World Wide Knit In Public Day

Yes, I'm knitting on the train to San Francisco

Bear number eighty-three gets an arm

After the Frida Kahlo Exhibit I work on Bear eighty-four while waiting for lunch

Just a couple more rows and my spinach salad arrives

A quick rest between train and light rail and Bear eighty-four is two thirds done.

I didn't knit with others, but I knitted while others watched. Today was "Worldwide Knit in Public Day" and I could not be at a public knit event because I had planned to take the train to San Francisco to attend the opening day of an exhibit of one of my favorite painters, Frida Kahlo.

Of course I always knit on the train, but this time I wanted to document it and I asked a young lady to take a picture of me. She didn't ask what I was knitting, but I told her anyway. I finished the knitting of Bear eighty-three and began Bear eighty-four.

An older lady who didn't speak English kept watching me and I showed her the flyer about the Mother Bear Project. She smiled and nodded her head. I had a hard time untangling the yarn that was all in one bag on my lap. The seats filled up quickly. It seems that we have discovered public transportation because of high gas prices.

I bought a book at the museum store, my knitting bunched together in a see-through plastic bag. The young man who stood behind the cash register inquired what I was knitting. I was surprised but very happy that somebody took an interest and showed him the Mother Bear flyer. I told him that I am knitting 100 Bears for Africa. He praised me very kindly.

I knitted on the steps of the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art while awaiting my 1 p.m. turn. The exhibit was on the fourth floor and I knitted about twenty rows while progressing from floor three to floor four.

Of course I did not knit while looking at the paintings and photographs. Frida Kahlo was a magical realist, a surrealist, a woman who knew much pain, somebody who needed to express herself with a paint brush to survive. I have read books about her and have seen the movie but nothing comes close to the feelings I had while standing in front of her colorful paintings, especially her self-portraits.

After I spent almost two hours (rotation was supposed to happen every half hour) exploring the exhibit I was ready for lunch. I knitted while I waited for my salad and I saw a few people staring but nobody asked any questions.

On the train home I finished the body and the third leg part of Bear eighty-four. A man who wanted his eleven-year old daughter to pay attention to what I was doing said to me, "you crochet real fast." I smiled, thanked him, and left it up to his daughter to correct him.

For the half hour between train and light rail I just sat and anticipated a quiet and uneventful evening. I had enough interaction for the day, especially since the only other person waiting was somebody who either had more than enough to drink or had some other problem that made him curse continuously and loudly into the air.

Seven minutes of light rail home only produced a few rows because I had run out of dark brown and couldn't finish the fourth leg part. I don't think there was much interest in public knitting anyway; most eyes were closed or gazed into the far distance.

Tomorrow will be a serious day of "putting things together." A lot of weaving in of yarn ends. A lot of sewing, stuffing, making ears and faces. All of it will happen away from the public eye.

80 Bears Stand on the Windowsill and Smile

Bears 2,3,4

Bears 5,6,7

Bears 8,9,10

Bears 11,12

Bears 13,14,15

Bears 16,17

Bears 18,19

Bears 21,20

Bears 24,23,22,25

Bears 26,27,28

Bears 1,29

Bears 30, 31, 32

Bears 33,34,35

Bears 36,37,38

39,40,41

Bears 42,43,44

Bears 45,46,47

Bears 48,49,50

Bears 51,52,53

Bears 54,55,56

Bears 57,58,59,60

Bears 61,62,63

Bears 64,65,66

Bears 67,68,69

Bears 70,71

Bears 72,73,74

Bears 75,76,77

Bears 78,79,80

Welcome to Bear School (more about the Rainbow Nation)

After an hour of barely acceptable monologue and a few tempering words from Pearl, Zwanga walked around the truck, frowning, bending down here and there, finally wiping his hands on his overalls, “It should make it to the school, but I better come along to make sure.”

Pearl Nobuntu nodded. She didn’t ask what had caused the vehicle to break down or what kind of repairs had been done. She was convinced that nothing ever fell apart the same way twice, so why burden your brain with such information. It was more important to attend to tasks at hand.

“Let’s go Bears! We have two hours of road ahead of us. Two hours until you meet the other Bears. Until you learn…” Her voice trailed off as she watched Zwanga swing a long leg over his motorcycle.

“Learn what?”

“You will learn some proper words. You will learn to say ‘hello’ in eleven of South Africa’s languages. And ‘thank you,’ and ‘please.’”

Miss Nobuntu pushed the last Bear back into the overland truck and took her seat at the steering wheel. “Better ride ahead of us,” she shouted to Zwanga,” my sandstorm is bigger than yours.”

Zwanga grinned and gunned the motorcycle into the road, leaving behind a formidable trail of flying debris. Mis Nobuntu shook her head; the Bears giggled. And off they went.

