Life as a Planner During a Pandemic

I’m a planner.  I have lists for everything I do: running, weight lifting, mountains to climb, races to run.  Of course I have shopping lists, packing lists and to-do lists a mile long.  It’s part of my personality.  It’s probably why I do it for a living and why I’m so good at it.  So much so that if I don’t have something to plan, I’m a little lost.  I feel anxious.  It’s part of my soul- who I am.  

As you can imagine, COVID19 and the pandemic sweeping across the globe has thrown a wrench in all my planning. This spring was to be my busiest running season yet.  I’d already completed two races, one in January and one in February, and I was registered for eight more, three being half marathons.  I have one on the calendar still, a challenging 16 mile trail race, but I have little doubt that, too, will be canceled.  Last Monday was the busiest cancellation day; three of the big ones (two half marathons and a 5k) were all canceled on the same day.  One was not just a half marathon, it was the reason we were going to Alaska for two weeks in June.  That trip was subsequently canceled. Another planning event is gone.

I can find more races, that’s not the problem. Having nothing to focus my energy on is the problem. 

As a planner, my goals are all in the future.  Still, I’m able to keep myself in the present with my lists.  I’m able to take a big goal and break it down into present moments.  For example, my big goal was to run 4 half marathons this year.  My present moments are each run on my plan that will get me there and the strength training sessions three times a week that will make me stronger. Training for the races is my favorite part!  Sure, I  have a big goal I’m planning for, but it’s made up of a lot of little goals which I have to focus on in the present.

While it’s the interim steps that help me focus my attention in the present, without an end goal,  I have a tendency to lose focus.  I remember hearing a saying years and years ago that, “the next six weeks will go by whether you are doing something towards your goals or not.  You might as well be working towards something, even if just a little bit each day.” And this has been my motto since.  A little movement every day towards a goal will get you there.  Whether it’s running, writing or lifting weights, as long as you are moving forward every day you’ll eventually get there.  It’s the goal that keeps me moving forward.

During this challenging time of COVID-19 and the continuous cancelling of every social activity, it can be hard to stay motivated towards a plan that may or may not happen.  While we’ve changed our plans and are going back to Montana in August, each day that passes brings news that threatens the ability to travel even four months from now.  I osculate from being positive and upbeat, adding things to my packing list and feeling in control, to wondering if it’s worth going out for a run at all.  I have worked hard my entire life to be able to travel and see the world and now, the world is shutting down.  Now that I can travel, the ability has been stripped away. 

But that can’t be my focus.  There’s a lesson in everything in life and this situation has taught me that a goal needs to be more internal and less affected by external forces.  My hope needs to be internal, needs to be driven by forces inside, not outside.  I need to change my goals and my plans to be things I can have control over and can fully own.  Instead of a goal of running 4 half marathons, I need to have a goal of beating the 700 miles I ran last year.   Get outside and enjoy every single run, no matter the outcome.  Virtual races are popping up like crazy so if I need a race to keep me motivated, I can do it on my own!  

While the world may still be crazy at the end of August and our trip may be canceled yet again, I can’t help but plan anyway.  Call it hope. Call it the false sense of optimism that we, as a country, will figure out how to conquer this pandemic and life will return to normal before too long.  Call it whatever you want, but I need that glimmer of hope. I need to plan.  I’ll just refocus that plan to something I can control.

 

Embracing Internal Assets- From Meaghan

A few years ago, I attended a workshop titled “Life is a Playground” at the Omega Institute in Rhinebeck, New York.  The presenter, Kyle Cease, asked us to make a list of all our current assets – not assets we wished we had, but all the assets we had right now.    When Kyle asked us to share our lists, we heard things like “my home…. job…. car…. investments.” 

