5) Less eating overall. It might be hard to prove, but I think that knitting decreases my calorie intake. Example: family went out for pizza. I had one of my more complex knitting projects along. So, after checking the table carefully for cleanliness, I took out my project and started knitting happily along while chatting with the family. We always order cheesy bread-sticks with lots of marinara sauce, so it will come early. So, when it did, I just kept on knitting, and let the family dive into the bread-sticks. Normally, I would NEED to eat at least one to stave off hunger until the pizza arrives. But, with knitting in hand, I was able to Say No and let someone else have my share. You see, cheesy bread-sticks have a lot of, you guessed it, cheese and they're kindof "greassy". In a very tasty way, mind you, just not in a calorie concious way. But, as greassy fingers make for messy knitting, and parmesean cheese would have shown up on the project, I opted for knitting instead. But, I'm there with the family. Interacting. Having a good time. I had noticed when I didn't eat in these situations without my knitting, my family treats me as if I'm depriving myself of something that just shouldn't be missed. I know that I tried not to, but I my stare at them all eating with a desparate look on my face. Knitting short circuits those looks; my hands are moving, my face is smiling, what could possibly be pitiful about that?
Good pizza takes time to get right, and waiting while visiting with the family is the best part. Right? Well, it can be. Not usually if you've got some ADD issues that make it difficult to sit still and focus on the family. So, the knitting is useful for this too. Instead of thinking "isn't this pizza ever going to get here?" I can think to myself "wow, I'm making a lot of progress on this" and "at this rate, I could get this done in another week, easy."
Then, when the pizza does come, I'm not about to get sauce on the knitting! So, it has to go back into the bag. Any true knitter knows the "just 'till I get to the end of this row" symptoms. Not too far into the pizza, I can virtually hear the knitting calling to me. I NEED to do just one more row. So, I finish off my serving of pizza, which has been about half of my usual intake, and clear my spot at the table. The knitting comes back out again. My DH bases his tipping partly on how many times his glass is refilled, or inversely how many times it goes empty. But, three or four glasses of caffeinated soda this late in the evening would not be a benefit for me personally. I've been so busy knitting and talking that I've hardly touched my soda, so no, I don't need a refill. (Yeah!)
So, in a Bridget Jones sort of tally for the end of the meal: 1 glass diet Dr. Pepper, 2 slices thin crust, 16 more rows done on the socks + family = one successful evening.
Friday, May 18, 2012
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Knitting Therapy #4
Knitting at the movies.
Going to the movies is a great family activity for many people. It has been a treat for our family to go to the local theater together for a long time. And, being a small town, we almost always see friends there too. Seeing the movies together has always given us good discussion topics with each other. I like to think that our willingness to show an interest in their entertainment has kept us closer to our children. Where is it written that being a Parent inherently means that you cannot possibly share common interests with your Kids? And no, I do not mean that Parents should Act like Kids or try to Be Kids......
When our kids were little, I usually had one sitting on my lap, or holding my hand or something that occupied my hands while we were there. I'm thinking we probably went to the shorter movies back then too. Somewhere along the line, I started becomming anxious at movies and had problems sitting still. I began to dread everything about the movies; driving there, waiting in line, sitting through the previews, the time involved ....... Especially if we drove to "The City" to one of the big Multi-Plex Theaters. I realized that I was coming up with excuses to not go with DH & the Kids. OMG! I was becoming that lady that we know that is proud of not having seen a movie in 20 years!
Then, I discovered that I can take my knitting with me to the movies. It has to be a project geared toward knitting in the dark. It requires the use of "silent" needles and techniques that don't involve big hand or arm movements. Big yarn, bamboo needles, simple stitches, no pattern reading ......... With these givens, I can calmly ride for an hour, stand in line and wait in the theater for another hour and then relax through a three hour movie and watch all the way through the credits for the funny little extras that some tack onto the end. AND an hour home. Sometimes inculding a restaurant meal before or after. So, anywhere from Two to Six hours of knitting time gained.
Added bonus: not eating nearly as many snacks or drinking as much expensive soda. Calories and Dollars saved! And, less caffeine late in the evening. Why do movie theaters never have drinks with no caffeine and no sugar?
Going to the movies is a great family activity for many people. It has been a treat for our family to go to the local theater together for a long time. And, being a small town, we almost always see friends there too. Seeing the movies together has always given us good discussion topics with each other. I like to think that our willingness to show an interest in their entertainment has kept us closer to our children. Where is it written that being a Parent inherently means that you cannot possibly share common interests with your Kids? And no, I do not mean that Parents should Act like Kids or try to Be Kids......
