Going home again

Rooting around in the archives in search of a name for my next sweater design I came across this beaded toy in Dad’s keepsake box. A poignant childhood memory, I see it hanging from the rearview mirror of my parents’ gray Buick as he drove. Sometimes I sat in Dad’s lap as he did. These were simpler times to be sure, before we knew better.

In that same box and stemming from that same time period I found the purchase and sales agreement for the house I grew up in. It turns out that Dad saved things too. Renters up until this point, on July 18, 1958 my parents bought their first home for $14,200. We weren’t rich, and this was surely a financial stretch, but the bank granted the mortgage and there we lived, in this house in the suburbs of Boston, for 16 years – idyllic years as I recall them, through the haze of my childhood.

My memories of the neighborhood are good ones, with some of the friends I made there still in my life even now. And when I’m nearby I often detour through its streets to conjure up cozy thoughts.

Prompted by our current political and social climate I recently read The Color of Law by Richard Rothstein (A Forgotten History of How Our Government Segregated America), and I thought back to my old neighborhood. In the mid 60’s a black family moved into a house on the next block. Following that, several of their neighbors – my neighbors – put their houses on the market and moved away.  I wish my parents were still alive so I could ask them more about it from their adult perspective at that time. My new classmate Teddy and his sister were the only two black children in my elementary school and I can only imagine their experience. The thought makes me cringe. Armed now with newfound knowledge from my reading I see that their ability to purchase a home in our middle-class white neighborhood was likely a result of Fair Housing Acts initiated by our government during that decade. Prior to that it’s very possible no mortgage would have been made available to them.

I was on my way to a pal’s house for dinner yesterday and decided to visit my neighborhood again for a quick reminiscence. As I traveled familiar streets, I now noticed many front lawns with newly placed placards posted in support of the police – coded racist responses to Black Lives Matter. Deflated, I turned around and went on my way. I don’t think I’ll go back. My comforting nostalgia is no longer found there. Maybe it never was. Maybe it lived only in my child-mind’s eye, recalled during simpler times, before I knew better.

Where My Heart Is – my latest knit design, published October 3, 2020.

Because she likes it

With my hair ever shorter these days, I felt suddenly adventurous about earrings. Let’s try something new, I considered. The thought led me next to the stacked boxes on my bureau – Container Store purchases that stored Marlene’s and Mildred’s jewelry, now intermingled with my own, and with Juliet’s left behind from her childhood. Armed with a dust cloth and silver polish I dived in – like an archaeological dig. The favored trinkets from four generations were sure to provide fresh styling perspective, and a surprise or two.

Each of us unique in our fashion choices, a sign of our times and our selves – we knew what we liked.

Mildred wore these in the 50’s, and later. During those years she dressed for dinner, even dinners she cooked herself for her family at home.

Marlene was a statement maker – the jewelry wearing equivalent of go big or go home. One of her last jobs was behind the counter in the Museum Store at our local mall. She spent most of her salary on the merchandise there, taking full advantage of her employee discount.

My taste has always been understated – plain, I dare say. I made the silver pendant shown below in the bottom row when I was 18 and hadn’t seen it since then. After a polish it came back to life and I was glad to find it. It still appeals to me. I’m wearing it now.

And here are the sweet jewelry vestiges of my teenage Juliet whose style preferences were just then coming into her view.

I apologize in advance for all of this that’s surely heading her way someday, though she’ll likely enjoy its explorations as I am now, while adding more of her own adult collection to the mix.

There have been other discoveries too, worthy of note, such as this charm bracelet – my first piece of jewelry.

And this.

As I recall, my standout early childhood toys were Lincoln Logs, an Erector Set from Uncle Sonny, a miniature car racing track, and a cowboy costume complete with this sheriff’s badge – shown peeking in from the lower edge of my portrait.

“Why do you let her play with these things,” my uncle once asked Dad, his question undoubtedly prompted by the gender roles of the times.

“Because she likes it,” my Dad responded, as simply as that. He knew his girl well, and let her be.

How lucky am I.

How Lucky Am I, my latest knit design, published 6/20/2020, and

Because She Likes It, published 7/1/2020.

Johanna revisited

I’ve just republished my Johanna design, named for my maternal great, great, grandmother – prompting my customary pause to get to know her, my knit pattern namesake. Always a welcomed offshoot of my knitwear enterprise, off I go to research physical and online family records, and reveal her story.