I looked down at my list and thought,  oops. While not intentional, almost every item on my list wasn’t a tangible thing, but an internal thing….  a relationship, an experience, a feeling, a healthy habit. My list of assets consisted of internal traits I considered strengths within myself.  While often one to go in a different direction than the group, I raised my hand, took the microphone, and read my list. It went something like this:

-My relationship with my son Elijah, watching him grow

-Love for Derek, and the relationship we have created

-Nature

-Building my private practice

-Being a gifted listener

-Spiritual guidance system

You get the idea.  When I was through reading my list, Kyle pointed out that almost every single one of my assets was internal…. they weren’t tangible things.  Instead, I had identified something coming from within. How awesome was THAT?!! In that moment, I felt a sense of security and peace flow through me, as I realized how abundant, how secure, how safe I really was.  

SO…. that brings me to you, Dear Reader!

Without a doubt, we are living in uncertain and unsettling times. Right now, when we look out at our external world, things like our jobs, our investments, our stock of supplies, we may feel uncertain. We may find some areas that feel lacking.  Our foundations may feel as if they’re shaking. But what if I were to tell you that it is your Inner Foundation that needs care right now? That it is your Inner Foundation that will support and nourish you in these troubling times? What if I told you it is still possible, and in fact necessary – to cultivate an inner feeling of safety, abundance, and security?  If not now, when?

While we may not have control over our outer foundation at the moment, we do indeed have control over our inner foundation. To help realize this, let’s explore.  What are your inner resources, inner assets that you can call upon right now to give you strength?  Let’s deep dive into that inner well, and see what we find.  I’ve broken down my inner assets into 3 categories. I’m calling them strengths, hobbies, and higher vibration assets.  

 

STRENGTHS:  

Let’s start with strengths because YES, you do indeed have many.  As a mental health therapist and hypnotherapist, a block to growth that often arises with my clients is the idea that they don’t have nearly as many strengths as they actually have.  Often times, they have difficulty acknowledging a strength because it comes so naturally to them, they don’t see it as a gift! Here are a few examples of the strengths from my list that I define as inner assets:

My cultivation of deep and meaningful relationships with my son and my husband, friends and family

I am skilled deep listener

I am intuitive

I have the ability to see things from multiple perspectives

I have a deep belief in Spiritual Support

So take a moment now to write down your strengths.  What comes naturally to you? Are you good with numbers?  Do you have a great memory? Do you have a consistent exercise routine or mediation practice?  Think outside the box here. The sky is the limit! Strengths can include beliefs, skills, and personality traits, experiences to draw upon…. You name it!

Finally, think about how your strengths can be utilized during difficult times.  How can your strengths help get you – and others – through? Write down ways in which you can use your strengths to firm up your inner foundation. 

 

HOBBIES:

While our hobbies can absolutely also fall in the category of our strengths, I am separating them here for one main reason:  We don’t have to be masters or even good at our hobbies to consider them internal assets!   The only prerequisite for our hobbies to be considered an internal asset is that they need to uplift us, bringing us joy or peace in some way.  In other words, our hobbies have to raise our vibration in order for them to be an internal asset.

I have a perfect example of this.  Recently, I began to teach myself the piano.  I sat with the idea of starting for weeks. I’m not really sure where or why the idea originated, but I began reminiscing about taking piano lessons when I was 8 years old.  Fast forward 40 years later, and I suddenly began thinking about it again. I had a strong feeling it would be good for me, (there’s my intuiting kicking in!) so I purchased an electric piano keyboard, downloaded a free “teach yourself piano” course, and off I went. 

It cannot be stressed enough that I am a beginner in every sense of the word.  I am not good at it – yet it brings me a sense of peace when I practice. My hunch is that I feel peaceful because my practice allows me to disengage from the world, and focus my attention on the practice and nothing else.  Piano is an internal asset not because I am a master at it, but because the art of practicing brings me relief and a way to disengage from my daily thoughts and concerns. Practicing anything can have a meditative quality to it, contributing to an overall sense of peace and calm. 

Take a moment now to list your hobbies.  If you don’t have any, take this moment to consider picking one to try.  Perhaps the less you initially know about your hobby the better, because by trying new things, we can truly get into a state of “beginners mind”.    Beginners mind can be a powerful internal asset, because as we practice not knowing, we open ourselves to new ideas, new forms of guidance that we may not have considered before.  Take time to cultivate new hobbies, or recommit to old hobbies. Have fun with it, and see the benefit of the practice itself, rather than only the benefit of the result.  

