Mersydotes

Growing up, I was fortunate enough to be very close with my maternal grandparents, and when I was in junior high and high school, I would see them every day.  Entering old age and adolescence are both difficult transitions, but there was a certain solidarity between us, and I knew my grandparents understood me more than anyone else.  All day long I would quietly glide through the school day hoping no one would really notice I was there, and the thought of coming home, seeing my grandparents, and then heading off either to my after school job or to my mother's old room to do my homework was the light at the end of the tunnel.  I could be me, and the world was suddenly bigger and more real than at school. I'm only just now realizing that food played quite a role in our relationship.  There was the summer I managed to grow exactly three peas and a single green bean under my grandmother's kitchen window, and the popcorn the three of us would munch as we watched Whe...

The weekend after our second full week here in Seattle, we woke up to a bright, clear Saturday with no clouds and no smoke taking away from the impossibly blue sky.  It was one of those days when you can feel the sun baking into your skin, but there's still refuge in the breezy shade.  And next to the water, things can be down right brisk.  I've heard that the summers here are short but precious, and I can see why- I've never seen such clear, clear skies in my whole life. So that morning we walked straight down the looonnnggg hill that takes us from our new home to the Puget Sound, and followed the signs for the ferry to Bainbridge Island.  We were all packed up with cherry tomatoes, mozzarella, boiled eggs, pretzels, and chocolate chip cookies (the Tate's gluten-free kind that are so good!).  The ferry pulled away from the pier with a deep bellow of its horn, and glided through the Sound until we reached Bainbridge about a half an hour later.  The islan...

One thing I have come to accept is that even though no one else will notice my knitting or crocheting mistakes, I will, and they will bug me to no end.   When joining together the granny squares for my Asbury Park blanket, I chose to do a single crochet join because I liked the textured ridge it created.  And since it's a stroller blanket, I thought that little fingers might like those ridges as well.  But......... ........on one row, I started from the opposite end, and those single crochet stitches were angled the wrong way!  Nooooooo!!!!!!!!  Thankfully, I caught it before I had finished the entire blanket, because I'm sure that I would have frogged the entire thing just to fix that one row.  Don't get me wrong, I'm all about the joy of wabi sabi imperfections in handmade items, but something about this little row just bugged me!   So, please make me feel better and tell me what little things bug y...

Isn't it nice to have your faith in people restored from time to time?  To be forced to accept that humbling feeling that overwhelms you when someone does something truly kind?  That's exactly what happened recently at my knitting night.  On Thursdays, I meet with the warmest, most joyful group of knitters and crocheters that you could ever meet- I love them dearly!  One of group had heard that my grandmother, who taught me to crochet when I was wee, was no longer living independently.  A few weeks later, my friend came to our knitting night with a gorgeous package of vintage doilies that she had been collecting, little by little, and said that she wanted me to send them to my grandmother, to brighter her days. And wow!  Was my Grandma thrilled!  A few days later I got a call from her, and she was already planning out how to use each one to best effect.  And what makes this an even more poignant story is that just a few days...

Over the past few pre-summer months, we've taken some lovely day trips that have each had their own striking color pallet.  Take, for example, our outing to the Jersey Shore where the sun and the wind seemed to swirl everything into a medley of blue: Or our trip to the local iris gardens, right at the peak of their blooms: And the farmer's market we take a wander through once a week to see what is ripe: Ooohhhh...and I don't want to forget our quick dash back to Illinois right as the chill was leaving the air, and the sun was making its self known, a little more each day: All of this has made Mr. Mersy and I feel like we are awash with color.  One of the best things about no longer living in Queens is that seasonal change comes with the fresh air and space to enjoy it.  We were always amazed by the number of spring bulbs the supers planted around the apartment buildings, but the tulips and daffodils were invariably stolen...