Thanksgiving is a day of showing gratitude, of family and of eating. It is also a day of reflecting on the past. We celebrate two cultures coming together and sharing a bountiful harvest. America is built on that ideal of plenty. Many will gather whether in front of the family table or in restaurants through out the country but so many are less fortunate, especially recently. Be grateful for what you have and remember those who have less.
Aside from that, Thanksgiving is about the past and I was just flipping through the latest Interweave Knits magazine, I came across an article Taking Flight by Bethany Lyttle. The article remarks on a mill in New England. It is about Pam Allen who created a yarn company, Quince & Co. The article was intriguing but it made me think about the history of knitting and how much we’ve changed.
Knitting is about creation, now and then. Most knitters know that it is actually less expensive and time-consuming to run into the local Wal-mart and pick up a $1 pair of gloves then to put the hours, the attention and the more pricey yarn into a pair of homemade gloves. Yet, once upon a time, this was a necessity. Can you imagine the pilgrim’s knitting socks and gloves to keep warm in the cold Northeast winter? Did they have sheep around so that they could create their own yarn to make into protective clothing? Of course. My closet would be a lot smaller if I was required to hand make everything for my family!!
On that note, I am going to watch a movie and knit a pillow for my Grandmother. Happy Thanksgiving.
Tomorrow is Friday, the day I most look forward to. I’m not feeling well and have been playing the ‘should I go home sick?’ game for the last few days. Needless to say, I have done my eight to four-thirty sentence and am welcoming the upcoming two day reprieve.
At what point in our mundane office worker lives did life begin revolving around the weekend. It’s only two days! I wake up early Monday morning groaning with a bit of extra coffee in my cup,dragging my lifeless self in. I force a smile on my face as my coworkers smile friendly and ask how my weekend was. But I haven’t had my pot of coffee and my brain is not functioning. Of course, my social skills have been going down the tube since they put me in the glass box by myself.
Tuesday comes and I am doing a little better. I remember a teacher in high school telling our class the Tuesday is the most productive day of the week. But I’m still dragging thinking of the four whole work days before the weekend.
Wednesday. The midpoint of the week. I’m still in depressed, staring at my green wall, wondering what the outside world looks like. I wish I at least had a window.
Thursday is here. Tomorrow is Friday. I can get my work done, try to ignore the hideous green wall, and wonder what I should do on Saturday. I think I just want to sit outside and enjoy the sunshine.
Friday. Heavenly Friday. I count the minutes, with hope in every step. It’s only a matter of hours, then minutes and finally I am smiling as I wish everyone a happy weekend. It’s better than a pot of coffee!
I’ve been thinking a lot lately. I’m an introvert so this shouldn’t be much of a surprise. I’m going back to school, hoping to get a second bachelor’s degree in Accounting. I’m working hard with the two classes I am taking, Principles of Marketing and Computers, Software and Technology. I used to be very intelligent and caught on to anything. I feel like I’ve lost my edge. I’m not as smart as I was ten years ago. I wonder if I’m on the right path. Maybe I am Dorothy, skipping away but staring out into the fields, wondering if Munchkinland might be just as good as Oz, if not better.
I’m not sure what I want. A few years ago I decided I needed a path and I chose one. It has taken me a while, but I’m finally stepping ahead. Part of me wants to go back to writing, never knowing if I’ll find happiness, nevermind money. Another piece wants to open that knitting shop with used books, coffee and tea and hope to turn a profit. Reason and rational says that I will inevitably burn out from that even if I managed to succeed in finding the resources to start such a venture. Imagine not sleeping because the rent is due and I’ve only sold a half-dozen hanks of yarn and a few cups of coffee. Oh- and don’t forget, that shop doesn’t come with health insurance!
I don’t know my path, but I’m following it anyway. It’s off to see the Wizard. . . wish me luck.