In July of 1858 Johanna was born to George Stepat and Anna Puttenat in Speyer, Prussia (now Germany) – a city on the left bank of the Rhine River, near France. Quite the older sister, when she was thirteen her brother Otto was born (1866), and at nineteen brother Julius joined the family (1872).

Johanna married Albert Stieg in 1874, and together they had one son (Oscar 1876) and seven daughters (Martha 1877, Louise 1878, (Annie 1879 and Annie 1880, both of whom died in infancy), Emma 1881, Bertha 1882, and Augusta (Gussie) 1886). Soon after Gussie’s birth, Johanna, then 28, and Albert 33 moved their young family to the United States and settled in South Boston. Her parents, George and Anna, and her brothers, moved with them (my great, great, great, grandparents, and uncles). Once they settled in, two more daughters (Harriet (Hattie) 1888 and Florence (Flossie) 1891) were born. Of them all I knew only Hattie, my knitting mentor, who lived a good long life – overlapping, in fact, with the birth of my daughter Juliet. With no obvious unrest that I could find during that time in German history, it’s likely their migration was motivated more simply by a search for new opportunity. On October 28th, 1886, President Grover Cleveland oversaw the dedication of the Statue of Liberty in front of thousands of spectators.  Immigrants were welcomed into our country back then, they are less so now.

Census records provide a window into the family’s whereabouts. By 1900 they’re renting an apartment at 633 Seventh Street – to my delight and by way of Google street view, in a house that is identical to my own current residence. Occupations on the form list Albert’s as cigar maker, Johanna’s none implies homemaker, and Bertha’s as making paper boxes. The remaining children, Gussie, Hattie, and Flossie, are at school. Fourteen years after their arrival the 1910 census finds them at the same residence with fewer children at home. Hattie and Flossie have joined their father at the cigar factory. By then, sadly, Bertha has died and Oscar probably has too since only five children are listed as number now living. (They lost Emma at age three before leaving Germany.)

By 1920 they’ve moved to 25 Hallam Street, a house I once drove by on an idle Sunday afternoon just to see and feel it, though I imagine it’s quite different these days from how it had been 100 years earlier. The Spanish Flu epidemic that ravaged Boston in 1918 seems to have left the family intact. It’s an experience I can identify with now. I wonder if they were afraid.

In 1930 I was surprised to find Johanna and Albert living in Chicago with daughter Gussie (listed curiously by her middle name Elizabetha) and her son, named (funnily to me) August, after her – almost a Jr., close enough. When Johanna died in 1934 at the age of 76, Albert moved back to Boston, and lived out his remaining days with daughter Flossie and her family. He died six years later.

A few family photos follow, from the archives, shown in estimated chronological order based on scrutiny and a bunch of educated guesses.

Albert and Johanna c1900

The Stepat family, from left - Otto, mother Anna, Johanna, and Julius c1900

Albert, Johanna (center), and family c1905

Johanna (back right) c1919

Family reunion, Johanna (lower right, second row) c1922

My study has been time well spent. Tracking her life Johanna is more real to me now, in a broad-brush view. She’s part of me and mine.

Keeping kindred spirits alive.

On Guam

Looking through the family albums recently I came across my father’s Brownie snapshots documenting his deployment to Guam just before the Korean War – 112 two inch, black and white photos, a sampling follows. The year was 1946, Dad was 18, and had just enlisted in the Navy. How wonderful to see him here so young.

He didn’t talk to me much about his service experience so I know only two things for certain about this time in his life. The first is that he was miserable and wrote sad, complaining letters home to his parents. And the second is that after a while his older brother Clem wrote back telling him to knock it off. “Cut it out, you’re worrying Ma.” as the story goes – the stuff of legends, the phrase that has lived in infamy as a laugh line in our Luke household. I still use it today when circumstances permit, and sometimes for a laugh, even when they don’t.

By 1952 Dad was home, married, and working as a civilian at the Navy Yard – the Boston Naval Shipyard. He began as a pipe fitter, installing and maintaining pipe systems in ships, and by the end of his career there had graduated to designing them. Predating CAD software, he drew large detailed maps by hand and to scale. The work suited him. I know because it appeals to me too. I am my father’s daughter.

