Oh Christmas Tree, Farewell.

The tree made its final decent today,

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As I took it to the curb.

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Now, I can see it from our window, and it makes me sad.

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No more real Christmas trees! I can't take it!

Christmas - Take 2

We had our Christmas gift exchange with my family over Thanksgiving in Houston, and we'll celebrate with my husband's family over New Year's in Louisville. The big news is the arrival of our niece, who greeted us on December 16.

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Here's a little bunny that I made for her from 100% bamboo yarn. It was my first opportunity to knit with bamboo, and I found it incredibly soft and silky, but splitty also. If tangled, it became so splitty that I had to cut it before I could work with it again. Nevertheless, this was a great project to test bamboo. I have one skein of angora and one of mohair that I'm going to find small projects for as well.

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And this special sock is for my father-in-law who facetiously asked for socks and underwear for Christmas.

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With this sock, I have confirmed for myself that I am a one-sock-knitter. There are those whom I admire who have the patience to make two identical socks perfect-to-pattern. Whereas, I'm happy (not really, actually) to make one sock, and then if forced to make another sock, it would probably look more like this.

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Let me introduce you to Investment Banker Sock Monkey. Here you see him in his natural surroundings.
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Triggered by The Christmas Tree

I had to laugh when my husband entered a Google search to learn Hoboken's schedule for Christmas tree trash pick up, and my blog was one of the first links to come up. I wonder whether Google has a profiling program, knowing that I would be one of the first to put in its final resting place the hacked down and lifeless tree that has been wilting in front of me for the past few weeks. For you Hobokenites, I promise to post a blog note as soon as I find out the schedule, or if you know, please leave a comment.

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As far as my perspective on the tree goes, my cynicism that I previously expressed has only intensified. Honestly, the dying tree in my house has depressed me. My mind is taken down a backward pathway, and in terms of the tree, after seeing its sawed off trunk, I saw its completely withered state, and could never really see or celebrate its life.

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This perspective of a reverse chronology, or a backward pathway, is something I stumbled upon around my 30th birthday. Silly though it seems, one of the primary triggers that has recently arisen is remembering the "disappearance" of my childhood dog when I was 20. I can't even type about it without pausing until I can once again see through my tears. The intensely painful memory of his death seems to negate the beauty and joy in his life. Like this incidence, there are a few others that have begun to play in my mind like a skipping record, reminding me of the fragility of our lives and the fragility of the life of everything around us. I appreciate life more, as a result. I treasure life more. But, in reverse, I mourn death more, and my grief is physical.

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So, I think the Christmas tree triggered a different perspective for me this Christmas. The Christmas Tree is a symbol of the season, and the season is a time for us to remember and celebrate a Birth. However, it's really the reverse chronology, or backward pathway, of This Baby's life and the purpose of His life that makes the Story so poignant and so painful..

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The Seasons of Hoboken

I recently shared with you some photos of the beautiful fall foliage we witnessed here in Hoboken a few months ago.

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But, gone are the days of light jackets and lingering outside.

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We are now struggling to stay above freezing, and what might be beautiful if we all had garages and drove to work, is less than desirable for our walking city. All of the white will be gone before tomorrow, so we're in store for something more like a brown Christmas.

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Happy Holidays!

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Round and Round on my Sweater

I started my Louisa Harding sweater as the pattern suggested, but after several hours, I realized that I would be doing the fair isle pattern by knitting back and forth, rather than in the round. I decided to continue with the pattern, even though the first row of fair isle was a purl row.

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Several hours later, I pulled out 8" of work because that first purled fair isle row was completely off gauge. I was extremely irritated, and my husband sweetly suggested that I stop on the sweater and wait until I can go to Philadelphia again to have Lisa, Marissa, or Wendy help me.

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What a fabulous excuse to go to Philadelphia! But, unfortunately, short of putting Wendy in a locked room with the pattern and no food or water, I would return to Hoboken with no greater likelihood of finishing the sweater. I'm realistic. I know that a minimum of 10 hours of practice is my only option. ...Unless...

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Unless, I re-write the pattern in the round, which I promptly did.
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Now, we'll see how well I progress as I attempt my first re-contrived pattern.
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Another Sacrifice to Remember This Season

While many of us complain about and attack the US war efforts overseas, our soldiers stand tall where they are deployed. They are proud to protect our country and offer their unwaivering allegiance to the purpose for their service, "to ensure for all time that [our] flag will not fall."

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I received this poem today and want to share it with you. The writer, a Navy Lieutenant Commander, issues this request:.
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"PLEASE, would you do me the kind favor of sending this to as many people as you can? Christmas will be coming soon and some credit is due to our US service men and women for our being able to celebrate these festivities. Let's try in this small way to pay a tiny bit of what we owe. Make people stop and think of our heroes, living and dead, who sacrificed themselves for us."

