Veni, Vidi, Stiki
Gentle readers, I feel the need to tell you that I am now a Grown Up. There’s no mistaking it, and for better or worse, there is no turning back. I am a parent, I am 30, and I willingly put scissors to my knitting. All are pretty scary prospects, and none of them can be undone once done (although I’m guessing many, many people have tried).
(Also, I act like turning 30 was a choice. It was a choice only in that the alternative was dying, or stopping time, lengths I was not willing or able to go to to avoid my thirties.)
But I digress, as usual.
People, I cut my knitting.
As in, let me spend weeks knitting this sweater and hope to hell I don’t mess it all up when I decide to cut down the middle, all because I was too freaking lazy to knit back and forth.
(Non-knitters, all you need to know is that when you cut knitting, it unravels. Unless you do it in a very specific, precise, way. It’s scary as hell.)
It seems to have worked so far, but I’ll feel better once the buttonbands are in, after blocking and it’s ready to wear.
In the meantime, I’m using this sweater as a means to divert my attention from the fact that we’re leaving NYC, and soon. EJ and I are gearing up to make Holden our home base for the summer, while we look for a house.
There is much I am looking forward to (the town pool! Friday night tennis! a forever home!!!) and much I know I won’t miss here (dirty air! oven-baked sidewalks! crazy homeless people trying to touch EJ!!!) but I am wondering what will be the things that I find myself missing months or years from now. Once the dust settles, and the excitement of finding a house wears down, we get through our first set of holidays, our first year with a backyard…
What do I take completely for granted now, that I don’t even realize I’ll miss?
Being constantly surrounded by people, friendly people at that? I probably have 3 – 4 conversations with random strangers a day. The city noise that filters through our windows? I hear dogs and people, cars and construction… but the real treat comes when a random musician will play in a nearby apartment. At any given time we might hear a piano concerto, some jazz trumpet, or the low tones of a cello echoing through the courtyard our apartment faces.
It’s the trumpet that makes me really feel like I’m living in the city. There’s something magical about it, sultry golden tones on evenings warm enough to have the windows open.