We collaborated on several projects over the years. In the 70’s we made clogs, of all things. He cut the wood for soles and I shaped the leather uppers. A few years later we built a floor loom, and in the mid-90’s we partnered again on our Luke family tree. It was the last project we worked on together and a suitable swansong. While I provided tech support, he and Marlene trekked to east coast archives searching for documentation of our heritage.

Out of the blue the other day, my cousin Jerry (youngest son of infamous Clem) texted, asking if I had a copy of what Dad had compiled. I dug into his boxes and found his paperwork, all neatly organized – copies of birth, marriage, divorce, and death certificates, a large hand-drawn tree-chart, and galleys of the 125 page booklet he distributed to family members. It was impressive, complete with the following Introduction.

I love that he wrote this, that he had a good time on our project, and that he spelled my name Debby with a Y. Only a few people do, from my childhood. In these past 24 years since he’s been gone I’ve continued our work on family records, keying his hand-drawn charts, incorporating Marlene’s tree line, and tapping ancestry.com for new leads. I printed an updated family chart for cousin Jerry from my Epson.

For the past few years I’ve been using our research as source for my sweater names, and each time I go there I find something new. My Johanna design is currently on my list for reworking. I’ll change its knit direction and add metrics. Experimenting with its stitch pattern has led me to two new designs that I’ve now got underway. I’ll be publishing these next and they’ll be needing names.

Taking Jerry’s request as a sign…

Don’t worry Ma and Debby with a Y, two knit designs, coming soon. I’ll text and tweet upon their release.

Update:
Debby with a Y, published 4/1/2020
Don’t Worry Ma, published 5/12/2020

Skating away

During the winter of 72 the temperature dropped well below freezing for four straight weeks. I confirmed this recently by a google search of meteorological history in the Boston area. And during that time, unbelievably, the Charles River froze over.

Knowing my father, he watched the river during those frigid weeks on his commute from work, traveling its route home every evening as he, and it, wound through Cambridge. He watched as each cold day followed the next, and he waited. I’ll never know the brave soul who ventured out first on that impossibly frozen river, but it’s likely Dad watched for that too, and once enough people did, so did we.

Since the onset of adult responsibility, the winter season has admittedly lost much of its luster for me. Childhood excitement of snow forts and cancelled school days has long been replaced by requirements of shoveling and ice melt – but I’m working on it. There’s nothing like grandchildren for prompting a freshening of one’s jaded perspective.

It snowed last night and I woke up to find a measurable amount on the ground. This time I returned to bed, quieting my familiar monkey-mind thoughts of winter dread, returning instead to that day on the river.

And although Dad and I had many more skate days together, this was definitely our best – the day I’ll be calling to mind with forecasts of snow.

Skating Away, my latest knit, coming soon.

Update: Skating Away published 2/5/2020

Win place show

With a few of Marlene’s boxes still in the basement after 10 years, by now almost 11, the review of their contents was long overdue. Plus we needed the space. When I finally took a look, to my surprise amidst packing peanuts I found them filled with Juliet’s keepsakes – the toys that lived at my parent’s house, bought by them so their granddaughter would feel at home when she visited. Some were familiar to me, even duplicates of those she had at home, while others were not. As I unpacked and assembled each among the new toys I’ve got now for my Violet and Jack, I found I liked the idea of their mother’s toys being part of their treasures here, along with even some of my own – such as my storybooks from great aunt Hilda. It flattens time.

There were other things in the boxes too, her dishes, and drawings – and these.

Their flip-side tells the tale.

In the early 1960’s my parents and I would play Community Auditions after dinner. Community Auditions was a popular New England based television show first airing in the 50s when I was a kid. Local talent performed and was voted on by the viewing audience via postcard. Winners were announced the following week. I can sing the entirety of its theme song even now – Star of the Day who will it be? Your vote may hold the key… – as can everyone else of my generation who grew up in the area, I’d say.

Mum, Dad, and I would separately dance or sing, then vote, and I would win. I would always win – except the night I didn’t. Apparently earlier on that particular evening Mum and Dad had had a parental discussion, and believing it would be better for my childhood development for me not to expect to always win they determined Marlene would take the prize that night. So after our performances, the drum roll… and I still remember the shock of Dad’s announcement. “Wow,” he would say even years later, recalling my reaction, “Imagine if…” And while I’m not entirely sure it was my loving parents who needed to teach me that lesson, the one I’d most certainly learn on the playground soon after, it’s no matter. On the front lines of raising me right I know that my well-being was their only concern.