Soon the Bears went back to sleep. Pearl hummed an old tune that mocked the relationship between men and women. Then she imagined herself sitting in Zwanga’s workshop, the one he had built right next to his one room house. She saw herself pouring tea into a chipped cup while he talked about cell phones, about progress. She smiled.

When she left the main road the Bears were awakened by the truck’s lurches across the bumpy terrain. Pearl brought it to a stop a few meters away from a very large Baobab. Its two trunks bowed outward, like two friends off into different directions, but they changed their minds and grew together about twenty feet from the ground, providing an arch that served as the entrance to the school property.

“One after the other,” Pearl guided the Bears. She wanted them to notice and remember the gateway to their new lives as they walked through the giant Baobab.

Zwanga had already parked his motorcycle at the far corner of the lot. He was watching Bears in front of the one-room school hut as they paraded around in pairs and addressed each other like actors during rehearsal of a play.

“We are practicing,” one of them said when Pearl Nobuntu asked what all the shouting was about.

“Hoe gaan dit met you?” the Bear read from a small booklet as he bowed in front of her. “That’s Africaans,” he whispered. “It means ‘how are you?’”

“Ke gona,” she smiled, and she too, whispered, “this means ‘I’m fine’ in Sepedi.”

“Ngicela sikhatsi?” she asked in a louder voice, addressing the rest of the Bears, but nobody understood her.

“We haven’t learned that yet.”

“I am asking you what time it is in Siswati. I am your teacher. I’m late because my truck broke down. Let’s go inside and see what you’ve learned so far. ”

A very young assistant teacher stood in the doorway of the room. She welcomed Pearl Nobuntu’s arrival with a sigh of relief. “They don’t listen to me,” she complained. They don’t understand anything I say.”

“Oh my Dear,” the older woman said, “they do understand. Bears are very sensitive. They are the best listeners once they have found a child in need. We are just giving them a few extra tools. So be patient with them. Enjoy them while they are here.”

She walked to the back of the room where two Bears were pointing at various African words. She nodded approvingly. “Good. Good.” She listened to the young, enthusiastic voices as she circulated among several groups. When she opened her arms, motioning a gesture of welcome, laughing her deep, happy laugh, the room became quiet.

“Hello little friends.” she said, “Welcome to Bear School.”

Zwanga, arms folded over his chest, stood next to the young assistant in the doorway.

“Isn’t she the best,” he said without a question mark at the end of the sentence. And he spoke to nobody in particular when he continued to voice his admiration of Pearl Nobuntu.

“Isn’t she just fabulous!”

Thank you again!

All my Bears have found sponsors. I want to say "thank you" again to everybody who has helped me with the $3.00 that need to accompany each Bear when I send them all in. I finished Bear number eighty yesterday and today I am beginning the final twenty. Since they already have sponsors I can concentrate on knitting now.

I wish everybody in my memoir group a great summer and promise to write about things other than BEAR in the fall. Well, maybe some BEAR.

The Day After

It is impossible not to knit. But then, I know this and was not surprised when my hands reached for the half-finished body of Bear number seventy-six. At nine in the morning. The day after I had sworn off regular blogging, regular photographing, and regular knitting, in favor of a less rigid approach to summer, some gardening, more reading, a couple of weeks of preparing for my Alaska trip.

Later that day, over lunch in the park, I wanted my thoughts to be “fancy free.” But they fancied!! When I admitted to myself that I wouldn’t mind if they worked on the unfinished book report about Victorian women travelers, they fancied a meeting between Pearl Nobuntu and Mary Kingsley. What would these two women say to each other? My invention, the modern South African overland truck driver and teacher, in charge of a new crop of teddy bears, and the famous Victorian lady who left behind her well-ordered life in search of adventure in West Africa.

First of all, I think, Pearl Nobuntu would climb down from her lofty seat in the truck, smooth out the folds of her comfortable bush skirt, take a few steps toward the other woman and hold out her solid, dark hand.
“Hello! I’m Pearl Nobuntu. Sorry about the dust.” She’d look at Mary Kingsley with pity. Why would anybody wear a black blouse and black long skirt on this road? She looked rather helpless, covered from head to toes with a layer of red sand. And why would this woman travel without anybody by her side? She must be courageous.

Mary Kingsley, unaware of her looks, happy to see a friendly native, would hurry toward Pearl, shake her hand and smile.
“Glad to meet you.” She would hold up a notebook with her other hand – a well-manicured, pale, Victorian lady’s hand - and explain, “I’m looking for a big Baobab and have made a map of its location, but it seems I am wrong in my measurements. I am unable to find it.

