Neomera Knits

As I allow it to really sink in that I am both leaving my stable (if infuriating) job AND my country, I am surprised to find myself somewhat panicky. I’m convinced I’m going to forget to pack something important like panties. Or my passport. I occasionally have to remember to breathe. Yes, I know it’s silly, but there it is. I take stressing myself out to lengths from the ridiculous to the sublime.

Meanwhile, back in real life, I have a WHOLE SHOW to worry about before I can sweat packing. It’s been a very strange process, let me tell you! I’m used to the pressure being on by the day after hang, which is usually only 90% done when the boys roll in with the truck full of scenery. By now I should have spent two weeks stressfully switching between electrics and carpentry, trying madly to finish both before focus. There has been none of that this show.

This show is HUGE.

So huge, in fact, that the poor scene shop is still frantically building. We hope that some of it might start coming over today, but I don’t see myself having time off this weekend. Ah well. That’s life in the theatre. It’s going to look really nice, I think- all castles and craziness. I should have pictures, once there’s something to take pictures of.

As far as knitting goes, I’ve been plodding along on the White Lies sweater, but the stitch pattern is almost as monotonous as stockinette, so I keep getting bored. So instead I have a hat and the Icarus shawl. The shawl has been started five times now, and it truly will bring me to the point of madness, but I will prevail. I have FAITH, people! At least I have faith in my ability to conquer a lace chart. I have no faith in my ability to remember to pack pants.

Last night as I drove home from Pennsylvania, I listened to several episodes of Cast On (what do you MEAN you don’t listen? Go now! I’ll wait…) This latest series has been focussed on what Brenda Dayne calls a sense of place- meaning your home, where you think of as home, and what ties you to it. There have been lots of really interesting and touching essays about mountains, about travel, about children, and such things, and I started thinking about myself. I can’t really say that I HAVE a sense of place.

Now that doesn’t mean that no place feels like home. Lots of places feel like home to me- and that’s kinda my point. The place I live- my house, with my family and my stash in it- is clearly home. But so is my grandmother’s house in Eugene, Oregon. Every dorm I’ve ever been assigned has felt very much like home. heck, even hotel rooms I’ve stayed in have sometimes felt like home, depending on the people I was with.

But none of these places show up in my work. I don’t bring the soft textures of the Pacific Northwest into my knitting to tie me to the place I was born. I don’t plan projects in the reds and browns I think of from Hong Kong. I don’t even feel particularly drawn to the colors and textures of Maryland, where I’ve spent most of my life. I guess it means that I’m still searching for a place to really call home. Then, I will knit it into my life completely.