(from my previously unpublished journal of a half mile knit-to-the-sea, begun last May 2012…)
Today a man came up to me and said, “So you’ve been sitting here knitting for several days now. There must be a tale to tell.” And I told him I was knitting a line to the ocean, and he threw back his head and laughed for the joy and lunacy of it. He told me he lived in the brown house (across from mine) and he said how strange it was that he’d never seen me. And I said, “That’s why I need to do this project–to meet my neighbors.” He told me his dog’s name was Buster, but he didn’t tell me his name. Then a lady greeted him. I thought I heard her say, “Hi Art!” [but months later I discovered that I heard her wrong, and had been calling him the wrong name, much to my embarrassment!] A lot of the dog owners know each other. Dogs are a good, safe talking point, a way to connect. Bridges. Yesterday, Cori told me that I am a connector of people. That made me happy. Hmm.
That was it for interaction today although I notice cars are slowing down in order to avoid driving over the knitting. The knitting is going to get a lot of wear and tear when it becomes necessary for the cars to go over it. I really need to pick up the pace and knit more. Ideally be done by the end of May. Very cold today. As usual, easy and comfortable the first half of the hour, painful and dreary endurance for the second half.
It occurs to me that we Americans move too fast. Go, go, go. We’re crazy but we don’t realize it. My piece is about slow, slow, slow. The full moon is coming up now as I write, and I was thinking about lunatics and lunacy as I knit (both words come from the Latin word luna for moon.) A lady called to her dog, “Come on, Luna.” Walkers chatted about the full moon with me. After Art left, I felt this thrill of electricity and shivers internally. I knew that the art was its own reward, and that the experience of doing this project was priceless.