“Ahhhh. The famous Baobab. You’re very close. We’re on our way to it ourselves.” She’d notice the question mark on Kingsley’s face and explain, “I have a truckload of Bears with me. We’re on our way to the schoolhouse. The Baobab – it’s hollow at the bottom, like an arch, and it forms the gateway to our school. You must have passed the crossroad.”

Kingsley’s face would light up. “Would you mind giving me a ride, then?”

If Pearl Nobuntu had her doubts about Mary Kingsley’s abilities, she’d soon change her mind. Mary would stuff the notebook into her canvas bag, hoist her skirt above her knees, hold its folds together with one hand, and pull herself up into the front passenger seat of the truck with her other hand.

Pearl would offer her tea from the thermos. “My friend Zwanga rescued us with tea and bread, but the Bears ate all the bread. Nothing left but some tepid tea.”

“Lovely,” Mary would say. “Where are these Bears you are talking about?”

With a laugh Pearl would explain, “They are asleep again. My truck died with a pffft yesterday and we had to spend the night out here in the desert. The mechanic fixed it this morning and as soon as we took off, after breakfast, the Bears went back to sleep.”

Soon Pearl Nobuntu would turn the steering wheel sharply to the right and navigate into a partially hidden driveway. They would stop in front of the Baobab.

“Beautiful!” Mary Kingsley would exclaim. “It’s even grander than I had expected.”

Her exclamation would drown in Bear jubilations. “We’re here. We’re here.” They’d tumble all over each other trying to jump off the truck.

Zwanga, standing under the Baobab, would feel a slight pang of indecision. He had changed out of his overalls and looked forward to helping Pearl down to the ground, but the lady in black was a visitor and he’d have to bow to convention.

“May I help you? May I escort you to the visitors’ lounge?”

Mary’d take his offered hand graciously but as soon as she’d touch ground she’d run toward the tree. “Perfect,” she’d say. “Just perfect.”



Happy with the outcome of the meeting between my imagined heroine, Pearl Nobuntu, and the woman I was about to introduce to my memoir writing group as an unlikely, yet seasoned traveler, I folded my notes, returned the pen to my backpack, sealed my lunch leftovers into the Ziploc bag, and returned to knitting.

Summer Break

They said, “Remember this moment; it is an important moment in history!”

Congratulations, Senator Obama! I will indeed remember this moment. I cried a few tears of joy.

Your email of June 3, 2008, 7:04:36 P.M. Pacific Daylight Time informed me, in part, that, “This is our time. Our time to turn the page on the policies of the past and bring new energy and new ideas to the challenges we face.”

I sat at my computer desk, surrounded by all the things I love: books, journals, yarn, cameras, photographs, maps, binders filled with research, dolls, bears, candles, flowers, printouts of emails, an unfinished book report, and a bar of chocolate that was divided into three parts. I was only going to eat part one. Over the course of the evening, in my excitement, I also inhaled parts two and three.

I was knitting Bear number seventy-five while I was listening to CNN and reading newly posted messages on the website of my online book club. It was quite late when I finished the Bear. I had to take his picture using flash. I didn’t have anything to say about him because I was preoccupied with other things all day.

And then I thought, I need a break. Summer months are busy; So many engagements, chores, tasks. I realized that I would have to disengage myself from my present eight to ten hour knitting time to attend to the other events in my life. Since February 24 I have not missed a single day of knitting, photographing, writing (at least a sentence or two). Now I want to spend a month catching up on gardening, researching Alaska for my upcoming cruise, walking the creek (instead of walking back and forth in my house while knitting) talking more to family and friends, attending the opening day of the Frida Kahlo exhibit in San Francisco, preparing questions for the “Wonders of our Water Works Tour,” and, in general, enjoying Bear knitting without worrying about finishing one a day or photographing or blogging.

Yes, I will continue to knit and to photograph, and, if I have something to say, will blog, but none of it will be daily until the second week in July, at which time I will report on my progress on a daily basis again. My calculations tell me that I will be finished with all one hundred Bears sometime in August and I will either have them shipped by my Mother Bear Project drop off LYS people, ship them myself, or deliver them personally to the Mother Bear Project in Minneapolis during the first week of September.

Thanks for the support you all have given me. I shall continue my daily communication on Monday, July 7th.

Gisela

Conflict of Interest

Today I had planned on working on Tyana's pink t-shirt only

but Bear number seventy-five insisted on being finished.

Guess Who's Driving Up In Style?

Bear number seventy-four

How Bear Number Seventy-three Gets a Face

I am trying to show how I give the Bear a face but this time

I post each picture separately to avoid scrambling them.

In with the needle from the back of the neck.

Out in front at the middle of the mouth.

Up for the nose.

To the side for an eye

To the other side for the second eye.

Down to the mouth parts one and two.