I'm making progress in more ways than one.

The Green Tea Raglan from IK Spring 2007 is growing by leaps and bounds. I am knitting the sleeves at the same time to ensure that they are the same width, length, shape, etc. My stockinette has never looked so good. I may have to frog the front though, as it seems awfully long. I actually wouldn't mind this though, since my cast-on edges tend to look like crap, and my bind-offs look really good. I'll probably frog from the bottom up a few inches and then re-knit to get the correct shape. I'll let you know how it goes.

The scrapghan is also coming along. It's just a matter of sitting down and banging it out. I'll probably take it to Sit n Knit this week since I don't have to think about what I'm doing; I just crochet my brains out.



Get a load of this sweater - I found the pattern for free on Lion Brand! I am impressed with how un-matronly and sleek it is. The model is even cute and is wearing a neat necklace! Holy frijoles! I have several yarns that I could use from my stash to make this. My only dilemma now is to decide which would be best. I guess I'll have to make SWATCHES to find out. Blech.





The Banana refuses to poop. It's been a week. Any suggestions would be helpful. We've already tried bribery, yelling, and laxatives. The joys of parenthood.

Today is Mom's birthday. She would have turned 60. Yesterday, my father, my brother, WT, and I went to the Robert Wood Johnson Medical School in scenic Piscataway, NJ for a memorial. Liz was kind enough to pick up the Banana from school and entertain her for hours. I was immensely impressed with the memorial yesterday. It was conducted almost primarily by medical students, most of them in their first year. It began with music, a flute quartet which my mother would have loved. Students spoke, the dean of the medical school spoke, and then a young lady on piano and a young man on the cello played The Swan, part of a work by Camille St. Saens. That in and of itself was enough to push me over the edge, but then I saw my dad crying, and that was hard. It's the first I've seen him cry during this whole ordeal; Mom's sickness and death.



Then a young medical student named David got up and spoke about working in the anatomy lab, late one Saturday night. He was there by himself, and he accidentally brushed hands with his cadaver. He didn't think much of it, but then he stopped, and looked at the hand. He took the hand, her hand, in his and thought about all that that hand had done in its lifetime. He thought about her hand shaking other hands, caressing the arm of a loved one, comforting a child, clapping with happiness, preparing food, cleaning, writing. He spoke about the woman this hand belonged to, and wondered if she was a mother, a wife, a sister, a daughter. He made himself leave the clinical detachment behind and see his cadaver as a woman, a person who once was. It was one of the most touching and honest things I have ever listened to.

They finished the service with a reading. Another medical student got up and read the names of all of the donors. When their name was read, if their family was present, the family stood up and received a rose from the students. Before he began, the student, whose name was George, talked about how he had stayed up until 4 a.m., reading the names of the people. He said that even if you are dead, even if you are poor, even if you are alone, the one thing everyone has is a name. It was the first time he had seen the names of the cadavers, and it struck him pretty hard. It's easy to remain detached if you don't know your cadaver's name. But with a name, they become human once again, and he realized that each one had a story, a family, friends, a life. He read them out loud, quietly, slowly, purposefully, and respectfully. It was really nice.

I miss her so much. Happy birthday Mom.