Kerfuffle

 

The ankle of one leg hooked behind the knee of the opposite leg, and held on stubbornly. Once they were pulled apart, they hung in the air momentarily, then entered into the fray again. This time one leg slipped the waistband and entered the innards of its opponent, blocking any headway. Finally, the referee rolled up one extended appendage and got the big toe into position for a final thrust. But a rough toenail caught the mesh, obstructing movement once again, and threatening to bore a hole right through the flesh-tone façade. A stretch here, a roll-up there, but little progress was being made. A semi-victory was achieved when all the sections  stretched approximately over  the correct parts. Unfortunately, the components were  tightly and uncomfortably twisted around the corpulence beneath. 

I hadn’t tried to put on a pair of pantyhose since before Covid. Now that I had reason to put on a dress instead of the ubiquitous lounge pants, I was flummoxed by a simple pair of impossible-to-wrangle pantyhose. When I finally got them on and pulled up, they were twisted a bit painfully around my tummy and thighs. It wasn’t quite the win I had envisioned. Maybe it was a draw between me and the pantyhose. Tomorrow, I’ll return to wearing  a pair of pants and simple socks.

Marsha Hoffer

Meditation on Two Knitting Needles

 

Click-clack. Click clack. The bamboo knitting needles tap lightly with the back-and-forth rocking motion of my hands. The yarn uncoils from my left index finger, slips to the right-hand needle’s round point, slides through an existing stitch from the line below, and is pulled up to join the next line. Thus, a cord of yarn is cajoled into becoming a brand-new stitch. Thread held in back, it’s a knit stitch. Yarn held in front, a purl stitch pops out. Two-knit-two-purl, two-knit-two-purl, and a rib pattern is revealed. Knit, knit, knit, knit all the stitches on the front and back, and a seed stitch germinates. Knit all the fronts and purl all the backs, the work-a-day stockinette builds a wall of cozy stitches. Different sequences, different successions form different patterns. No matter how complicated the pattern, it is made up of simple knits or simple purls lined up on a simple rod called a knitting needle.  So simple, yet so satisfying.

The bamboo knitting needles feel alive, smooth and agile under my fingertips--softer and warmer than the old metal needles, more responsive than the dull plastic varieties. The tall grassy bamboo plant once blew in the wind. Now its wood transforms the yarn and brings something new into existence. The stitches attach one with the other, entwining and growing, multiplying stitch upon stitch, row upon row.  From two sticks and a string, a sweater with its arms stretched wide is born, a baby blanket is birthed, a sock is ready to slip into a shoe.  The knitter becomes the Creator; the knitting needles and length of yarn become the building blocks of creation.

The news clips may scream with chaos and destruction, but in a quiet space, on a comfy couch, with the syncopation of the tapping needles, all feels calm and orderly. Only an incorrect gauge can prove catastrophic.  A dropped stitch is a fixable oops, not a world crisis. An unsightly knot can be pulled to the back of the work. Alpha waves flow and alter the passage of time and sense of place.  Two moving hands and two wooden sticks working in concert reward the knitter with inner peace, and also, a new piece of knitwear.

Marsha

Assignment: Hyperbole

 

Meowing Max, the tawny tabby, sauntered down the hallway like the most suave, charismatic, and mesmerizing supermodel to ever grace a catwalk. Leaving a trail of swooning admirers in his wake.

Audacious orange lions, radiating an aura of sheer bravado and fearlessness that could make the fiercest warriors tremble, are the most formidable felines to roam the earth.  Frantic flitting butterflies, their wings a kaleidoscope of colors that could blind the sun, and catnip's captivating aroma.

Georgia