Years later, with their granddaughter Juliet spending frequent weekends at their place, my parents created a world for her filled with cardboard playhouses and plastic tea sets, games of miniature golf, and, come to find out, their own version of Community Auditions. Who knew! It’s noteworthy that in those keepsake boxes I found no paper medals for Juliet in 2nd place – on their 1st place pedestal she stayed, always winning the gold.

Grandparents. That’s how we roll.

Win Place Show, my latest knit design, published 1/8/2020.

one turtle, two turtles

I spied this sweet porcelain turtle on my bureau the other day. A gift from great aunt Mitzi brought back from one of her trips to England in the 60’s, it had been sitting there for a while, but for some reason it caught my attention just then. Mitzi had brought us two – one for Marlene and one for me – but with only one in sight by now, I was certain its mate was sadly gone for good.

Then yesterday while steaming my new knit currently underway I glanced over at Juliet’s storage area. We have her old toys in plastic bins, and thinking our Violet and Jack will be ready for them soon I took a random look inside one.

See what I found!

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My new knit underway has been spawned from my previously published Innamorata (shown below), a short sleeved pullover that I named for one of Marlene’s favorite Dean Martin songs.

Innamorata c2014

Drawn to its romantic front and back V-neckline, I went at it again, this time with new yarn and the Mock English Rib texture I’ve been exploring in At the seaside and Carousel. In addition to the change in texture, this new design has longer sleeves and is worked top down – my preference of late. I’m almost finished.

Once done I’ll revisit Innamorata to revise its knit direction, and following the lead of our turtles, I’ll offer them up as a pair.

Back then, while Marlene was listening to Dean Martin, it was Joni Mitchell for me.

Both sides now – my latest knit design, and top down Innamorata, coming soon.

Update: Both sides now, published 7/25/2019; and Top-down Innamorata, republished 8/6/2019

The circle game

Sometimes, when I'm in the area, I drive by my childhood home. 

This came to mind recently when Karen texted to tell me that our Carousel School was closing – the nursery school we had attended in the late 50’s.  There would be a farewell open house, a chance to revisit.

Karen was my first friend and we found each other again a few years ago, on twitter. 

"Do you have a mom named Tina?" I tweeted, after some online sleuthing.  "Yes!" she responded, and we simply picked up where we had left off years before – like bookends on our lives I sometimes think, appealing strangely to my penchant for neatness.

I lived on Temple Road during my formative school years, from the age of four through my high school graduation when my parents felt finally free to spread their wings, forcing me to spread mine.  They moved six times after that, the last after Dad was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer – his last selfless act to ensure Mum would be near to me.  Thinking of you today and always Dad, Happy Father's Day.

I used to check the open house listings in the home sales section of our Sunday paper to see if I'd find my old address there.  I hoped only for a walk through, to see my bedroom again and retrace my steps. I've lived longer by far in my current residence, and yet my childhood home still calls to me.  I know it would be different now, with its new occupants and the passage of time, but I’m sure there'd be hints of us still.  Dad had built on an addition back then and we had dug our initials in the new cellar's wet cement.  I'd definitely find that.  And with luck and some magic, maybe I’d find that missing puzzle piece on my closet floor – that dragonfly inside the jar. 

 Carousel – my latest knit design, coming soon.

Update: Carousel, published 6/20/2019.

At the seaside

When I was down beside the sea
A wooden spade they gave to me
To dig the sandy shore.

My holes were empty like a cup.
In every hole the sea came up
Till it could come no more.

As usual, my sweater name search yields unexpected finds, such as this poem At the Seaside, by Robert Louis Stevenson from A Child’s Garden of Verses – a tattered book by now, given to my mother as a child by her aunt Hilda, and these “a day in the life” family photos – interesting to me both visually and historically, from the archives.

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On July 29, 1922 the Stieg clan enjoyed their day at the seaside.

In the photo above, my great great grandmother Johanna stands in the center of the back row, with great aunt Hilda on her right side and great great aunt Hattie on her left.  Hattie’s husband William kneels in front of her holding one of their 3 sons born by this time – it’s most likely Paul at 2 years old given the dates I know. Paul was my godfather. Their oldest, William Jr., is the 5 year old wearing the sailor top with the dark tie, and their youngest, Donald, is the infant in Hattie’s arms.  Donald died too young during WWII at the age of 23. 

