In the Middle

I had a weekend of what my best friend calls living "in the middle". Having lived much of my life noticing the highs and lows, I am now trying not only to notice but embrace the middle, all the life that is lived between the extremes. It doesn't make for such interesting stories, perhaps, but the stories of extreme sometimes overlook the beauty of the everyday. So a weekend of scritching the dog's ears, knitting a hat for a friend, having the time to speak to most of the people closest to me, tickling someone's fancy, whipping two opponents' butts in SCRABBLE, losing a few more games, and surprising a friend with a pot of soup were the "excitements" for me. And it was, to quote a friend, "just so".

Where's Waldo?

This weekend I went to my beach house, a place which I visit very infrequently ever since my marriage ended for many reasons, among them the fact that I now rent it out. I keep some belongings there in a locked closet, and went through them while I was there, hoping to find perfect cozy clothes for this weekend's stormy weather.

Among the things I found were mittens, several pairs of intricately handmade mittens made by ME several years ago. They really took me back - to a time and a place when I was willing and able to dedicate myself to the concentration and single- minded quietness that knitting requires, to a time when i had a partner to knit for, to a passion that has cooled. I realize that I am pretty far from that state of mind, and wonder what has happened to that Lisa.

Interestingly, a man I dated briefly remarked upon hearing me say that I am a knitter that he couldn't imagine me knitting. I was shocked, insulted almost, as he said that I moved too quickly, and I took it as yet another sign that he just didn't get me. (And a man I was really fond of totally got it, luxuriated in the blankets I had knit and which were strewn across my bed.)

But the funny thing is, once a serial knitter, now I am an intermittent, reluctant knitter. I can't slow down enough. I have difficulty allowing the repetitive movement and zen of knitting to take me over as it once had. I miss that knitter, that Lisa, and don't know quite where she is keeping herself right now. I suspect she will return along with the accompanying calm from the act of knitting itself. But meanwhile, aren’t these mittens fabulous?