Knitting has consumed me. I wake up in the morning and it's a toss up which comes first: coffee or my needles--at least on weekends. I guess as addictions go, it's fairly benign, at least if you don't add up the stash enhancement forays into Yardgoods. And at least I usually have something to show for myself afterwards. I knit in front of the TV. I knit in the car. I knit standing up at the dining room table when I really should be cleaning. As if cleaning should or could compete with knitting. I force myself to do schoolwork mostly so I can knit afterwards.

I joined Ravelry (I'm pinetreeknitter ) and spend an embarrassing amount of time searching out yarn, patterns, and knitting publications on the web. Time I could spend writing, which I keep saying I like to do. Funny how I'd rather knit than write. Writing takes thinking--and it's not like knitting doesn't, especially math, especially when I decide to wing it and make up my own baby socks and hat (this weekend's project), but somehow I manage not to put my butt in the chair to actually work on the bobolink story I keep saying I'm writing....I will, I swear. Maybe over February vacation. After I finish the Kate Gilbert Bird in Hand mittens.

You see, I've also been consumed by teaching. Teaching is one of those things that you can't just show up and do. You have to prepare the work. You have to assess it later. You have to keep track of too damned much stuff--who did their homework, who didn't, who understands the concepts, who doesn't, who I'm challenging, who needs a little hand-holding, whose relationship needs fostering, what administrative annoyances--like progress reports and report cards--need attention.

I plan units on spreadsheets now because otherwise I just never get to all the things I need to. This month we have to trade in our trusty old Dells for Macs. THAT won't cause any issues. Buried under all of that is why I got into teaching in the first place: to make school a better place for kids. To pass on a love of reading and writing. And most of all to pass on a lifelong thirst for learning. When you're in the middle of it, and it doesn't seem like it's going all that well, that you're not making the impact you think you should, it's hard to step back and know what effect you're really having. I swear it's the most bipolar experience a person with "normal" mental health can have.

Success can skate right up to you though. At the ice rink yesterday, a former student glided over to say hello, then her mom caught me up. Her daughter was completely prepared for middle school, she said, because of the writing I had done with her. It was the best kind of present a teacher could get, and one I badly needed. My so-called failures chase around inside my head as I try to fall asleep. If only I'd talked about leads before they took the writing prompt. I did back in November, but they forgot everything we practiced. If only I'd insisted they use a brainstorming format, then they'd have ideas and examples. I went to bed last night chewing on that. I woke up this morning with heartburn.

So thank God, at least one family thinks I know what I'm doing (and there are lots more than one--but when you're in a negative thought loop, that's all you notice. Why is it that the negative thoughts beat out the positives?)

So what have I been knitting you ask? There were the cunnin' pink slightly fuzzy cabled baby socks, and matching hat with a ruffled brim which I made for the custodian at school--well, for his baby. I wanted to learn how to make ruffles, so I read through a pattern for something else and modified it for my own nefarious purposes.

I straightened out the Taos pinwheel sweater too--figured out how to do the short rows so I really do have vertical sides to expand. I only had to rip it, I don't know, four times. But there it is waiting for a front.

Then there are the Bird in Hand mittens in dark purple and bright green. I'm using Cascade 220 which is lovely to work with and economical. I finally understand why it's such a crowd pleaser. I bet my husband is going to buy me a yarn swift and ball winder now that he's also experienced the pleasures of Cascade 220. He enjoyed figuring out how to drink beer while his outstretched arms were surrounded by wool.

When I finally clear out Taos and the mittens, I have mossy green alpaca/wool set aside for a Green Mountain Spinnery artisan's vest for my put-upon husband. He'll get it if he manages to keep his hat til spring.

Got Snow? Then You Might as Well Have a Snow Ramp

It has snowed almost continually this month, and while many try valiantly and with much cursing to get rid of the stuff, we pile it up in our yard. Today's seven-inch dump is all powder and has added another foot to the height of our snow ramp. My husband, who is Mr. Safety by day (he does outdoor safety for a nearby college), has built an homage to the winter fun gods with nothing more than a snowblower and a shovel: it's the mighty snow ramp.

He practiced last March when it finally snowed here in Maine, and the ramp was such a hit, our younger son spent the summer saying, "I wish it was winter."
"Um, why?" I'd ask because this was the boy who refused to go out the winter he was 2-3.
"Because then daddy can build a snow ramp."
"But it's fun to go swimming isn't it?"
"Yeah, but I like sledding better."

And this year cross country skiing, snoeshowing, and snowboarding too. The five-year-old is giving me tips on how to get down the ramp in a full and upright position: "Bend your knees mom. More." These 44-year-old knees don't bend so well, but I think merely trying this wards off the aging process. I am getting pretty good. I have actually made it down the slope without falling.

I may even have learned how to do a tele-turn, finally, about 14 years after I gave up. It turns out you're supposed to not only bend one knee, but also put weight on the other ski. Who knew. That might have saved me the hip-to-knee bruising I used to endure while trying to learn this style of skiing.

Our older son even got out his new downhill skis and learned some skiing basics (snowplow, turn) with dad pulling him back up with an old rock climbing rope. We call it the daddy rope tow.

Yes, the ski ramp. Endless hours of fun and free entertainment. All you need is a little snow (OK, a lot), a snowblower, a shovel and a husband with imagination.

The Maine Idea

I like to play with words, I live in Maine and I've been known to have a few ideas. Hence Julia's Maine Ideas. It's not because I speak for the great state of Maine--far from it. Though often a tolerant state (the guy who threatened the Bangor NAACP notwithstanding--he's a crackpot), I tend to lean a wee bit further to the left than many. That's why they're my Maine ideas.

This afternoon I realized this month marks my 20th anniversary in the state and I happened to be down in Portland where it all began. I felt like a young single thing again when my friend K indulged my secret-flat-in-the-city fantasy with her housesitting gig. I could picture myself in my apartment on Morning Street with the winter view of the water and the green tiled fireplace that drew so poorly an upstairs neighbor gave us his boy scout manual when we smoked him out. The leaking windows made the curtains move inside and you had to sit on the old steam radiators to get warm. God, I miss that place. My biggest decisions were stay or go, takeout or cook, hike or ski, beach or mountains. And yet, I wouldn't trade what I have now for a minute of those days. I moved to Maine knowing only one person here and made a life for myself.

Here in central Maine, I teach fifth grade with all of its bipolar highs and lows. The best of times the worst of times. The agony and the ecstacy. If you have ever taught you know what I mean. I have a fabulous husband and two fantastic monkeys who impersonate my kids. We have a priceless view of the western mountains, gardens, and currently a giant ski ramp in the front yard. More on that in another post.

This blog will include lots of rambling commentary on all manner of things including my knitting projects, bird sightings, teaching struggles and triumphs, my family, and things that bend me out of shape. Hey, it's a presidential election year. I'll probably get pissed. I might write about writing too. I supposedly am writing a children's book after spending the past few years dabbling in romance (I haven't completely given up on that, but my writing time is non-existant so a children's book seems more manageable). I also write for a college magazine now and then.

And that's it for this inaugural address.

Happy New Year.
Julia