Taking a deep dive into my family tree, the rest of the children likely belong to my great great aunt Flossie, the younger woman wearing glasses.  She had 6, and among the 5 born by this time, 3 were girls – matching the number of those unidentified in the photos, some wearing bows in their hair.  Flossie’s first marriage to Joseph ended with his death after only one year.  I don’t know what happened. Their son William, the 9 year old in the photo above, was later adopted by James, her second husband, and took his name. 

Knowing bits of how their lives turned out makes me stop and wonder what’s in store – but I guess it’s best not to dwell.  Why spoil the surprise.

The weather’s getting warmer in the northern hemisphere these days, and I’m surely ready for it. My yarn’s lighter and my needles are thinner.
Summer knitting has begun.

At the Seaside – my next sweater design, coming soon.

Update:  At the Seaside, published 5/29/2019.

Shawl collar v-neck

I’ve been working on a new knit design lately, coming back slowly and surely from the mysterious injury of my knitter’s elbow. The project is nearing its end and soon I’ll be needing its name, but so far none have come to me. Last night I went looking through the family binders for inspiration with no luck. So today I decided to focus on my hard drive – where by now I’ve been for a while.

Before it was all knitting all the time for me, I enjoyed making books and boxes for my printed photo collections. I came across one while name searching – a project I worked on in 2007. I had been taking a photography class at NESOP and self portrait was the assignment.

The photos were taken on my birthday that year – a coincidence for sure, but I like the added autobiographical emphasis. And 12 years later a self portrait series by me that includes my Bill still rings true – though sadly by now, same love, different kitty.

A while after these were taken I reused the photos in a new collection, as the basis for one that now featured the pattern instructions for the purple knit I’m wearing throughout,

and one that I bundled all up in its own paper cover, for posterity.

I was glad to have found all the files for this project on my hard drive stored in a folder of its own – even though it was named tragically as Shawl collar v-neck.

Needless to say, my name search continues. I’ll report back.

Martha

Peter and I have a daily ritual of watching Leave it to Beaver each morning over coffee. It’s really kind of embarrassing. Initially we just wanted to get away from the news – we’re up at 6 each day and by the time Beaver comes on at 8 we’re toast – but by now we watch because, well, we like it. Jerry Mathers, the actor who plays Beaver, is about my age and it’s set in the late 1950’s early 60’s – the time of our childhood. June Cleaver is his stay-at-home mom, and a homemaker who does housework wearing a dress and pearl necklace. She doesn’t drive (at least I don’t think she does – otherwise wouldn’t she have been able to take the boys to the track meet in the episode when Lumpy’s car broke down?), and she defers to her husband Ward on all matters of importance.

It’s an idealized view to be sure, but the series makes me think. Although Marlene often allowed Dad to take lead, not much of the rest rings true for me. Mum had a job and went to work each day while I attended nursery school, elementary school and so on. She drove. Was she ahead of her time?

I recently updated a knit design named for my great-grandmother Martha, once again giving me the opportunity to dive into family records, this time for a closer look at her story.

Martha Steig c1893

Martha Theresa Louisa Steig (b. 1877 in Germany) migrated to the US with her family in 1887 when she was 10.

At the age of 20 she married Albert Ulrich Ziegler (b. 1874). They had 5 children: Lillian Hildegarde (b. 1898), Arnold (b. 1900), Mildred (b. 1901), Walter (b. 1906), and Albert (b. 1911). The oldest, Lillian Hildegarde (Hilda), contracted polio as a child that left her handicapped.

Martha and Albert c1905

Martha and Albert c1916

Sadly, some years later Martha and Albert divorced, their discord caused primarily, as the family story goes, by their disagreement over Hilda’s college attendance. Huh?

I have confirmed that they were divorced at some point between 1920 and 1930 since the 1930 census indicates Mrs. M T Ziegler’s status as such and shows them living separately. Divorce was spoken of in whispers during the time of my childhood, never mind 2 full generations before that – and undertaken for reasons of a female child attending college?! Just wow. Although the messages were mixed – Martha feared that Hilda would not find a husband to support her financially – I’m struck by Martha’s obvious innovation, and courage. There was likely more to the story, but she wanted Hilda to attend college and Albert did not.

Fast forwarding to the end, college was attended and Hilda became an MIT librarian where she worked until her retirement in 1969. Thanks in part to mother Martha, she lived independently for all of her days.