 

HIGH VIBRATION ASSETS:

This brings us to assets I’m calling high vibration assets.  These are tangible assets we currently have (because of course, we can also include our tangible assets on this list!). However, there is one catch:  The tangible asset should contribute to a sense of peace, security, safety, or love. How is this asset bringing me peace? How is it benefiting my calm sense of mind?  How is it helping to decrease stress, worry, depression and increase calm, peace, and joy? 

For example, one of the tangible assets I had on my list was a teardrop trailer / camper that my husband and I purchased.  I love the idea of traveling, and this camper has allowed us to expand ourselves, traveling to new places, spending more time in nature. It allows us to travel to new places relatively cheaply. It allows us to cook our dinners outside and watch the stars.  This is a HIGH VIBRATION ASSET.  

What are your high vibration assets?  Does your home give you a sense of peace and safety?  Are you grateful that your car gets you from point A to point B?  Does your collection of Harry Potter series bring you joy? The sky is the limit here.  

Now that you have your list of internal assets, you may be wondering how to use it.  My advice is to read this list every day. Let it sink into your subconscious. Utilize these assets every day, Become reacquainted with your own unique skill set, and then call upon it.   When our external foundations are shaking, turn to your inner foundations to help sustain you during these challenging times. In turn, by having a completely solid internal foundation, you can better help those around you to build theirs.  

Please feel free to email me at meaghansmcculla@gmail.com to share your internal assets and how you use them!

In Peace,

Meaghan

 

Getting back in touch

Has it really been over two years since I wrote a blog?  It certainly seems that way!  The good news is blogging is going to be a big part of my life going forward, so you’ll be seeing more coming from my direction!

Be patient and be ready!

 

 

Smitten with Mittens

I’m quoting my bestie when I asked her what she wanted for Christmas.  “Mittens!  I’m smitten with mittens!”  I had just cast on a Fair Isle that morning, so the timing was perfect.  My mom and I used to make mittens all the time using a classic pattern in one of the Jack Frost books.  It was the only one we used and I still have it somewhere, very tattered but readable.  It’s how I learned (at a rather young age) to use double pointed needles.

As a knitter and a writer it’s always been on my bucket-list to write a book rich in the history of knitting.    I often fed my curiosity and dove into what people had on their own needles throughout the years. When I was the curator of our small historical society, I did a display on WWII.  I found call-to-action war posters all over the internet aimed at  the women back home: “Our Boys Need Socks…Knit Your Bit” and “Remember Pearl Harbor….Purl Harder”. Knitting for family members was discouraged, as the time and supplies should be aimed towards the soldiers. Google them, they are really cool.  It’s where my fascination with wartime knitting was kindled.

I found myself wondering why so few people know how to knit in today’s society.  If our ancestors didn’t leave the house without yarn and needles, how did it come to be that a few generations later it was so rarely done.   I understand the role of the textile manufacturers coupled with the lack of time and increase in income, but why wasn’t it taught as a past-time, as a hobby, as a post apocalyptic life skill?  Why did the needles get tucked away and forgotten?

The more I researched, the more I began to think they were just damned sick of knitting.  After all the demand on their time (and fingers), could you blame them? I know after a holiday season of knitting a million presents, I don’t want to look at another pattern for months.

But this mindset of knitting as a living or a necessity (you needed to keep warm) wasn’t new.  Not by a long shot.  I took my research back in time and focused on the islands of Shetland.   I was taken in by the colorful patterns and the rich designs. I remember my grandmother knitting one for me and a lot of the patterns I inherited were rich in stranded knitting. Furthermore, I loved the crisp white star against the navy for the Norwegian beauties.  Armed with several books from the library, it didn’t take me long to find the sentiment I suspected.  In Ann Feitelson’s The Art of Fair Isle Knitting: History, Technique, Color and Patterns, she quotes one woman; “We HAD to do it…Knitters were up half the night, and not for the love of it…I always vowed I’d never knit for anyone.”  I can understand the sentiment.  It wasn’t fun.  It was work.

