Tag: poetry

Otherwise 1

Blanket Squares


A post on the Brain Pickings Facebook page started me thinking about Jane Kenyon earlier this week. Her poem “Otherwise” gets in my head from time to time and stays there. I find the truth of it both wonderful and awful.



I got out of bed
on two strong legs.
It might have been
otherwise. I ate
cereal, sweet
milk, ripe, flawless
peach. It might
have been otherwise.
I took the dog uphill
to the birch wood.
All morning I did
the work I love.

At noon I lay down
with my mate. It might
have been otherwise.
We ate dinner together
at a table with silver
candlesticks. It might
have been otherwise.
I slept in a bed
in a room with paintings
on the walls, and
planned another day
just like this day.
But one day, I know,
it will be otherwise.

—Jane Kenyon


On this Thanksgiving eve, my wish for all of us is that we have the capacity to recognize and embrace the wonderful things that are. It could so easily be otherwise.

Socks!! 4

You knitters already know this, but for any woodworkers or bird watchers who might have ended up here, let me say that if you’ve never worn a pair of handmade socks, hurry up and befriend a knitter! There’s nothing better.


Gridiron Socks 2


I finished these yesterday. The yarn is yummy Three Irish Girls Adorn Sock that I got at the Midwest Fiber and Folk Art Fair a few years ago. It sat in my stash making yarn eyes at me until I found myself in need of some crazy-colored sock yarn for a Knit-A-Long my friend and sock mentor Debi was hosting in our Raverly group. They feature Debi’s Short Row Heel with Mini-Flap and Gusset, and they’ve turned out to be the comfiest of all the comfy socks I’ve every knit! I’m not taking them off until at least the end of April.


Gridiron Socks 4


Pablo Neruda would understand:

Ode to My Socks

Mara Mori brought me
a pair of socks
which she knitted herself
with her sheepherder’s hands,
two socks as soft as rabbits.
I slipped my feet into them
as if they were two cases
knitted with threads of twilight and goatskin,
Violent socks,
my feet were two fish made of wool,
two long sharks
sea blue, shot through
by one golden thread,
two immense blackbirds,
two cannons,
my feet were honored in this way
by these heavenly socks.
They were so handsome for the first time
my feet seemed to me unacceptable
like two decrepit firemen,
firemen unworthy of that woven fire,
of those glowing socks.

Nevertheless, I resisted the sharp temptation
to save them somewhere as schoolboys
keep fireflies,
as learned men collect
sacred texts,
I resisted the mad impulse to put them
in a golden cage and each day give them
birdseed and pieces of pink melon.
Like explorers in the jungle
who hand over the very rare green deer
to the spit and eat it with remorse,
I stretched out my feet and pulled on
the magnificent socks and then my shoes.

The moral of my ode is this:
beauty is twice beauty
and what is good is doubly good
when it is a matter of two socks
made of wool in winter.

~ Pablo Neruda
Gridiron Socks