thoughts on change

About 22 years ago I slipped on a bit of ice, fell wrong, and broke my ankle. It was a surprisingly bad break for a little fall. I had to have pins put in the bones and wore a plaster cast for a couple of weeks before switching to fiberglass. Even at that time, plaster casts were on their way out and it was a sign of the severity of the break that I needed such stabilization. My foot swelled so much every morning that I needed handfuls of Vicodin about an hour before getting out of bed just to handle the pain of it. I’d set my alarm for 6, get up at 7, and be in class by 8…but the notes I took in class showed signs of the painkillers and were useless.
I lived at the bottom of a large hill and couldn’t get up the hill on crutches, so I would take the bus and hope the bus driver would let me off when I asked…he didn’t always.
I lived independently, but didn’t have a car. I fell to buying groceries at the nearby 7-11 because it was a shorter walk on crutches. My roommates at the time were thoughtless young men and ate my groceries and then would disappear. That one of them was active in the young Republican group on campus might have influenced my later progressive stance.

All these things contributed to a difficult period, but they tested me and I came out on top. I was left, though, with the sense that my life had been on one track and slipped. When I started going again I was on a different track, a new country. I can’t explain what happened in clearer words. The day I broke my ankle I had been planning to go dancing and there was a man…he moved away a few weeks later. I barely saw him again. I learned my limits and began to own them. I had to get by and feed my pets, and my roommates. I had to somehow pass my classes, which almost didn’t happen. That accident made me more who I am than anything that came before, the physical pain, the increased awareness of my usual responsibilities, the shift in personal focus.

It’s been awhile since I would think of that break every day. Today, I pulled on a pair of boots, and it all came flooding back.

The thing is, it’s not the fall or the break. It’s the sudden change in routine that shakes us out of ourselves. Anything can do it, not all as violently as that break did, but it can still happen. Having a child on the autism spectrum certainly did that to me. All of a sudden my life was on one track, and then it changed. I was forced to go a different way.

It’s been okay.

Slow and Steady Wins the Race

In the mid '70s, my sister and I took a series of children's acting classes at the fabulous Bonfils Theater on Colfax in Denver. My sister took acting seriously enough that she auditioned, and was cast, in a few roles as a young teenager. I went along to auditions, but my heart wasn't in it the way hers was. The classes were different though. We were stuck in groups of kids of a variety of ages, with teachers who ran the gamut of the theatrically obsessed, to the Sunday-driver of the theater class world. Some teachers would have us reciting Strindberg, others would have us pretending to be zoo animals. It was an education.

One session, my teacher picked out a number of Aesop's fables. That particular session I was one of the most advanced students, it may even have been the last class I took. I played Mr. A-Sop himself (ridiculous contrivance), and introduced each of the fables as they were performed. The final performance was in front of parents and yawning siblings. A couple of the other students did not show up that day, leaving us high and dry. Luckily, I had the entire show completely memorized so I was able to step in to each of the roles left absent. I played the narrator, I played, perhaps, a fox. I played the Tortoise and that was the best of all. I played it for laughs and got them.

I think that experience left me with a fondness for that Tortoise. He was not smug or conceited. He was just consistent and persistent.

Days when I feel like I've been knitting something forever, I remember that performance. It's the tortoise in me that keeps me going. Steady pace...slow...

A couple of friends are facing the ends of long term projects recently. It's that persistence in the face of a project that has become anathema that will win the day. It will be done! Go on over to Fujiyamamama's blog and cheer that Mohair Sweater on!

In the works

Even though I don't have tons of time for knitting, I will soon. I picked up Rowan #46. I like a couple of the sweaters in there enough to do the math to be able to use my stash of Felted Tweed. Or maybe I will use those sweaters as a jumping off point and just make up my own.

I am moving apace on my "Girl Friday". I tried to take a picture, but it's too gray, both the yarn and the light outside. Even though last week's major snow is mostly melted, the weather is decidedly LATE autumn, rather than warm last-days-of-summer autumn.

Bluecanary sent me some lovely yarn. I have balled it up and swatched for a bolero for Bea. Thank you Blue!

