“…look at what ‘crazy’ can do.”

An epic and inspirational read. There were times I wasn’t sure if I could finish this. In fact, I had started it earlier this year and put it aside for some fantasy/action reads. I’m so glad I picked it back up and stuck with it.

For decades this woman, Elizabeth Packard, had been written off as a crazy woman set on besmirching a great doctor’s name. Even with several books, journals, letters, and pamphlets written by her own hand and published telling a very different tale. This book tells her story. And the story of the men and women who helped shape history with her.

Having studied this particular subject a little bit, reading her experiences was gut wrenching. Every time she had hope, I felt dread knowing how futile that hope really was. And I was right. Until I wasn’t.

She does get out. She even proved her sanity in court to prevent her husband from having her locked up again and the key thrown away. Even freed from this, her battle was merely beginning.

Every time I fear using my own voice, I am confronted by women who paved the way for me to have the ability to choose. By the women who refused to be silenced. By the words that broke open our cages and inspired us to take hold of our dreams.

Elizabeth Packard’s story told by Kate Moore is a testament to the importance of living our truth. To the importance of not staying silent. Why words matter. And how action must accompany those words.

I also relearned the importance of hope, no matter how futile the situation. Hope is no easy feat. Love is no easy feat. Fiercely telling the truth with both in mind is world altering. These are the things that are essential to life.

Feeling a bit Silly

I’ve been working on this shawl for months now. It’s a long project, so I’m often distracted by other ideas. Some of those ideas are finished, so it’s back to this beauty.

I was knitting away last night, thinking about how far from the end I am when something occurred to me. Maybe this should have two armholes, and not one. When I initially looked at the piece I’m basing this on, it looked like one hole, but logistically that doesn’t make sense. So I looked at pictures of Elora Danon’s hooded shawl again.

This time I found some great pictures I hadn’t seen before and suddenly I could tell there were indeed two armholes. I also found many people, who are faster than me, figured this out already. I looked at my project and realized I needed to rip back a good chunk.

So, now, I’m making my way through the top portion of the split. Not a big deal. I really don’t mind ripping back, and I do it recklessly, without lifelines. (I have a lot of patience, but I don’t have patience for those). Once I’m done with the bottom portion, and have it all back together, I’ll be mostly done with the shawl part of this. That’s exciting!

This item has experienced a whole lot of laddering and ripping. Yet the entire process has been a joy. Even when I’m frustrated, I’m happy to feel it in my hands, the growing weight of it on my lap, and the satisfaction of being able to fix it all.

I also found more of the acrylic amethyst I’m using and am hoping to get a couple more skeins for the hood, but I do have enough for the shawl, at least. I’m going to have to look for more of the cotton yarn I’m using. I do have a skein I can use, but I’ll need more either way. I seriously underestimated the amount of yarn I would need. And I knew it, too.

I Might Be Losing Steam

This is one heavy read. It’s also not my first foray into this subject, but it is the lengthiest. I started this book earlier this year and was easily distracted by dark fantasy novels and lighthearted graphic novels. Then I found my way to Carmilla and The Butchering Art. When I finished those, I was inspired to pick this one up again.

Since then, I have been plowing through this gut wrenching tale. Even Elizabeth Packard’s successes are tainted by knowing what an insurmountable battle she has ahead of her. Each time she convinces herself to hope I soothe my anxiously suspicious heart by being grateful she had hope instead of knowing all the deceit around her.

What I am really appreciating is the reminder of how important writing is. How important using your voice is. What a privilege it is to be able to write at my own will. I have never been denied paper, pens, books. To be reminded of what women had to do to have these simple things. How easily it could all be taken away.

Her voice inspired so many to band together and fight for their freedom. Her courage in such dire circumstances galvanized those around her. Leading with kindness and curiosity made ripples that led to waves that led to a storm of change.

I really want to finish this book, but I’m feeling the weight of history bearing down on me. The despair of so many women lost to the horrors of men’s whims (and the women who helped them). The insane ideas created about women by conjecture and not on any actual attempt to understand. The lunacy of early modern medicine.

The hopeful bits keeping me going. I haven’t given up yet.

It Is Done- Yippie!!

This is one of the largest projects I have taken on. And I am so grateful I knew to weave ends as I went, instead of leaving it all for the end.

It’s going to be sad to see it go, but I’m sure it will be appreciated. Our neighbor got one final mow in for the season before the weather turned. Even mulched the branches I hadn’t gotten around to cleaning up.

A month and a half of labor. Long hours of “just one more round”. Hundreds of ends to weave and snip. Days of looking at my progress and wishing I didn’t need a break.

My youngest said that all we have to do now is make cookies! I need to figure out what we’re making and get the supplies, but they’ll definitely be from scratch; to keep with the theme.

From the beginning I’ve had fun playing with colors and searching my stash for the right mix.