Today more and more people are using their rare knitting abilities to make money again.  There are Etsy sites full of homemade items.  Everything from dishcloths to wedding dresses (yup) can be found for sale.  Ravelry.com is the go-to for crafters with thousands and thousands of patterns, many free and downloadable.  It’s certainly one of my favorite hangout places!  But it’s a different world for most of us.   We don’t have to sell our products, we choose to.  For most of us, it’s not a matter of whether our family eats or not (while I’m sure for way too many that is the case, especially outside America).

What does this have to do with mittens?  Why, everything!  As part of the research for my latest novel I decided to make a few pair of mittens:  Fair Isle, plain using a 1940’s wartime pattern, and a pair of Selbuvotter mittens, the iconic Norwegian beauties.  I wanted to knit from patterns they used.  Understand what they did.  Now I want to know how the hell they did them in the dark and from memory!

The first pair I made, the ones on the needles when the BFF asked for mittens (yes, they are hers) is from a free pattern on Ravelry.com called Fair Isle Sticky Mitts.  I used sport weight yarn in colors I had hanging around and am super happy with them.  I won’t lie, they were a bitch at times and I ripped out a lot of stitches due to one misplaced color.  I found quickly that you couldn’t let your mind wander knitting these babies!  The second one was a little easier once I had the pattern under my belt at least once. They are thinner than the others, but I bet they are still very warm.

The middle pair are from a wartime 1940s pattern simply called Mittens No. 211 also found on Ravelry for free.  The classic pattern is similar to the one my mom and I used except the thumb is a bit different.  I bought the gorgeous pink worsted weight yarn on sale at a local shop.  They were a nice change from the complex Fair Isles! These were certainly a lot easier when daydreaming of a warm beach somewhere!  Being a heavy yarn on small needles, the knit is tight and warm.

I’m still working on the Selbuvotter Norwegian Star and the pattern is found in the book, Folk Mittens: Techniques and Patterns for Handknitted Mittens by Marcia Lewandowski.  I can already tell these babies are WARM!  I used basic Paton’s Classic Wool in navy and cream.  This was one of the books I picked up at the library but you can find quite a few free patterns on Ravelry.  Still, this book will need to be added to my collection at some point!  I’ve never done a thumb gusset like this one, so I’ll let you know how it goes!

The writing and research is going well and hopefully a novel surrounding WWII on the Shetland Mainland will be forthcoming this year, but in the meantime, I too, am pretty smitten on [making] mittens!

The Power of Empathy

Three days before I flew out to run the St. Jude’s Half Marathon in Memphis I was fired from my job. After 9 years and 11 months I was fired at 1:30 on a Tuesday.  While I was completely blindsided at the time, looking back I’d seen the writing on the wall–and heard it my soul.  I just conveniently didn’t listen.  After working on PCI compliance for a year, I’d just been brought into the newly created position of Compliance Administrator, received my certification as a PCI Professional and was looking forward to diving deep into security policies and procedures.  It wasn’t to be.  Our visions were very different.  I wanted to be mad, to feel outraged or wronged.  But all I felt was relief.

I suppose I was still in shock and denial when, doning my St. Jude’s Hero tee shirt, I crossed the starting line of the St. Jude’s half marathon a few days later. I ran as a St. Jude’s Hero, raising $532.18 towards the cause, but gave little thought to what that meant. I planned on spending two and a half hours thinking about the blog I’d start and the consulting company I want to get off the ground. I wondered if I’d get a personal record for my time, though I doubted it.  I thought I had plenty of time to put my life in order as I plodded along the 13.1 mile course.