Martha and Hilda c1925

Circling back to the beginning of my post, I like to think that the variation in Marlene’s 1950’s lifestyle might stem in part from something in her DNA, something maybe from Martha, that hopefully I got a bit of too. I’m going with that.

Martha, my latest knit redesign, just republished 3/27/2019.

Delicious toast

My grandparents Mildred and Harold (My Valentine), aka Nanny and Gramps, were fresh on my mind as I searched recently for the name of my latest knit design. We were close throughout my life, and they were often present, but it’s a few early memories that got me smiling, and as a new grandmother myself, began to resonate.

Sometimes when my parents had a late night out I would be lucky enough to have an overnight with Nanny and Gramps. It didn’t happen often and I was too young then (or maybe too old now) to remember too many details, but the experience based on early impressions was a good one.

There was the black alligator-printed valise just big enough for a 3 year old’s pajamas and tooth brush, a dinner stand-out of white rice with ketchup, and sleeping in the middle of a huge-to-me double bed. And in the next day’s sunny morning, I would eat Arnold Brick Oven white bread toasted and spread with margarine. Bliss.

I’m grateful for these memories, and all the rest from my loving and supportive home that shaped my filter on the world. This I don’t take for granted – which brings me next to my young occasional charge.

Whatever will this ladybug remember of her visits with me, Ninny, and her grandfather, Bop.

Perhaps this.

Delicious Toast, my latest knit design, just published 2/25/2019.

Hattie's needles

I relaunched a renovated Hattie pattern over the weekend. She’s top down now and reknitted in a worsted yarn, replacing the DK that had been discontinued. My only regret is that required new photos now replace the originals of my girl. See? Alas.

My Hattie pattern was published initially in January of 2011 – the fourth design in my newly formed Deb Hoss Knits endeavor, released after Marlene, Mildred, and Martha, (named for my mother, grandmother and great grandmother, respectively). Hattie deserves this prominence in my lineup as she was an early champion and mentor of my interests. It was on Hattie’s needles that Marlene taught me to knit after all. I gathered them up for this writing and was pleased to find so many – my old friends.

Sticker decorations courtesy of my Violet.

Harriet (Hattie) Stieg was born in 1888 in South Boston, the second youngest sister of my great grandmother Martha and 11 years her junior, nearly overlapping generations. I never got to meet Martha, who died when my mother was in high school, but I did meet Hattie. One summer day in the 60’s her son drove her out to our Waltham house. She would have been in her 70’s around then, and I would have been around 10. After birthing 4 sons, Hattie was likely delighted with my sewing interest and, no longer knitting herself, with finding a home for her fabrics and tools.

In researching for this post I came across these fun photos of Hattie’s crowd on a Florida vacation back in her day, c.1908.

Happily, as luck, or fate, would have it, Hattie had many, many days. She died in August of 1980 at the age of 92, overlapping 1 month with the life my daughter, her great great great niece Juliet born in July of that year. Amazing right?

Thank you Hattie, for your motivation and support. I carry it with me still.

For our wild child

Highlighting November activities – I’ve recently updated and relaunched the pattern for my Gussie design, a sport weight lace pullover.  Originally published in 2011, I reformatted the instructions and schematics, and added metrics with a row tracking tool – just to save knitters the step.

Gussie c 2018

While I was at it, I re-imagined her as Chunkie Gussie, recalculated stitches for aran weight yarn, and launched that pattern too. 
It’s fun to see how a simple change in the yarn effects the overall character of the design.

Chunkie Gussie c 2018

Which brings me next to their namesake – my aunt, my great great aunt, that is, and according to legend, our family’s wild child – Augusta Elisabetha Steig, aka Gussie.

In these photos taken around 1905, she would have been about 19 years old, and since the only images I have of her are at this age, there she stays for me.

I’m thinking of her now, forever young – and wonderfully wild. 

You go girl.

Mrs. Donahue

Peter received a gift from a friend recently of carefully packaged vintage newspapers where headlines highlighted historic sports events.  It’s a fun keepsake for sure, and one that our babies Violet and Jack might well enjoy too, someday… but knowing my penchant for neatness, and tendency to too quickly recycle (guilty as charged), he decided to store his treasure box deep in the bottom drawer of his bureau, where, come to find out, he puts other special items to ensure their safety – like our old address book, newly discovered.