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LCDR Jeff Giles, SC, USN 30th Naval Construction Regiment OIC, Logistics Cell One Al Taqqadum, Iraq

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A Different Christmas Poem

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The embers glowed softly, and in their dim light,

I gazed round the room and I cherished the sight.

My wife was asleep, her head on my chest,

My daughter beside me, angelic in rest.

Outside the snow fell, a blanket of white,

Transforming the yard to a winter delight.
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The sparkling lights in the tree I believe,

Completed the magic that was Christmas Eve.

My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep,

Secure and surrounded by love I would sleep.

In perfect contentment, or so it would seem,

So I slumbered, perhaps I started to dream.
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The sound wasn't loud, and it wasn't too near,

But I opened my eyes when it tickled my ear.

Perhaps just a cough, I didn't quite know,

Then the sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow.

My soul gave a tremble, I struggled to hear,

And I crept to the door just to see who was near.
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Standing out in the cold and the dark of the night,

A lone figure stood, his face weary and tight.

A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years old,

Perhaps a Marine, huddled here in the cold.

Alone in the dark, he looked up and smiled,

Standing watch over me, and my wife and my child.

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'What are you doing?' I asked without fear,

'Come in this moment, it's freezing out here!

Put down your pack, brush the snow from your sleeve,

You should be at home on a cold Christmas Eve!'

For barely a moment I saw his eyes shift,

Away from the cold and the snow blown in drifts.
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To the window that danced with a warm fire's light

Then he sighed and he said 'Its really all right,

I'm out here by choice. I'm here every night.

'It's my duty to stand at the front of the line,

That separates you from the darkest of times.
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No one had to ask or beg or implore me,

I'm proud to stand here like my fathers before me.

My Gramps died at ' Pearl on a day in December,'

Then he sighed, 'That's a Christmas 'Gram always remembers.'

My dad stood his watch in the jungles of ' Nam ',

And now it is my turn and so, here I am.

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I've not seen my own son in more than a while,

But my wife sends me pictures, he's sure got her smile.ʼ

Then he bent and he carefully pulled from his bag,

The red, white, and blue... an American flag.

ʽI can live through the cold and the being alone,

Away from my family, my house and my home. .
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I can stand at my post through the rain and the sleet,

I can sleep in a foxhole with little to eat.

I can carry the weight of killing another,

Or lay down my life with my sister and brother,

Who stand at the front against any and all,

To ensure for all time that this flag will not fall.'
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'So go back inside,' he said, 'harbor no fright,

Your family is waiting and I'll be all right.'

'But isn't there something I can do, at the least,

'Give you money,' I asked, 'or prepare you a feast?

It seems all too little for all that you've done,

For being away from your wife and your son.'
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Then his eye welled a tear that held no regret,

'Just tell us you love us, and never forget.

To fight for our rights back at home while we're gone,

To stand your own watch, no matter how long.

For when we come home, either standing or dead,

To know you remember we fought and we bled.

Is payment enough, and with that we will trust,

That we mattered to you as you mattered to us.'
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Christmas Knitting

After I finished the blankets for my nephew, I knit my Ravelry Secret Santa swapper a mini-mitten garland, which I strung together with an i-cord. It was so fun to knit quick projects that delivered immediate gratification.
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I also started a project for myself - Louisa Harding's sweater "Hannah" that my mother-in-law and I purchased supplies for last summer.
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A Cynic's View on Christmas Trees

My husband is a bit of an idealist when it comes to Christmas. I suppose that's better than being a cynic, which I could easily be accused of, especially when it comes to getting a Christmas tree.

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My husband grew up getting a cut Christmas tree each year. It probably goes without saying that the Panhandle of Texas wasn't rich with Christmas trees. Tumbleweeds were as close as we got.

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My brother and I were excused from any involvement in decorating our fake Christmas tree in high school when our mom decided we'd outgrown kiddie ornaments, and she decorated it with beautiful ribbons and matching ornaments instead. I don't think either of us minded, and the tree was far more beautiful as a result.
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While I was single throughout my 20s, I enjoyed hassle-free, clutter-free Christmas'. So, this year, when my husband decided he wanted to be a "real family" and have a real Christmas tree, I admit, I was none too excited. It became all the more real when I watched him carry into our apartment 5-feet and 80-pounds of what used to be part of the living earth, but was now a hacked-down, dying tree that would continue toward its final death in our apartment.

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But, my husband and the cats have never been happier. Wayne was so excited, she started with the plastic, while the other two were already making dinner out of the lower branches.

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Bah!

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