The first bib that took my breath away read:  “I run in memory of my daughter, RYAN”.  The runner wore a purple shirt and she was a few years younger than me. The thought of my own daughter, her beautiful smile and bright future, flashed before me. When I passed Ryan’s mom on the course I touched her shoulder and said, “Bless you.” I didn’t know what else to say.  I was humbled, I was devistated, I was in awe. Selfishly I think I was blessing her for taking on so such pain so I didn’t have to.  She smiled and thanked me for running.  It’s the least I could do.  Throughout the course people thanked me for running, thanked me for being a hero.  All I could think was, “You are the real heroes.  You still keep going day after day.  I just raised a little money…”

The rest of the race I read every bib and felt my heart break a little more.  I ached for them, for everyone who has lost a child (or loved one) and still goes on.  Just as a half marathon or a marathon demands you push through the pain and keep going no matter what, I saw their resolution to keep going. To put one foot in front of the other and keep moving.  It can be a struggle on both accounts; the race and life.  I knew I couldn’t stop.  I couldn’t slow down or give up.  It was about something more now.  With every ache I thought of it as taking just a little of their pain on myself. How glorious it would be if we could do that…if we could somehow distribute in the pain across everyone so it could be more tolerable for us all!

I didn’t spend the race thinking about my future.  I didn’t think about finding a new job or blog posts or business plans as I passed mile after mile. It really didn’t matter anymore. I thought about how you can train and prepare for a race all you want, but life is a free-for-all.  No training, no preparation in the world can make losing a child (or watching them suffer) easier. I thought about losing my mom to cancer and how the words “they found a spot on my lung” changed my life forever.  I realized this race isn’t about me and my performance. It’s about everyone on the course and everyone cheering on the sidelines.  Everyone has a different reason to be here, a different goal and purpose.  And every one of them is important. It was about every single child, parent, friend or relative suffering in the world.  It was about coming together with humanity to show empathy and take on just a little of the pain.

When I wear my race shirt I’m not going to be boasting about finishing a half marathon. I’ll be boasting about my part in humanity. A reminder that we’re in this world together and together we’ll finish strong.

PS. Please consider giving to St. Jude’s.  My personal fundraising page is still open through January 2018 and you can find it here.  You can also donate directly here.

 

Breaking the Habit of Hibernation

Until a few years ago autumn meant one thing to me: hunting season.  When my ex husband headed out to hunt, I headed to my chair to knit. I gave up trail running and hiking to avoid the possibility of being shot (or that’s the excuse I used).  I hunkered down and started on my list of Christmas presents for the family, made tea and watched cozy British mysteries.  It was the beginning of a six month hibernation.  After I divorced and met Troy, all that changed.

Autumn is now my busiest season of the year.  The transition out of summer means the air no longer feels thick and heavy, making both running and hiking easier, giving us ample opportunity to knock a few more races and peaks off our lists. Our already active life kicks into overdrive. Troy runs 2-3 marathons each fall as he makes his way through the 50 states challenge. He has 28 left.  I tag along and run the matching half marathon so I have something to do and to keep in shape. We are also making our way through the 48 4000 footers in the NH White Mountains.  We’re almost to 20.  Have I mentioned geocaching, working full time and trying to keep up with my writing too?

As autumn kicks in, I have to push myself a little harder to keep up with my half-marathon training. Not because I hate running, but because there’s something almost ingrained in my DNA to pick up needles and fine wool once the weather starts to cool even slightly. I love the feel of yarn slipping through my fingers as I work up a hat, a cowl, a baby sweater or some other random creation. Generations before me have passed their love of knitting down through my genes and into my fingers.  Yarns that were impossible to get decades before are now available in every yarn shop or online.  Skeins of wool taken off Alpacas raised in the Andes are delivered to my door in a brown cardboard box, tempting me, calling to me as I lace up my sneakers and force myself out the door.

This new lifestyle is wonderful and I truly do love it, but a 20 year habit of seasonal laziness takes a little time to break! Despite my overwhelming desire to forget the run and pick up my latest project, I know what I need to do in order to succeed. It’s not easy forcing myself out the door for a long run, but compromise is key.  Ten and a half miles and one hot shower later and I’m able to reward myself with an afternoon of knitting and cozy British mysteries!   It truly is the best of both worlds!