Judging from its contents this is circa 1990s, right about the time I was keying our family data into my new apple computer – moving us too quickly into the future for my husband’s comfort I guess, hence its stashing. He came clean and revealed the find, expecting me to rip out the pages and uncoil the wire binding as prep for the recycle bin, but I couldn’t – at least not yet.  This was a time capsule and I needed a closer look.

Area codes were just then being assigned and required for calling.  I’d forgotten that transition.  I found addresses of friends and family who had moved away, or passed away, phone numbers for old employment, business contacts, and service people.  We were immersed in Juliet’s world then – her classmates and their parents, summer camp, her orthodontist.  My parent’s page had been erased and rewritten several times as evidence of their multiple moves since my high school graduation years before.  I kept them in my hometown too long, and they were like a clock wound too tightly that needed release.  And there were some names I don’t recognize at all, such as Mrs. Donahue, that honestly would freak me out a bit, except that Peter doesn’t remember them either.  It’s nice, at least, to have company on that front. 

I’ve lost track of many – no, most – of the people on these pages.  It happens, life goes on.  But remembered or not, as thank you to all the people who have participated in and enriched our lives along the way Mrs. Donahue will be the name of my next soon-to-be-published sweater design.

Let the recycling begin. 

Update:  Mrs. Donahue, my latest knit design, just published 9/15/2018. 

I know that look

I found this from my great aunt Hilda while rummaging about for my next sweater name.  She was big on thank you notes, sometimes even thanking us for a thank you note we had sent to her – that admittedly made us smile.  The year was 1983 and by this time Hilda resided in an assisted living facility.  Predating the internet, her letters to us were her lifeline and Marlene reciprocated.  I'm grateful for that.  This thank you from her was sent in response to shared photos of our recent Easter that year.  M kept Hilda in the loop about family news, particularly about my daughter Juliet, then just 2 1/2 years old and changing daily. 

Reading through, Hilda's handwriting is warmly familiar and I can hear her voice.  As a retired librarian she wrote well.  I find I even enjoy how it looks visually on the folded page – most definitely a futile plea for reviving this disappearing letter writing practice.

This exerpt got my attention. 

In the picture that shows Juliet alone she has a totally different expression from any others that I've seen.  In fact it's an expression I have just recently seen on the face of your cousin Martha McKee (Arnold's daughter).  And what's more, Walter made the same observation before I did (an independent thought for each of us).  That expression we first saw on the face of our mother, Juliet's great great grandmother!

As background – Hilda, Arnold, and Walter (mentioned above) and my grandmother Mildred were siblings.  It was in the face of my baby girl that both Hilda and Walter had found a familiar look, one that they had seen before in their own mother Martha, 4 generations before my girl.  How delightful that in Juliet's exponentially enhanced gene pool, Martha revealed herself to us this way.

Will my grandchildren's children's children find me in a sideways glance?  It's fun to think about.  Frankly, I'm planning to be there, in one form or another, whether they know it or not.

I Know That Look – my next sweater design – coming soon.

Update:  I Know That Look, my latest knit design, published 8/13/2018.

Paid in Full

While searching out a name for my latest knit design I serendipitously came across this delight – an ID card for my then 11 year old daughter Juliet from the Fafa/Mar Loan group, an agency founded by her grandparents, Bern (aka Fafa) and Marlene.

It seems that funds in the amount of $17.50 were needed by the young one and a teaching opportunity was hatched. This was so like my Dad, who delighted in all things Juliet.  At that time her emerging affinity for math, that likely originated from the gene pool of both him and Juliet's paternal grandmother (middle school math teacher) Lavalie, resulted in many happy after-dinner conference calls over homework assignments.  

In this lesson, he drew up the contract as she calculated principle and interest amounts for a 6 month repayment plan. 

It's noteworthy, that the loan was forgiven after month 1 – that was like him too. 

Bern and Marlene, proprietors of the Fafa/Mar Loan group

Thinking of my Dad on Father's Day.

Paid in Full – my next sweater design – coming soon.

Update:  Paid in Full, my latest knit design, published 6/29/2018.

Walk this way

Still smitten with the lace of Windfall, and especially its silk wool blend, I'm conjuring up a turtleneck now in the same knitted fabric, one that's sleeveless.  It's definitely something my chic Marlene would have worn.  Though our styles often differed, Mum taught me to love clothes, buy good ones, and take chances with fashion.  She walked that walk, and usually more bravely than I.  