Mittens and Snow

I have been wanting to do a colorwork project -- preferably big and complicated -- but it didn't work out that way. Will lost his mittens (for which he gets no pie) and needed more right away.

These are pre-blocking so you can see bits of white showing through around the thumb.






Still, we were desperate because we knew weather was on the way.
THIS WEATHER:

A foot and still falling

In other news, we ran out of foil. Mark bought this foil from Costco about the time Will was born. Will is the boy up there with his new mittens on. We haven't bought foil in more than 6 years. This stuff was industrial quality and the sharp edge on the box was deadly. I have cut myself on it more than once. Goodbye foil, we hardly knew ye.

Parents and Teachers

Teachers do not have an easy life. They have 18 or more kids, all with individual needs. I get it. They have to do what is best for what Charles once called "A herd of plankton", while maintaining overall standards.

And they have education reform. In the 70's I was a victim, albeit briefly, of an experimental school. 100 kids in each classroom, bins instead of desks, chaos. I was miserable and completely out of my element, so my parents transferred me to a traditional school every year. I only had to endure a week of that at the beginning of each year. Some of the teachers probably understood the pedagogical underpinnings of that kind of education and were trying to make it work. I'm not sure they all did.

And now we have math reform. I saw the seeds of this when working for a university math department in the early 90's. Chicago Math! It was all the rage. As a parent I am experiencing Chicago Math again in the form of "Everyday Math". Recognizing my own hackles rising at the term "educational reform", I have been reading up as much as possible on "Everyday Math" so as not to hate it. Once again, I'll bet some of the teachers understand the pedagogical underpinnings of reform math, though I'm not sure they all do. What I have been finding in my perusal of the literature is that for the "herd of plankton", "Everyday Math" works okay, about as well as other forms of math. Though pity the child who transfers school districts often.

But here I come back to my beginning point. Teachers need to balance the needs of the many against the one. I have one of those Ones. "Everyday Math" requires a lot of estimation, which is abhorrent to my very precise child. Why can't he just write down the answer? I step in and say "Just write down the answer. I'll confirm this with the teacher". And in that brief step, I become ONE OF THOSE PARENTS. The parent insisting their child is different and needs special treatment.

I get "the look" from the teacher.

The look that discounts my own expertise in my child. That look suggests I know zilch about the curriculum and how it works. I hate to say it, but that "look" gets me closer and closer to completely losing respect for such a teacher. A good teacher, and we have had a few, needs to recognize that an involved parent knows their child better than that teacher ever could. A parent who has been willing to work within the system, and regularly comes up with solutions to classroom problems, does not deserve that look. A good teacher listens, acknowledges, and offers their own suggestions without dismissing the parent out of hand.

Especially a parent with a great IEP.

A day off. Phew.

I had a fright last night when two of my children seemed to be getting ill.

I had really been hoping to have today to clean the house and get some knitting done and tomatoes peeled and frozen. I had become reconciled to the idea of having a sick day instead when much to my surprise, everyone was fine this morning.

Hurrah.

So the house is clean and I am getting ready to knit.
I finished my Pagewood Farm socks yesterday and wore them all day. This yarn is from Fujiyamamama, who got it at the sock summit. It's warm and soft and pretty.




I started Girl Friday a while ago, but realized last weekend that I had counted wrong initially and had to pull it out and start over. It's what I have been taking to work, so maybe a row a day. Sigh.


I also thought I would make this vest with Berroco Vintage Wool. I like the brown.



Finally, I got some Debbie Bliss Cotton Denim Aran on eBay recently. I have a sweater made from this yarn and wear it often. Even though Charles says he won't wear sweaters, I catch him curled up in mine rather often. So the texture is acceptable obviously. I'm making him a top down raglan. We'll see if he wears it when it's his.

Nothing to see, move on

I have been getting about 3 rows of knitting in every day and then falling asleep.

Monday I have a day off. I am going to put everyone in child care and clean the house. And knit. I have two things that are active (at least a row a day!) and two more I want to start.

So I'll take pictures on Monday and make a more interesting post.