The assembly is one of my favorite parts. Laying the pieces out and moving them around until it feels balanced. Then I make a plan and put them together in stages. One by one I created the tiles until I had a complete stack of twelve.

I actually hugged them a few times. Squishy success. A bit of added love. Then I got to play around with how to lay the whole thing out and set about carefully joining them in rows and then joined the columns.

And now it’s ready to be wrapped up and gifted away. I just love Granny Squares. They really are their own kind of magic.

Seriously

I’ve been working myself up to get back into writing my gothic fairy tale novel. The first month of school is always more exhausting than I anticipate, so my break from it went longer than I had planned, which may, actually, have been a good thing.

I’m always a bit scared to open that Pandora’s Box. But I did it. I looked at what had became the opening chapter and reviewed my notes. I had definitely gotten carried away and spent most of the day trying to think my way through this problem. I need to stay in the gothic mind frame. When I wander too far into another genre it gets wonky.

I wish I could knit and type at the same time. Up to this point it’s all been handwritten, but now is the time to transition to typing. I could probably figure out some voice app, but it’s not the same. I love writing because I’m often clumsy verbally (unless I’ve practiced a lot). Writing allows me the perfect combination of time and peace to let it flow, and enough pressure for me to get it done right.

The plan is to get a few pages of rewrite done today and I am feeling especially sluggish. A little yarn play and some more coffee should do the trick.

Butchering Art & Carmilla

“Ideas are never created in a vacuum, and Lister’s life very much attests to that truth.”

To know Lister thought his life had little bearing on understanding his scientific and surgical successes and their influence on medicine and society is amusing.

Lindsey Fitzharris seamlessly weaves the science and medicine with the interpersonal. I have loved the journey and am satisfied to be done.

“Sometimes, I start from a reverie, certain I heard the light step of Carmilla at the drawing-room door.”

Le Fanu’s tale was one elegant visit. Such a simple story told with such illustrious detail. The notes in this edition were indeed helpful and added some extra depth to the events.

Both of these books have been loyal companions for some time now and it feels good to put them on the shelf, complete.

Pacing Myself

After a couple days of finishing these blocks my right arm is very unhappy from neck to fingertips. I knew better. I should have stretched and rolled frequently, but I was so in the zone. I swore to take a break.

For two days I stared at this pile. The most arduous parts completed and I was content. We had a couple of warm days and I had work, so it was best to let my arm rest. I did some stretching and rolling and both together.

Then the weather turned and I felt spurred into action. I slowed my pace with this part. Took breaks after each row and column.

Now I’m taking the border on a little at a time. My shoulder still aches and the cold is cramping my hands. Crochet is rough on my joints, but still so satisfying.

A month and a half so far. That’s just crazy to me. No wonder my arm hurts. Sheesh. The border will take a while, but that’s just fine. Gives me a little more time to enjoy this project before I give it away.

The Dangers of Granny Squares

I’ve returned my attention to the afghan I’m making for our neighbor and have been sucked in, despite my protesting joints. With each piece I finish I get closer and closer to putting it all together; to seeing my ever evolving imaginings come into existence.

The stacks are nearly complete. Growing taller as the hours pass me by. A whole day of making squares and weaving ends. I’m almost there.

Two squares ready for assembly.

The smallest joins are done first.

Then the two long vertical joins.

And the horizontal lines. I’ll weave the ends tomorrow.

Two more done. I have a list of things I need to get done around the house. Other tasks that need my attention. But I expect I’ll be focused on this instead.

Making History Fun

I’ve been trying to figure out what specifically about the last several historical nonfictions I’ve read is so appealing to me. They are all written by women, which I find interesting. They are all done as more of a story than a recounting of facts, but are chock-full of information. Each one feels intimate.

With all of this, it dawned on me that these books are like being told a tale. Almost like a conversation. I’m not just learning about Lister or Victorian surgery, but about everything that influenced the man and the profession. Nothing exists in isolation. Without discussing ever increasing populations, poverty, industrialization, societal ideologies, random accidents, family relationships, class, and more, you lose the importance and scope of these historical achievements and events.

I have always had a passion for understanding history, yet have constantly struggled with the dry, monotonous, and boring sources. I need the full kaleidoscope of influences to really grasp the content. I need the whole human story.

The Butchering Art by Lindsey Fitzharris has been immensely enjoyable and I’m slowly making my way through it. I keep recommending it to anyone who seems interested!

New Project Ear Worm

I couldn’t help it. Once the idea started taking shape my fingers were itching. It’s still morphing and trying new shapes in my head, but if I don’t get started I’ll never figure it out.

I had to recount my stitches as I was a bit off, so I figured out which color markers to use for each cable section after doing some more math.

And now this is the only thing I’m working on. I wasn’t sure about doing another section of double strand, but I’m liking it now that it’s farther along. I think I might have enough yarn for this one!