#dailyhaha

Thoughtful people have "aha" moments. Moments of insight, of grace, of universal deliverance. The older I get the less I expect to have eye openers of this magnitude. But I do, sometimes have "haha" moments. Unexpected humor discovered in or after a minor moment of daily survival.

Recently I thought that recording a haha moment a day would contribute to my overall well being, probably because, for the last week, I saw my son infuse his Facebook page with daily #100happydays experiences. That is "hashtag 100 happy days." My son just became engaged and though happiness is an expected ingredient for such an event, daily, public acknowledgement of such happiness is rather new to me. I am thrilled that he takes the time to "show and tell." Definitely a sign of thoughtfulness.

But back to my exploration of humor. I documented my first #dailyhaha in an email to a friend.
It involves a long history of periodic back spasms, a day spent flat on my back, due to said back spasms, and my discovery upon recuperation, that I had resumed ordinary tasks without really paying attention. You see, I can't remember ever not closing the toilet lid. It's a reflex. But when my back hurt a few days ago and I couldn't bend without making groaning sounds, I left it open. The next morning, after brushing my teeth, I turned slowly, afraid of possible ypain, and to my surprise I saw that the lid was closed. Apparently my pain was gone. I smiled a silent haha.

There have been other hahas since then. I took the doll I am working on outside for a photo shoot in the neighbor's apricot tree. The doll, Heiner, still without pants, complained about his pantless existence and I showed him that I was working on a pair of blue sweat pants for him.
I felt the haha coming on when I realized that I had a "conversation" with a doll.








Yesterday morning delivered the funniest haha so far. While watering the front yard I contemplated the challenges of aging. I congratulated myself on jobs well done.
Front porch vacuumed, back patio swept, weeds pulled, ivy cut back. Earlier I had dusted, washed breakfast dishes, answered emails, paid a bill, researched some facts online for a friend, noted my impression of a Lawrence Durrell book, spent ten minutes working on a new app that is supposed to keep my brain lubricated.

"I am doing well for my age," I told myself, winding the hose back onto its hanger.
"I hope I didn't get my white shorts dirty," was my next thought, a reminder to check myself out in the mirror before I left the house to do some shopping.

I can still hear the boys - Heiner and Hector - giggle. They tried to hide their laughter by turning their backs to me. Heiner, by the way, was wearing his new pants.





What amused them?

Well, their confident maker, knitter extraordinaire, all around well adjusted housemate - I - standing in front of the hallway mirror, saw with great shock that I had forgotten to zip up my white shorts. I had spent about an hour outdoors, in various poses, nodding to a stranger in a passing car, waving hello to the neighbor across the street, halting midway down the ladder to observe a utility worker exit his parked truck.

Grudgingly I forced myself to accept the image in the mirror into my newly established #dailyhaha repertoire.

It's Just a Doll

A creative spirit is sometimes difficult to tame. Mine confronted me last night in a dream. It means that I have not taken proper care of it during the day.
In my dream I unraveled the last round of a wine glass I had knitted in burgundy red. With two strands of worsted weight yarn. The stem was a sparkly green icord, bending under the weight of the heavy rim. And across from me stood somebody who counted on me to knit three glasses for her by the next day. She was an unknown customer who made demands that I could not fulfill. I woke up irritated with myself.

Late this afternoon, after I had studied the picture of the doll I am working on, I suddenly realized my problem. It is a clashing of creative spirits.The designer who had created the pattern for the doll gives out clues each week, for six weeks, clues like the shape of the hat, the color and striping of the doll's stockings, or the look of its sweater. In the group this is known as working on a "mystery knit along." We get her vision in bits and pieces. We don't know until the final clue has been worked if our creations match her vision. It is, of course, our prerogative to substitute, to blur her ideas with our own, or to stay close to the guidelines and try to match the original as closely as possible. And, since her doll is not seen in its entirety until the end, this can be a lot of fun, but it can also be cause for a certain amount of stress.

"It's just a doll," you say.
"Yes," I answer. "But I am serious about this project. It challenges my creativity."

We post photographs of our progress. We congratulate each other for "cuteness" or "great colors" or "beautiful needle felting of the eyes." We help each other with difficult patterns, make suggestions for alterations, sometimes speculate about what will be next. And we knit. Between doing dishes and watering the garden. Till late into the night. On the commute to work. In bed after surgery. While watching the news on television.




In the beginning the boy doll I named Hector was a puzzle. Do I follow the designer or put my own stamp on him?






Hector's first hat. It made him look like a baby.


Hector's second hat. My idea. A bit loud.



My first try at a sweater. Boucle yarn. Way too thick. I pulled out the needles after three rows and gave up on it. It looks like a lei.


Hector's second sweater. I like the colors, but below you will see that I made a mistake and placed the raglan sleeves in the wrong place.


And so I embroidered a spider thread and a red spider on the jagged increase line that ended up in front. Interesting cover-up, I think, but still I wasn't happy.


Well now, this sweater is more in line with the designer's idea of color and shape. But now my bright idea of a hat really clashes with the rest. Let me see what yarn I can find in my stash.


With this doll, a boy, I have hesitated more than once. I have started the
sweater three times, finished two of them. And he now wears hat number three. Since I had promised myself that I would not buy anything for this project and would knit him with whatever I have in the house, I have pitched my own sense of color against hers and have been limited to left over yarn. This has given rise to questions:
Is it a young boy or an older one?
Variegated yarn or solid colors.
Sock yarn or bulky? Wool? Cotton?
Hair or no hair (the designer is covering the head with an oversized hat)
What color hair?

And my creative spirit ran with theses questions. Got entangled with the answers. Became confused. It suggested a red mohair hat. I tatooed the boy's arm with the African National Congress' flag colors. Named him Hector after Hector Peterson. Made his legs extra long so he could run faster. Ah, yes! I dedicated a journal to him. Wrote a poem. Posted pictures of his progress. Discussed my errors in knitting his sweater according to the pattern.

Hector has become an issue. He has crossed the line. No longer is he the designer's vision. He is my failure. Until this afternoon when I realized that two creative spirits clashed. That I should either accept the designer's choices or refrain from joining mystery knit alongs and design my own heroes. Otherwise I am forced to knit wine glasses at night and watch them topple over, because their stems are made of cotton thread. Oh what a complicated force creativity can be.

While I knitted the third hat I wondered if it would be more in line with the original design. It wasn't until I took a picture of Hector wearing his sturdy head gear and the latest sweater, that I knew intuitively that I was on the right track. I like him. He is a sturdy little boy. Nothing outlandish about him.




Perfect little Hector.


We gave the red hat to his best friend Heiner. It matches the red underwear and long red scarf I envision for him. Heiner is all me. I must knit him a black hoodie.







Hector still has some of me imprinted on him. He has hair. The colors of a flag encircle his arm. He romps happily in the wisteria. Next clue due tonight. We hope it will be a pair of pants. Top guess is a pair of brown or denim colored knickers. I don't want to mix spirits this time. Whatever color it is, I will shop for the right yarn tomorrow.