When our kids were little, I usually had one sitting on my lap, or holding my hand or something that occupied my hands while we were there. I'm thinking we probably went to the shorter movies back then too. Somewhere along the line, I started becomming anxious at movies and had problems sitting still. I began to dread everything about the movies; driving there, waiting in line, sitting through the previews, the time involved ....... Especially if we drove to "The City" to one of the big Multi-Plex Theaters. I realized that I was coming up with excuses to not go with DH & the Kids. OMG! I was becoming that lady that we know that is proud of not having seen a movie in 20 years!
Then, I discovered that I can take my knitting with me to the movies. It has to be a project geared toward knitting in the dark. It requires the use of "silent" needles and techniques that don't involve big hand or arm movements. Big yarn, bamboo needles, simple stitches, no pattern reading ......... With these givens, I can calmly ride for an hour, stand in line and wait in the theater for another hour and then relax through a three hour movie and watch all the way through the credits for the funny little extras that some tack onto the end. AND an hour home. Sometimes inculding a restaurant meal before or after. So, anywhere from Two to Six hours of knitting time gained.
Added bonus: not eating nearly as many snacks or drinking as much expensive soda. Calories and Dollars saved! And, less caffeine late in the evening. Why do movie theaters never have drinks with no caffeine and no sugar?
Monday, May 7, 2012
Knitting and Grief
To finish the story of my Grandmother's House and why I remember it when I'm knitting:
When the time came to sell Grandma's House, I was newly married. I can't say that I have a lot of grief associated with this particular Grandmother, my Father's Mother. Except the grief of not remembering her. The feeling that she was in my life for a very short time and then she was gone. The knowing that I have siblings and cousins that remember so much more about her, and I'm jealous of that. Now, this many years later, even those cousins are gone or unwilling to talk about such ancient history.
We know that the first years of a child's life are when they learn to make attachments and form life-long bonds. What about when those bonds are severed? I keenly remember the feeling after my Father died that everyone I ever loved was dying. I even had some magical thinking going on, my reasoning being that people were dying because I loved them. Somehow, if it was known by "the powers that be" that I loved someone, they were destined to die because I did not deserve them in my life.
Since that time, as an adult, I have come to the realization that I was born into a family of older than average people. While most Baby Boomers were born to young people right after the war, and most of my friends on the tail end of the Baby Boom were born to twenty-somethings, I had been born when my Father was 42. Compound his age with his birth order and you get lots of elderly relatives. My work on the Family Tree is leading me to a lot of very enlightening discoveries. For some reason, I had always believed that because my father died when I was young, my relatives all died young. Not necessarily true. Many of them far outlived their peers. I have to remind myself of this as I age. The calendar and the clock are not ticking away my life just waiting for the moment I least expect it to rip me from my loved ones. I'm looking forward to many long years of doing more genealogy research.
And what does this have to do with Knitting? I've found that if I spend the days that mark the anniversaries of my loved one's deaths by Making Something, I can deal with their loss in a more positive way. This year as I was remembering my Father, as I spent some time knitting, I purposely tried to remember that day that I spent at Grandma's House for the last time. On that day, I was not yet an obsessive knitter, and couldn't have known what all the stuff in her stash represented. I do remember boxes of newspaper and magazine clippings of patterns. They could have been knitting or crochet or any number of other needlecrafts. I remember wishing that I could save all of them from the burn-pile and the junk heap. I don't remember any books on crafting. Had they all been carted away in the intervening 20 some years?
Had she ever been able to afford books or had they been available where she was likely to shop? Or did she just never see the need for anything more than what was published in the paper. Was she so cutting edge that she didn't believe in using Old information from books that were outdated as soon as published? Probably not, I think that's a new idea ushered in by the Information Age. The clippings do seem to show an interest in keeping current and making what's new. Or maybe it was just a stage in her dementia....
There were boxes of crochet thread and embroidery floss and all kinds of buttons and zippers and notions. Gadgets and tools that I did not know enough to identify were all mixed in. Who knows if this is the state that Grandma had left them in, or if this was the result of years of rummaging by the family? These were obviously the cast offs and the stuff that was not seen as valuable. The treasured items had been carried away long ago. Rust and dust and mildew and mice had all taken their toll. I remember thinking some pretty judgemental thoughts about my older cousins that were too squeamish to reach into a box that might also contain spiders or mouse remains. Now, I can temper my judgement with the knowledge that this was still the time before really good allergy meds, in a family overwhelmingly predisposed to severe allergies, in the peak of allergy season, in a dusty, moldy, environment. Some of them were probably just focused on getting done with this chore without an emergency room visit for anaphylactic reaction. I don't recall that the wasps were very welcoming either. And if it was probably about 100 degrees outside, what would the attic heat factor be?
