Rustbelt

Grief is a funny thing.  It smacks into you with the force of a high speed train, but then lingers in the wreckage, a low pulsing underneath the debris, waiting to seep out into the light.  And it does seep, from time to time, taking over your being until the dust settles over it again. 

It takes a long time to clean up after a wreck. 

Things with my dad are not great right now; he developed a MRSA infection after a procedure and is on heavy-duty antibiotics and 4 liters of oxygen in an isolation unit.  His chemo is on hold until they can get the infection under control.  

My baby goddaughter and her parents are moving to faraway Texas this month, and today is probably the last time we'll see the family for some time.  My kids are all wrecked about it since they love her like a sister and are eager baby minders.  I'm so sad to lose this family from our parish I almost can't bear it.  

My sense of taste and smell is still off, almost two years after my C-19 infection, and I'm trying to make peace with the reality that it may never come back to normal.  It makes my already complicated food life that much more difficult. 

Wreckage.  Debris.  Dust.  

I was reminded this morning, however, that we should not place our hope in outcomes.  Our hope is the Lord's presence in the journey, not the destination.   So I will straighten my bowed shoulders, try to work out the kinks in my stress-knotted neck and back muscles, and hope in the journey.  Or try to, anyway.

 

I mentioned a few posts back that I finished my Mackworth sweater right before Thanksgiving.  This was my second attempt at colorwork, and I thoroughly enjoyed the yoke. My floats came out more even too; there is only a tiny bit of puckering in the first two charts.

I won't lie, the body was a bit tedious, and I spent many a swim lesson this summer slogging through the miles of stockinette in the round.  It is always tricky to get the body length right for my short torso--somewhere between 10-11" from the underarm is good, but even 1/2" too long or short and it looks odd. 

I'm very happy with the length and thrilled with the fit of it.  I think it blocked out at just over 10 inches.  My only complaint is that the amount of main color yarn needed was vastly overstated--I have 4.5 balls left.  Never fear, I'm sure I'll figure out something to do with them!

In my experience, that happens a lot with knitting patterns.  Kate Davies is the only designer I've found to consistently get the yardage estimation right across the sizes.   

As I wrote previously, this silky noil skirt is getting much more wear since I shortened it a bit.  I am very happy with the fit and sweep of it, and am glad to find it more or less works for chilly temps, as long as I pair it with wool tights.

Another maker that I follow wrote recently that the past two years have changed who she is so much that some of her previous makes no longer suit her, even though she finds herself in a much happier place overall.  She said there is a little bit of sadness in having to rediscover who she is with regard to her making. 

 

It's been a while since I did a complete wardrobe overhaul, but this fall has sort of put me there without my having set out to do so.  Some pieces I've been wearing for a long time just don't look or feel right on me this year.  Maybe they always looked off, but I felt good in them at the time.  Some makes or thrifted finds are coming to the end of their life span--the fabric is faded and starting to fray and crease, or it just looks tired.  

In a way, there is some relief in taking things out of my wardrobe that have been worn to pieces, don't fit, or make me feel nuts.  There is some satisfaction in wearing soft waistbands most days and feeling okay about it as a style choice.  It is lovely to finally have a knit top pattern that fits exactly the way I want it to, and I don't have to tuck it in for it to look nice.  I've discovered that my hot flashes are easier to manage if my tops are untucked and a bit less fitted, paired with easily removable layers. 

 

My body has changed (and continues to change as I am getting older), and how I move through the world has changed.  Mostly for the better, but there is still some dislocation in having to redefine the boundaries of the self.  Perhaps there always will be.  And perhaps it is silly to figure those things out through clothes, but that's where I live right now.  So be it.