G. pulled up in her evergreen Volvo, “Surely you are done by now!”
The floating dock is longer than I thought…I have to knit all the way down the gang plank to the floating dock, and when you are knitting your path, each lag of the journey feels eternal.
A blond mom with her small son and daughter came hiking up the hill. “Cherries!” the kids yelled. The boy clutched a folded white umbrella in one hand. He picked a ‘cherry’ then made a face when he bit into it and found out it was a very sour plum. I saw them staring over at the bench and wondering aloud what I was doing so I told them I was knitting a rope to the water. They kept walking up the hill and I could hear them discussing my project in soft tones with each other. They paused halfway up the hill and stood staring down at me. In that moment, I had an inner knowing that the project was all worth it, regardless of whether or not the hosereel finds its way into a collection some day. To know that a little girl and boy will grow up with a memory of a person who knit a half-mile line to the Bay is enough for me. Memories are a kind of wealth, a deposit inside a person, that remain long after an event has passed.
Yesterday, first Sean, then Don and Ron came to the bench to visit with each other. I just served as the knitter-facilitator in the background while they talked about the recent BBQ that they’d attended (a bit of a bust although the food was good) and the broken printer at Don’s which Sean agreed to take a look at. (Sean is a techie up at the university.) Then Sean’s wife and kids pulled up and Violet and Owen jumped out with fists full of crow feathers and pine cones from their recent expedition at Fairhaven Park. I hadn’t seen Owen in at least a year…back then he was barely walking, now he looks steady and confident on his two year old feet. Sean told me to please invite them to the final celebration of the knit line. Jen was looking lovely as usual in a striking black and white tied-dyed skirt…she’s a busy mom; I usually only see her in passing.
I’ve been thinking about discipline lately, and my tendency to overdo it. I’ve got a certain militaristic fervor that is handy in small doses but I can quench the spirit by pushing myself too hard or being overly attached to structures. So it was good to knit at 4:45 pm yesterday instead of forcing myself to knit at 8:30. There is something life-enhancing about structure and commitment, but without spontaneity and freedom in the mix, they become dull and stifling. My friend Elizabeth equated it once with a dream she had of dancing around and between ancient stone pillars. To thrive, we need both–stability and the movement, structure and change.