So, in my thoughts, I can now have a more positive memory of Grandma's House. I'm free to imagine her any way I want.
When the time came to sell Grandma's House, I was newly married. I can't say that I have a lot of grief associated with this particular Grandmother, my Father's Mother. Except the grief of not remembering her. The feeling that she was in my life for a very short time and then she was gone. The knowing that I have siblings and cousins that remember so much more about her, and I'm jealous of that. Now, this many years later, even those cousins are gone or unwilling to talk about such ancient history.
We know that the first years of a child's life are when they learn to make attachments and form life-long bonds. What about when those bonds are severed? I keenly remember the feeling after my Father died that everyone I ever loved was dying. I even had some magical thinking going on, my reasoning being that people were dying because I loved them. Somehow, if it was known by "the powers that be" that I loved someone, they were destined to die because I did not deserve them in my life.
Since that time, as an adult, I have come to the realization that I was born into a family of older than average people. While most Baby Boomers were born to young people right after the war, and most of my friends on the tail end of the Baby Boom were born to twenty-somethings, I had been born when my Father was 42. Compound his age with his birth order and you get lots of elderly relatives. My work on the Family Tree is leading me to a lot of very enlightening discoveries. For some reason, I had always believed that because my father died when I was young, my relatives all died young. Not necessarily true. Many of them far outlived their peers. I have to remind myself of this as I age. The calendar and the clock are not ticking away my life just waiting for the moment I least expect it to rip me from my loved ones. I'm looking forward to many long years of doing more genealogy research.
And what does this have to do with Knitting? I've found that if I spend the days that mark the anniversaries of my loved one's deaths by Making Something, I can deal with their loss in a more positive way. This year as I was remembering my Father, as I spent some time knitting, I purposely tried to remember that day that I spent at Grandma's House for the last time. On that day, I was not yet an obsessive knitter, and couldn't have known what all the stuff in her stash represented. I do remember boxes of newspaper and magazine clippings of patterns. They could have been knitting or crochet or any number of other needlecrafts. I remember wishing that I could save all of them from the burn-pile and the junk heap. I don't remember any books on crafting. Had they all been carted away in the intervening 20 some years?
Had she ever been able to afford books or had they been available where she was likely to shop? Or did she just never see the need for anything more than what was published in the paper. Was she so cutting edge that she didn't believe in using Old information from books that were outdated as soon as published? Probably not, I think that's a new idea ushered in by the Information Age. The clippings do seem to show an interest in keeping current and making what's new. Or maybe it was just a stage in her dementia....
There were boxes of crochet thread and embroidery floss and all kinds of buttons and zippers and notions. Gadgets and tools that I did not know enough to identify were all mixed in. Who knows if this is the state that Grandma had left them in, or if this was the result of years of rummaging by the family? These were obviously the cast offs and the stuff that was not seen as valuable. The treasured items had been carried away long ago. Rust and dust and mildew and mice had all taken their toll. I remember thinking some pretty judgemental thoughts about my older cousins that were too squeamish to reach into a box that might also contain spiders or mouse remains. Now, I can temper my judgement with the knowledge that this was still the time before really good allergy meds, in a family overwhelmingly predisposed to severe allergies, in the peak of allergy season, in a dusty, moldy, environment. Some of them were probably just focused on getting done with this chore without an emergency room visit for anaphylactic reaction. I don't recall that the wasps were very welcoming either. And if it was probably about 100 degrees outside, what would the attic heat factor be?
So, in my thoughts, I can now have a more positive memory of Grandma's House. I'm free to imagine her any way I want.
Saturday, May 5, 2012
Counting Therapuetic Benefits #3
I knit so I don't kill people. Well, maybe not quite. But knitting does calm me down if I'm upset at somebody. Much like prayer or meditation, knitting is rythmic, repetative, and calming. Tai Chi is really big slow movements that can be calming. I think (the right kind of ) knitting can lower heart rate and blood pressure. It's a life raft in stormy seas. I even sometimes have the feeling of the aunts that taught me sitting right there with me. Their patience soothing. The Rose Milk scent on the air. The love cradling my being. For a hyper kid to sit still for even a moment was a miracle, and those women had the secret. They made magic from sticks and hooks and strings. And they listened to the woes of the day, the hurts of the playground. In a short time, those hurts and woes didn't seem so big anymore. Forgiveness felt better. Rage seemed to be a waste of time when fingers could create magic.
Friday, May 4, 2012
Knit Therapy #2
2) Knitting helps me sit still.