Who I want to be…

I woke up one morning recently and realized I’m where I always wanted to be. And you know what happened to the girl who got everything she ever wanted? She lived happily ever after. Okay, I might have stolen that line from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, but it’s the first thing that popped into my mind. Willy (the Gene Wilder one, not Depp) smiling at Charlie as he broke through the ceiling of the factory and soared above the pain, suffering and despair below him (and now in his past). People tell you to be careful what you wish for but I didn’t just wish myself happy. I didn’t just start to think happy thoughts. I dug deep, cracked open and blossomed. While positive affirmations are a big help, being receptive to change and setting the intention to change is very, very different. I had to shake off things that no longer served me and while it was hard, I did it.

I’ve been thinking about my mom a lot. I became the hippie I am today because of who she was. Her struggles, her anger and her fear were catalysts to make me stronger, gentler and more accepting of myself. That was her greatest gift to me; to allow me to become who I am and accept who I am. Right before she died I was trying to get her to eat something. It was diced pears (the last thing she ate) and she’d have nothing to do with them after one bite. She was looking at me with those tired, tired blue eyes. I now think she was burning my soul into hers so she would recognize it again when she returned. Teasingly I said, "You never thought you’d raise a hippie, did you?" She quickly said, "No!" with almost a proclamation of disbelief. She’d always complained about my food choices (damned hippie) and how I raised my kids. I was (and am!) too soft on them. But I could see she was proud of who I’d become. I hadn’t been a failure after all. And most important, she knew I’d be okay. I had no other option. She had given me all her strength and determination, leaving none for herself.

The past year has been one hell of a journey. Loss, acceptance, new love (not only my partner, but most importantly, love for myself). I have gone on a tremendous journey of self-discovery, tearing down all I thought I should be and welcoming the person I am. So many lessons run through my mind, body and soul. Some seemed to hit me like a brick this morning; others have been brewing and bubbling to the surface one understanding at a time.

· The journey happens whether you like it or not.

· And whether you notice or not. The days tick by and you need to be happy as much as possible. I have bad days–they pass. I have good days–they, too, pass. Each day passes no matter what.

· I try to be as happy as possible and take the sad days as temporary. I am a lot more aware of why I’m unhappy and if I don’t, my years of journaling have allowed me to crack open and get to the heart of the matter. Which is usually my fear of not being enough one way or another.

· I’ve learned to work through the stories I tell myself and put them to rest. Too often I create scenarios on why someone said something or didn’t say something, and bring myself into a dark place. All because of the stories I’ve created in my mind. They are self-inflicted. I used to think it was because I’m a writer, but it’s because I’m human.

· I’ve had a very long journey to get here and while not every day is a success, fewer and fewer are spent in pain.

· When I live my passions, I am at peace. Reading, yoga, nature, writing and research. When I make time and space for these five elements, I am being true to myself and am able to truly feel comfort and solace.

I love who I’ve become and I’m proud as hell that I’ve allowed myself to become her. Her strength, love, understanding and acceptance is beyond what I could have imagined a year ago. I am at peace for the first time in many, many years. I live true to my nature. I am happy!

Namaste.

My Momma’s Hippie

I woke up one morning recently and realized I’m where I always wanted to be.  And you know what happened to the girl who got everything she ever wanted? She lived happily ever after.  Okay, I might have stolen that line from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, but it’s the first thing that popped into my mind.  Willy (the Gene Wilder one, not Depp) smiling at Charlie as he broke through the ceiling of the factory and soared above the pain, suffering and despair below him (and now in his past).  People tell you to be careful what you wish for but I didn’t just wish myself happy.  I didn’t just start to think happy thoughts.  I dug deep, cracked open and blossomed.  While positive affirmations are a big help, being receptive to change and setting the intention to change is very, very different.  I had to shake off things that no longer served me and while it was hard, I did it.

