floppy and booted hoof so lightly stomping.

She dances like a three quarter full pitcher of lemonade perspiring
On a wobbly end-table, a July evening, before the lightning bugs are shining.
And everybody moves, but it will not be like me and it will not be like you-
Everybody moves but it has to be different if you want it to be true.




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