As a child, I constantly heard the phrase "don't you wish you had that much energy" uttered by the adults around me. It's funny how the things that are perfectly acceptable at one age are serious liabilities in another phase of life. Sitting still at school was always difficult. And, I'm a "knee-bouncer", "foot tapper": not just when I'm nervous, or bored, or when I have to go to the bathroom. Always, all the time. The Dr. got me some meds for Restless Leg Syndrome after I did a sleep study. So, I guess now I can hold still while I sleep. My knee bouncing has been known to disturb other people. Especially where the floor has a little give to it. Or if I'm sitting on a bench like at a picnic table, or a church pew. I've been asked to quit bouncing the whole table where people are trying to work, read, or write. Sitting with my children that are also knee bouncers can make others think about earthquakes. Hard soled shoes on wood or tile floors will sometimes get my attention before it goes on too long. But, sometimes a co-worker has to say "What is that noise?" before I notice it. Typing at a keyboard, watching tv, singing in the choir are not always enough to get control. Driving and using a sewing machine foot feed seem like they should cancel out the foot tapping, but there's that other foot that is left out of the process that can just go right along tapping.
There's something about knitting, stitching, sewing, fine motor skill tasks that will let that part of my nervous system relax. Before I was a knitter, I could sometimes doodle or sketch on a piece of paper, especially if I balanced it on a knee, to get myself to stop and be still. There is a need to occasionally take a deep breath and analyze the posture for stress, consciously relaxing shoulders and arms, back and legs. It's a whole body exercise.
We once did a whole Bible study on Stillness. It was a skill that I have had to work hard at. Knitting is one of my crutches.
As a child, I constantly heard the phrase "don't you wish you had that much energy" uttered by the adults around me. It's funny how the things that are perfectly acceptable at one age are serious liabilities in another phase of life. Sitting still at school was always difficult. And, I'm a "knee-bouncer", "foot tapper": not just when I'm nervous, or bored, or when I have to go to the bathroom. Always, all the time. The Dr. got me some meds for Restless Leg Syndrome after I did a sleep study. So, I guess now I can hold still while I sleep. My knee bouncing has been known to disturb other people. Especially where the floor has a little give to it. Or if I'm sitting on a bench like at a picnic table, or a church pew. I've been asked to quit bouncing the whole table where people are trying to work, read, or write. Sitting with my children that are also knee bouncers can make others think about earthquakes. Hard soled shoes on wood or tile floors will sometimes get my attention before it goes on too long. But, sometimes a co-worker has to say "What is that noise?" before I notice it. Typing at a keyboard, watching tv, singing in the choir are not always enough to get control. Driving and using a sewing machine foot feed seem like they should cancel out the foot tapping, but there's that other foot that is left out of the process that can just go right along tapping.
There's something about knitting, stitching, sewing, fine motor skill tasks that will let that part of my nervous system relax. Before I was a knitter, I could sometimes doodle or sketch on a piece of paper, especially if I balanced it on a knee, to get myself to stop and be still. There is a need to occasionally take a deep breath and analyze the posture for stress, consciously relaxing shoulders and arms, back and legs. It's a whole body exercise.
We once did a whole Bible study on Stillness. It was a skill that I have had to work hard at. Knitting is one of my crutches.
Thursday, May 3, 2012
Knitting to cope with grief
On the anniversary of my Father's passing, I was not up to writing about it.
Or talking about it.
To anyone.
Believe it or not, he died a couple of weeks before my 15th birthday. And that was 37 years ago. And still, every year it's a difficult day. It "gets easier"? Maybe, maybe not.
Now, looking back on it, I know that I really should have had some counseling, and maybe a lot of help, way back then. But, it wasn't "the thing to do". If you ever find yourself or a loved one in a similar situation, I urge you to Seek Help. It's out there.
But, following the counsel that I have had since then, I went through the day carefully. I avoided stressors, immersed myself in all things positive, stayed around supportive people. And I spent a lot of time with my knitting in my hands or at least on my lap. And, probably because I've also been spending a lot of time on geneaology research, I thought about my Grandmother, my Father's Mother.
I don't really remember her. She died, I think, when I was about 2 years old. She lived with my family for "a while" before that, but there are conflicting reports on if that meant 14 months or 14 years. Grandma had owned a house in the little home town, and I did get to know her house. I know that sounds odd.