I’ve been thinking about my mom a lot. I became the hippie I am today because of who she was. Her struggles, her anger and her fear were catalysts to make me stronger, gentler and more accepting of myself.  That was her greatest gift to me; to allow me to become who I am and accept who I am.  Right before she died I was trying to get her to eat something.  It was diced pears (the last thing she ate) and she’d have nothing to do with them after one bite.  She was looking at me with those tired, tired blue eyes.  I now think she was burning my soul into hers so she would recognize it again when she returned.  Teasingly I said, “You never thought you’d raise a hippie, did you?”  She quickly said, “No!” with almost a proclamation of disbelief.  She’d always complained about my food choices (damned hippie) and how I raised my kids. I was (and am!) too soft on them.  But I could see she was proud of who I’d become.  I hadn’t been a failure after all.  And most important, she knew I’d be okay.  I had no other option. She had given me all her strength and determination, leaving none for herself.

The past year has been one hell of a journey.  Loss, acceptance, new love (not only my partner, but most importantly, love for myself).  I have gone on a tremendous journey of self-discovery, tearing down all I thought I should be and welcoming the person I am.  So many lessons run through my mind, body and soul.  Some seemed to hit me like a brick this morning; others have been brewing and bubbling to the surface one understanding at a time.

• The journey happens whether you like it or not.
• And whether you notice or not.  The days tick by and you need to be happy as much as possible. I have bad days–they pass.  I have good days–they, too, pass.  Each day passes no matter what.
• I try to be as happy as possible and take the sad days as temporary.  I am a lot more aware of why I’m unhappy and if I don’t, my years of journaling have allowed me to crack open and get to the heart of the matter.  Which is usually my fear of not being enough one way or another.
• I have the resources to heal myself.  Journaling, Brene Brown books, a little Agatha Christie and most importantly, quality (and quantity) time on my mat.  Going within isn’t scary; it’s peace.
• I’ve learned to work through the stories I tell myself and put them to rest.  Too often I create scenarios on why someone said something or didn’t say something, and bring myself into a dark place. All because of the stories I’ve created in my mind.  They are self-inflicted.  I used to think it was because I’m a writer, but it’s because I’m human.
• I’ve had a very long journey to get here and while not every day is a success, fewer and fewer are spent in pain.
• When I live my passions, I am at peace. Reading, yoga, nature, writing and research.  When I make time and space for these five elements, I am being true to myself and am able to truly feel comfort and solace.

I love who I’ve become and I’m proud as hell that I’ve allowed myself to become her.  Her strength, love, understanding and acceptance is beyond what I could have imagined a year ago.  I am at peace for the first time in many, many years.  I live true to my nature. I am happy!

Namaste.

 

Wartime Knitting Culture…it’s a thing?

I love history.  That’s not a new revelation for anyone who knows me even remotely well. The past few years I’ve been fascinated with the role knitting had in the war effort. Specifically, how knitting was used to build solidarity in times of war.  Women and children (and men!) were asked to pick up their needles for “the cause”.  Asked to make socks, hats, gloves, scarves and anything else that could ease the discomfort of a soldier at war.  Propaganda posters were everywhere and they weren’t afraid to shame you into it.  Pattern books were distributed, knitting circles were everywhere and men were encouraged to pick up needles and help out while convalescing.  We all know the saying, “idle hands do the Devil’s work” and it was made very clear if you weren’t knitting, you weren’t helping.  It was so important that women, children and men posed for portraits holding their knitting.  Perhaps to prove they were knitting their bit.  No one would accuse them of slacking off; it was captured for all the world to see.

But I also love to knit.  To be specific, I love to knit for other people.  Hats, scarves, sweaters, gloves, I enjoy the process of taking a beautiful skein of yarn and turning it into something. I love the heritage entwined in the stitches.  I love that I was given a talent that has been lost throughout the years. Like I’m some kind of “keeper of the stitches” or something cool like that. Thankfully my mom taught me when I was a young girl and I kept it up, but somewhere along the way, knitting became uncool.  It became something only old ladies did. Who would want to knit their own stuff when they had the ability to buy it? The money to buy it.  Homemade became obsolete. But as a knitter, I feel I’m a part of something much bigger than myself.  I’m part of group of elite people who can take two sticks, a ball of fiber and make something of it.  This race is rarely selfish.  We are excited to share patterns, stories and tips.  We will stop our own project to help you with yours.  We will knit squares and hats and mittens and anything else that is needed for charity.  Need a hat? No problem!  Let me whip that up for you!

