Many years ago, Katie, the middle kid, crewed on a big sail boat for a race. Somehow she tripped on the boat and sprained her ankle. I don’t recall if she stuck it out ’til the end of the race, but I do know that many of the skippers in this race were part of the local medical profession. She was in good hands. Somehow she was given a cast on her ankle and told to keep it on for a specific amount of time.
That summer, I recall, we took a trip east to explore colleges with Katie in the cast. She wanted to get it off, get moving again and I remember going to the hospital in Cooperstown NY (Dad’s home town) and the cast was removed… I assume with some type of inspection.
Forward many years… here I am with a cast and told to keep it on for six weeks. Two to go… Of course Katie happened to mention to me last week that she was sorry she had the cast taken off so soon… whatever amount of time it was. But I can tell you… after all these years I sympathize…
I want this itchy hot thing OFF!!!! …
Sweater progress… up to the arm pits. Not bad for a week sitting around watching TV and knitting ‘til my thumbs are numb. I also relearned how to crochet an afghan square… thank you – YouTube. I just might go back to the sewing machine and making quilt tops.
I learned to appreciate my grumpy butler when a daughter suggested I might have been put in a nursing home. I got a smirk from him when I told him what she said and since then I have tried to be less grumpy.
A visit to the Doc and a new cast… note the Seahawks colors…(they won the game) and a gorgeous new shoe that doesn’t exactly match the other one. Oh well…
As for driving a car… suggestion, next time don’t mess with the right foot. Doc said it could be ten weeks, just in time to buy the turkey for Thanksgiving. Can I remain less grumpy that long? How much more can the smirking butler put up with me? Wish me luck!
Two weeks and so far, holding my own, well not really. I have this “grumpy butler” (Sea) who tends to my needs .. . Well, he drives me to the grocery store where I have mastered the bulky electronic cart. He has managed to push me into several of our favorite lunch places. He will bring me my hot coffee if he is up in time, otherwise I manage to have less coffee.
I have mastered getting down three steps to the bed room and have learned to push the wheel chair which someone else is supposed to push, backwards into the bed room. I have left scratches on every door and piece of furniture in my way.
And I am counting the weeks…. two out of 6 the Dr said it would be. So- I have set myself an insane goal…. knit the purple sweater. I would pick yarn that requires a size 4 needle… but it is keeping me busy. I can push the sewing machine foot pedal with the left foot but I find when I sew, I need to get up and about and that isn’t going to work. So I am knitting… I’ll keep you posted.
We are not huge football fans, but since the Seahawks won the Super Bowl, we seem to be caught up in the local frenzy. Needless to say it is mentioned all week on all TV stations before every game. A trip to the grocery store on game day had all the clerks, and a large number of others wearing Seahawks colors. I was even complimented on my Seahawks blue cast on my leg. Gotta go with the team!
There was a time many, many years ago, before TV, when my dad would listen to the games on the radio. He would be in the basement, in his shop doing, who knows. He always had something to keep him busy down there. I would go down and watch, and when I was young, I had no idea what he was charting until I grew up and watched the games on TV with him many years later.
He would save shirt card board (do they exist any more?) and draw the yard lines with a ruler. He would chart each play, each team up and down the field- a visual representation of the game. Amazing.
When TV was available he would watch the games on TV and when it was meal time the TV was situated in such a way that a hall mirror could be set so the TV could be seen from the dining room…backwards. Nothing would interfere with dinner with the family around the table….game or not ! Hooray for the Patriots… (we lived outside of Boston).
And now, we are cheering for the Seahawks… go Seahawks.
Lazy day Monday
One of the cartoons called it lazy day. Stay at home, relax, rest. Well, I don’t go to work any more but I should have treated it as a lazy day. I got up with the intention of finishing (at last) a quilt I started some 15 or 20 years ago. It is supposed to have 12 cat blocks. Eight are done. If I did just one more, it would be big enough!.…. except I tripped and did something to my right foot, the one that uses the sewing machine pedal….
I spent Lazy day with my foot wrapped in ice, up on my lounge chair watching very old TV shows and knitting a sock. Oh well, Sia really wants the socks and there was nothing else I could do. The cat quilt is obviously not in a hurry to be done. What does it matter.
Back to the socks. Might even get both done now.
PS – from oldest daughter, editor-in-chief
(then mom went to the doctor today to get that swollen ankle checked out and it is broken….one blue cast and a wheelchair…one lazy day after another now….for 6 weeks….Anyone for a pair of socks?)
An addition to the sweater saga of last week’s entry….the story behind the story
My granny knit all of my sweaters when I was a child. I often did get the ones with stripes on the sleeves and the bottom, which were reworked from last years, or my sister’s outgrown ones.
This did entail a certain ceremony every summer. Granny would invite us down to her little cottage on Cape Cod. We would arrive and she would have a tape measure, pencil in hand and a piece of paper ready. I came to understand about the paper as I was older. It was always torn on the sides. Granny saved everything. The papers were the back sides of envelopes she had received in the mail.
Once there, the ritual began. She would trace around a hand, fingers together, fingers spread out. And always there was an extra line at the end of the thumb and the tallest finger.I might add I do recall this procedure tickled my fingers and I would be told to hold still.
Then the sweater measurements… the arm, the back, the waist. I find I have done this with all of my grandkids when I had a chance and somewhere in my piles of stuff I have the hand prints of the four older grandkids, now all grown up, and notations in my knitting book of what size sweater I have knit for Lucy and Phoebe.
The purple sweater was the first I have added on to. With the others I assume the sweaters were passed on to someone else. In fact, when my kids were small and I worked as an aide in the local school, I saw my children’s sweaters on neighbor’s kids as they moved along the street to the younger children.
Then there is the sweater I won. I was in high school when I won a gift certificate for a sweater at a local store. I have no recollection how or why. My mother took me into Worcester to the store and waited while I made my selection.
It took a long time and finally the clerk asked my mom why it was taking so long.
“She has never owned a store bought sweater. She is comparing them to hand knit.”
Hand knit fit, perfectly.
It was then I realized what a treasure a hand knit sweater is.
I find I am writing often about “the little girls” – and they are hardly little any more at ages 9 and 11 – tall and slim and full of energy. But my other “grands” are between 26 and 30…. all grown up. We do see some of them now and then, but not as often as the little girls. In fact we have learned that my first great-grands will be arriving in the fall… twin girls. Can’t wait to see them.
Lucy, the 11 year old is growing so fast that a sweater I knit her a year ago has “shrunk”, according to Lucy. Mom washed it in the machine, and suddenly it was small. Fortunately I had more of the same yarn and spent a little time extending the length of the sleeves and the bottom. Lucy is getting taller and her arms are getting longer but she is as slim as ever.
She arrived from her new island home last week and I mentioned the purple sweater awaiting her. She ran to get it and put it on. “Perfect”, she says, “and it’s just like the other one!”
“It is the other one,” I said and I showed her where it was lengthened, and of course had to tell her about my Granny who would take a too small sweater and do the same thing. If she ran out of the proper yarn, we got stripes, until it was hopeless. And being the younger of two, I usually got the stripes.