Family Reunions were always a big deal for my Father's Family. There were a lot of kids in his generation, and they mostly had several kids each. And by the time that I was born, my Aunts and Uncles were Grandparents and some were Greatgrandparents themselves. When I was little, I thought that's what they meant when they said someone "was from an Old Family". So, every year, on the appointed day, well over a hundred of our family would congregate in this tiny little town that normally had only 50 residents. The town struggled to keep a gas station open, much less a hotel. And very few of the family members still lived in the town. So, the eldest Aunt that lived the farthest away bought my Grandmother's House. It was empty most of the year, but Aunt Grace and her family would stay there when they were in the area. A great many of the things in the house stayed just as Grandma had left them when she last was there in about 1960. A Victrolla that we all played nonstop whenever we were there. Knowing what those are worth now makes me question the Aunt's sanity. A steel frame bed with very squeeky springs. Hand made everything you can think of: quilts, afghans, pot holders, lace doilies and table cloths, aprons, anti-maskars, braided rugs, dresser scarves, rag dollies, chair cushions, couch pillows, hot pads, water bottle covers, toilet paper cover dolls. And clothes that they let us play dress up with; crochet slippers, hats of all kinds, house dresses, scarves, all vintage in the extreeme.
Eventually the time came when Aunt Grace's family decided to sell the house. It was about 25 years after Grandma had died. We hadn't all gone to the house for several years because the family had outgrown it for the Reunion, it being held in the Masonic Lodge by that time. But each family was invited by turns to come over and take an item or two from the house. As an adult, not having been there for years, everything seemed so small. And of course everything was so worn out and broken down. Some of the furniture had pretty much disintegrated.
But what struck me hard was the sudden realization, when it was far too late, that my Grandmother had been a Crafter. And now I also know that she was somewhat of a hoarder too. All those years the house had been empty, noone had really cared what was in the Attic. The Family was hauling out boxes of patterns that she had cut out of newspapers and magazines. Stored in an attic all those years had destroyed them to confetti and mouse nests.
Or talking about it.
To anyone.
Believe it or not, he died a couple of weeks before my 15th birthday. And that was 37 years ago. And still, every year it's a difficult day. It "gets easier"? Maybe, maybe not.
Now, looking back on it, I know that I really should have had some counseling, and maybe a lot of help, way back then. But, it wasn't "the thing to do". If you ever find yourself or a loved one in a similar situation, I urge you to Seek Help. It's out there.
But, following the counsel that I have had since then, I went through the day carefully. I avoided stressors, immersed myself in all things positive, stayed around supportive people. And I spent a lot of time with my knitting in my hands or at least on my lap. And, probably because I've also been spending a lot of time on geneaology research, I thought about my Grandmother, my Father's Mother.
I don't really remember her. She died, I think, when I was about 2 years old. She lived with my family for "a while" before that, but there are conflicting reports on if that meant 14 months or 14 years. Grandma had owned a house in the little home town, and I did get to know her house. I know that sounds odd.
Family Reunions were always a big deal for my Father's Family. There were a lot of kids in his generation, and they mostly had several kids each. And by the time that I was born, my Aunts and Uncles were Grandparents and some were Greatgrandparents themselves. When I was little, I thought that's what they meant when they said someone "was from an Old Family". So, every year, on the appointed day, well over a hundred of our family would congregate in this tiny little town that normally had only 50 residents. The town struggled to keep a gas station open, much less a hotel. And very few of the family members still lived in the town. So, the eldest Aunt that lived the farthest away bought my Grandmother's House. It was empty most of the year, but Aunt Grace and her family would stay there when they were in the area. A great many of the things in the house stayed just as Grandma had left them when she last was there in about 1960. A Victrolla that we all played nonstop whenever we were there. Knowing what those are worth now makes me question the Aunt's sanity. A steel frame bed with very squeeky springs. Hand made everything you can think of: quilts, afghans, pot holders, lace doilies and table cloths, aprons, anti-maskars, braided rugs, dresser scarves, rag dollies, chair cushions, couch pillows, hot pads, water bottle covers, toilet paper cover dolls. And clothes that they let us play dress up with; crochet slippers, hats of all kinds, house dresses, scarves, all vintage in the extreeme.
Eventually the time came when Aunt Grace's family decided to sell the house. It was about 25 years after Grandma had died. We hadn't all gone to the house for several years because the family had outgrown it for the Reunion, it being held in the Masonic Lodge by that time. But each family was invited by turns to come over and take an item or two from the house. As an adult, not having been there for years, everything seemed so small. And of course everything was so worn out and broken down. Some of the furniture had pretty much disintegrated.
But what struck me hard was the sudden realization, when it was far too late, that my Grandmother had been a Crafter. And now I also know that she was somewhat of a hoarder too. All those years the house had been empty, noone had really cared what was in the Attic. The Family was hauling out boxes of patterns that she had cut out of newspapers and magazines. Stored in an attic all those years had destroyed them to confetti and mouse nests.
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