Those who knew us both say we looked alike and I tend to agree.  I see her staring back at me in the mirror every morning as I brush my teeth.  And sometimes I hear her too – her words, her laugh – coming from me.  Our resemblance has given me curious benefits – of checking out hairstyles she wore that might work for me too (okay, joke), and seeing in advance how I'll likely look as the years go by (joke, not).   

Some years after we lost Dad she was lonely and feeling ready to venture out into the dating world.  She had some cosmetic work done to boost her confidence and was happy with the result.  "What do you think Doe?" she asked.  She called me Doe.  "I don't know M," I responded, "I don't really see a difference," a response that at the time was likely accompanied by an eye roll.  Well, I'm near to the age that she was then, and although I'm not entertaining the idea for myself, her motivation is now crystal clear.  I’m sorry Mum.  I should really have been more supportive.

Mother's Day is this weekend and I'll be visiting her soon – my semi-annual pilgrimage to Maine where she rests.  I'll fill her in about Violet and our new baby boy on his way, though I suspect by the manner she guides me each day, in some cosmic way she already knows.   

Marlene's Christmas card, 2008

Walk this way – my next sweater design – coming soon.

Update:  Walk This Way, my latest knit design, published 6/14/2018.

Windfall

Marlene's watch died recently.  I've been wearing it for the past few years, putting my own aside.  Hers was special – because it was expensive, and it was engraved with her initials and date of her purchase, but most notably because it was hers. I checked into its repair and was told $1,200 would cover it, so...

Here's the back story.  Marlene had always wanted to invest in the stock market, but Dad wasn't game.  Family gossip had it that Uncle Don had made some serious money in his day on the blue chips and Marlene wanted in on that.

Years later, on her own then and independent, she revisited that dream and asked her son-in-law, my husband, Peter for advice.  He had been interested himself, enough to see what was going on but without investments of his own, and the dot.com bubble was underway.  "Amazon," he advised, "put some money in that."  So she did, $10,000 – more than she should have risked probably, but they'd be watching and he wouldn't let her lose it, at least not all of it.  They watched it then as it climbed higher than anyone expected, for 6 whole months – HOO HA!  Then watchful Peter advised her to sell, which she did – begrudgingly.  It climbed a bit more after that before it fell back to earth. 

Mum walked away with $150,000 and one of the biggest thrills of her life.  We likely got some of her winnings, I'm forgetting, which at the time would certainly have gone to Juliet's college fund.  And Mum bought a $5,000 Rolex – the wristwatch of her dreams.  

After she died I had it stored away with her things for a time, but its value, both monetary and sentimental, gnawed at me, so I made it my own.  Admittedly it's super pretty, although with my aging eyesight it's hard to read the gold hands on its gold face (and that's the last time I'll admit to that).  One year I even ponied up the $400 (annual?) maintenance required to keep it running right. 

But lately it had been losing time and I now had a quandary I'm sure Marlene never intended.  The jeweler pointed out logically that if I fixed it I'd have a $5,000 Rolex for $1,200 after all – hmm.  So I asked Juliet how she felt about it.  If she wanted I'd keep it going, for her and conceivably for Violet too.

"It's not something I would wear Mum,"  she responded, putting the matter finally to rest.

So I'm storing it back away with her things, that we'll take stock of from time to time and remember this story.

In its (her) honor, Windfall will be the name of my next knitwear design – currently underway.  At least there's that.

Update:  Windfall, my latest knit design, published 5/9/2018.

For A Good Egg

This was the lone egg cup I retrieved from my grandmother's kitchen years ago.  Though once there were likely four – a mum, a dad, a girl, and a boy, for their family – I had known of only three, no girl cup, and by the time of my retrieval, only the dad cup remained.

Turns out these were Cleminson ceramics, made in California in the post WWII 1940s, "a time after the war when society breathed a collective sigh of relief and went out looking for a bit of fun."  Who knew? 

Years later, aiming to recreate my childhood memory, I took a stroll on ebay and found my egg cup a friend. 

And then more friends.

Uh oh.

Help me.

But wait, before you do – I think there's just one more I might need...

I won't stop until I find you.

Thinking of you Mildred, my Nan.

For a Good Egg, my latest knit design, published 11/21/2017.