The call to needles in the face of war has always captured my attention.  When I functioned as curator of my local historical society, I did an exhibit showing local knitters and the war effort.  I’ve been blessed to receive all my grandmother’s knitting patterns, many dating back to the 1930s when everything was made on tiny needles with tiny yarn (ugh).  They are grand to look at, but I wonder at the patience it must have taken to construct a dress from size 1 needles and fingering weight yarn.  In our age of cheap clothing and instant gratification, I am in awe of the perseverance it must have taken.  You must have really, really wanted something if you spent hours, weeks (if not more) creating that perfect piece. Then again, you had one or two nice sweaters, not twenty, and they lasted years.  The time of overabundance hadn’t happened yet.  Think of all the socks in your drawer and then try to image being a soldier in the Civil War, WWI or WWII who would have done anything for two pair. Two.

A time when knitting was a sign of love. I wonder who’s knitting for me? Who really loves me? Who will take the time to knit me a pair of socks on tiny needles with tiny yarn….spending their free time on ME?.

What was the culture of wartime knitting?  Were knitters called upon because they were already a generous, hardworking culture, or did they become that way because of the demands placed upon them?  Why isn’t it passed on from generation to generation like it used to be? Did knitting die off because of the convenience of ready-made items, or because people were sick and tired of doing it and needed a break?   It seemed to drop off right after the war efforts ended.  Is that a coincidence?  These are just a few of the questions that keep me up at night.  Yeah, I need a life.

As research is my other favorite hobby, I’ll be diving into wartime knitting culture over the next few months to try and stitch it all together in my mind (hah).  Because I, for one, cannot look at an old picture and wonder, “who made that scarf, and what pattern did they use?”   Stay along if you wish and you might find out something cool.  Or you can skip over these blogs.  Completely your choice 🙂

Pretty Proud in Pink

It was dreadful.  And it was pink.  But it was the first sweater I’d ever actually finished, including the horrible and much dreaded sewing of the stupid thing together.  To this day, I’ll find a pattern that is in the round instead of having to sew seams. I not only hate it, I suck at it too.  But on this Christmas morning, somewhere around 1986, my mother was as proud as punch.  You can see it in her beautiful face.  But I also knew how much she loved it because through all the moves, the heartache and tragedy she would go through over the next 28 years, she kept it.  I found it in her closet as we cleaned out her house after she died.  Now it’s in mine.

My mom taught me to knit when I was old enough to hold the needles.  I know I was young because we were still a family, living in our beautiful old Victorian in Norway, Maine. My family was still a unit then, however strained it might have been.  I loved that old house.  Room after room full of memories; echos of the past floating down the hallways and the carpeted staircase.  The memories drifted into the den, the formal living room with a fireplace that housed our Christmas tree each year, the bookshelf-lined dining room and bedroom; my soul returns there often.  I remember every inch of that old beauty.  It was my home and part of me remained behind.  Perhaps it was my innocence.  When we left, we were alone.  Dad had moved and was remarrying.  Mom, who had poured her heart and soul into the house, had no choice but to pack us up and move.  It was too much for her to handle on her own.  Everything went into cardboard boxes and moving vans.  Our life would never be simple and carefree again.

Like our lives, mom loved to take the scraps and make them into something.  Her signature was her patchwork sweaters made in every and any color she had remaining from bigger projects.  When she died, I bet my family I’d find at least part of a patchwork sweater she’d started.  And I won.  Mom was like that.  No matter what life threw her way, she made it work.  It wasn’t always pretty.  It didn’t always work.  But she never stopped trying. She never stopped trying to make the best of what she had.  And I love her for it.

Jim and me with our famous creations 🙂