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Monday, March 10, 2008


Heeeeere's Bear Number Eleven. I posed her by the daffodils because I have been thinking about daffodils all day. The ones in my garden have already wilted but I bought a bouquet of ten at Trader Joe's yesterday. They opened this morning just in time to greet the sun.

I've also written a story about my Mother Bear Project for my memoirs writing class and I would like to copy it to this blog. It is part of my thinking process; part of the crazy way I begin new projects. Dr. Steinfeld (my companion in the story) is actually a psychiatrist I made up many years ago when I had some problems that needed "shrinking." He makes a good writing device and I use him whenever I have conversations with myself. Anyway, here is the story.

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I entered the Purly Gates of my Knitting World with an orange-cranberry scone and a new set of five number four bamboo sock needles. Add to this the multicolored yarn I bought from Blue Moon Fiber Arts at Stitches West and an urge to knit the first pair of socks since I was twelve – which makes it 57 years ago – and you get an image of pure happiness.
But wait!
Sock happy?
Well…….?
Yes, sock happy.


I raced a marathon of knit-one-purl-one leg rounds and performed some flawless heel and foot stockinette needling along the way. But then I had to produce sock number two. My needles crawled to the finish line.
I don’t like repeats!
A sock demands a repeat!
Shame on it!


As much as I love the new Socks that Rock yarn, happiness left me as quickly as it had entered my paradise. I needed another project. Happiness, it seems, is a subject that needs the scrutiny of my favorite shrink, and as usual, when I am unable to sort out the definitions that mark my territory, I ask him to clarify my thought process. Since we both love the afternoon ritual of coffee and sweets I invite him to join me.


The first half hour is spent catching up on ordinary subjects. The various kinds of daffodils in bloom at this time of the year. The presidential aspirations and qualifications of Obama and Clinton. Peet’s freshly ground Dark Roast versus Good Earth herbal teas. Mockingbirds. Daylight savings time. But then – without warning - we plunge into my sock problem.
Dr. Steinfeld sits across from me, stabbing his last piece of neatly cut up bear claw with a cake fork.


“And why is it you don’t like to create a sock Doppelgänger?”


“It’s not artistic!”


“Isn’t there art in being able to clone perfection?”



I dismiss his question with a counter argument.


“Look at the painters who slave away in the Chinese countryside somewhere, copying the masters for foreign art markets. Do you think of them as artists?”


Dr. Steinfeld moves crumbs to the middle of his plate with the tip of his fork. Orders them until they form a circular mound. I watch him wet a finger between his lips. Then he presses it, repeatedly, into the crumbs until all of them adhere to it. He gives the finger a scrutinizing look before he directs it toward his mouth. His tongue welcomes the last of his favorite afternoon snack while he looks over the rims of his glasses and smiles.


“I didn’t know that sock knitting is an art. My grandmother spent most of her evenings knitting and darning socks. She never struck me as the artistic kind. If you misbehaved she waved one of her needles at you and threatened to poke you with it. ”


When I don’t respond immediately, but stare at a picture on the wall behind him, Dr. Steinfeld takes his plate to the kitchen and rinses it under running water. He whistles. I like that he feels comfortable enough in my house to follow his quirky habits of neatness. We’ve known each other for a long time.


I pull a pattern for a teddy bear from the stack of papers on my coffee table. I had bought it at the Mother Bear Project Booth at Stitches West. It looks easy. Knit a bear and the organization will send it to Africa to an HIV/AIDS infected child. Over 25,000 have been made so far according to the website I had inspected earlier in the day.


Dr. Steinfeld comes back to the living room with the coffee pot and refills my cup.
“Only so much DNA to go around. We are all clones. More or less. What makes you unique are not the socks. Billions of socks have been knitted since the first person discovered that string looped around a stick enough times warms your feet. My Dear, what makes you unique is the fact that we are having a conversation about socks.”


“Thanks. Only so many words to go around,” I mock.


“Yes. True. So….it’s the sentence that counts…..isn’t it?”


I cram a big bite of Almond Croissant into my mouth. The center bite where marzipan paste forms a thick sweet layer against the flaky crust.


“I think I’m going to knit a hundred teddy bears. Take pictures of them. Write a blog about my progress. I think I’m ready for a big project.”


Without waiting for a response, I take the pattern to the copier in the other room. I like to keep originals in plastic pouches. Clean. No pencil marks. No accidental spills.


“It gives me a chance to use up all the yarn I’ve stashed in this bin.” I say this as I wait for the printer to warm up. I say it to myself, my mind already wound into worsted weight color combinations.


A voice of gentle prodding barely penetrates my web of rising teddy bear dreams.


“What did you say, Doc?”


“I said, there must be people who wouldn’t mind wearing one of a kind socks.”


I send my laughter around the corner, teasing my friend about his offbeat solution. From the top of the bin I take a skein of medium brown yarn, a ball of variegated red, and a small amount of white baby yarn, left over from an afghan. By the time the printer finishes its reproduction of the pattern, I am sure that I have to go shopping for brighter colors.


“”How do you feel about lime green?” I ask walking back into the living room.


But Dr. Steinfeld has quietly removed himself from my roaming thoughts. He sits in front of the computer, like a statue, upright, eyes closed, both hands resting on the keyboard.


Size 7 needles.
Cast on.
100 bears for Africa.