Knitting in the Fall: Cascata

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Cascata

Pattern:  Cascata, by Filipa Carneiro, published in Rosarios4.

Yarn:  I believe the yarn is by Reynolds.  It is a light DK weight wool and acrylic blend yarn I bought sometime in the mid-1980s.  Mom loved mauve (and all its variations), so I knitted a lacy vest for her.  She did not wear it much because it was too nice for “everyday” wear, and she didn’t want to get it dirty.  I brought it back after she died and took it apart, and now it is Cascata.

Modifications:  I love the lace “cascade” on the left side, but did not like how rapidly the triangle grew because of the every 4th row increases.  So, I alternated the increases on both the lace panel as well as on the right (along the faux seam).  I like my sweaters to cover my hips, so I knitted all 138 rows of the lace charts.  I also started with 138 stitches at the top, as though knitting size XXS, and adjusted all the directions as needed to compensate.  Finally, I did not like how large the arm holes were on the original cap sleeves.  I had enough yarn, so I made the sleeves elbow length.

Thoughts:  I don’t usually like in-the-round yoke construction, but the designer took care to shape the neckline so that there were no “puffy” areas, and the front and the back sit properly on the neck and shoulders.  I also like the yo increases as a design element.  This was a fast knit, and a lovely pattern for Mom’s yarn.

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Bear

Bear is a sweet guinea pig we have been babysitting for almost a month while his family flit here and there all over the world.  We would keep him, but his mom probably misses him!

Yipper

One of my favorite trail walks meanders past a small prairie dog colony, and facing the colony is a memorial bench in honor of “Molly.”  Molly was a dog, and I am sure she loved to watch “her” prairie dogs.  A few months ago, I saw something I had not seen before, and which I later learned was the characteristic prairie dog “jump yip.”  This was early summer, and I suspect one of the jumpers was pretty young: it jumped, yipped, and promptly fell over.  And because it was so much fun (?) it would do it again . . .

jump yip

Around the same time, on one of my other favorite walks, I met Nick LoFaro, a metal artist who was putting the finishing touches to an enormous sculpture called “Poseidon”:

 

 

Poseidon

A few months later, I commissioned my own (much smaller) sculpture from Nick.  I wanted the jump yip, but Nick could not build in the jump and still have it look like a prairie dog . . .  so he made him into the sentinel.  But I still call him “Yipper”:

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Why yes, there are spoons and forks and gears and all sorts of reclaimed metal parts!  I am especially fond of the drill bit for the tail, and the blue marbles for his eyes.  These days, he either hangs out as a guardian/sentinel on our tiny front balcony overlooking the commons area, or in our equally tiny backyard overlooking the next subdivision.  And just think:  we are art collectors!

Art of Citizenship

Civic:  relating to the duties or activities of people in relation to their town, city, or local area.

It’s like history:  people think of history as these broad narratives usually of, by, and for white men.  Digression.  Back in March 2018, the Hoover Institution (on War, Revolution, and Peace) sponsored a conference on “Applied History.”  Thirty male historians, one female historian, ALL white, ALL associated with American institutions.  Not having been there, I couldn’t tell you what “Applied History” actually means; my knee-jerk reaction is to wonder whether anyone talked about the use and misuse of history by policymakers, or whether this was just a bunch of white Americans telling policymakers what they should be doing on a national and international basis.

What do people mean by civic?

Yesterday, a very young and lost boxer followed me for a mile.  I went back to my Airbnb and not knowing what to do, asked my host to help me.  She cut me off:  “The dog needs to go back on the street, he can’t be here, and I can’t help you.”  After the initial panic, I realized that I can in fact take care of the problem.  I called the local no-kill shelter, they referred me to Animal Control, and I sat with the dog until the officer showed up thirty  minutes later.  He assured me the dog would be scanned for microchip information, held for 24 hours to wait for owner, then taken to the no-kill shelter.  Today, I have a “civic” survey in my inbox, asking me what I think civic means.  Based on the choices on page one, civic would seem to mean citizen action of the obvious sort recognizable by the general public:  voting, demonstrating, petitioning.  Yesterday, DH and some neighbors sent out postcards to registered voters encouraging them to vote in the upcoming midterm elections.  Yesterday, I rescued a friendly young dog with no common sense.  Yesterday, I found out my Airbnb host, who has a full life as a feminist/Democrat/community activist, did not see my action as a civic one.

I must admit that I was tempted to ignore the dog . . .  but he was so obviously lost and clueless.  A couple of local neighbors helped figure out that the dog belongs to a family not far from where I am staying, his name is Bruno, and he is quite young (about 5 months old).  I am hopeful his family picked him up from Animal Control last night.

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On my last morning in Santa Fe, I found this heart hanging on a fence outside a Canyon Road art gallery.  I am indeed grateful that I am lucky enough to live in a country where civic action — or inaction — is (still) a choice and a right.

Lunar New Year

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New Year Monkeys!  The year 4600-something, but who’s counting?

Yes, they are wearing orange and blue instead of red ribbons, but that’s because those ribbons came off a potted rosemary plant that someone gave The College Student.   And the Broncos did win Superbowl 50 yesterday . . . .  Not that the pigs cared one way or the other.