February 17, 2007

Generational blanket

When we were in Ottawa for Christmas, Mark’s mom gave us two blankets that had been made for Mark and his sister when they were babies. One is knitted, the other crocheted, but I think (maybe I’ll be corrected if I’m wrong) they were both made by Mark’s maternal grandmother. I intend to take pictures of both of them, and also of a couple of knitted things that were made for me as a baby, but so far I’ve only managed one. Here’s the crocheted blanket, which can also be seen in Mark’s baby pictures:


As you can see, it’s lasted very well — it’s an acrylic yarn, I think, but soft; he likes to cuddle with it as he’s falling asleep and as he wakes up.

[PS: I’m sorry if you’ve tried to comment and been unable to. I have the comments set to close automatically a few days after I post to try to block out the comment spam that otherwise overwhelms the entries, and because I’m updating so infrequently, there isn’t a very long window in which the comments are open. If you want to get in touch with me, there’s a link in the sidebar with my email address.]

Posted by Aven at 05:04 PM | Comments (3)

February 02, 2007


Here is my contribution to the Second Annual Brigid in Cyberspace Poetry Reading.

The Old Woman’s Chair

It’s the holding on to
I envy, the springing back
from every press
without a flinch or groan.
I want to sink into its creases
with the other dust and grime,
hide my flesh in its grooves,
let my stuffing hang out
under cat-scratched arms,
rock back on padded knees,
exude a human sigh
as you settle into my lap.
I want to stay around for years,
too useful to discard,
too heartless to care –
outlive you, every one!

By Susan McMaster

And an extra one, because it’s about me!

The Naming
for Aven

I walked through mountains
in my sleep. There were
avens everywhere,
springing from grit and shale,
a kestrel wheeling,
a pica’s whistle,
and so far I could hardly hear it,
a horned lark’s cry.
Or was it you calling out
with the high, wild wind,
calling out your name,
spiralling mare’s tails
across the thin sky,
rustling the stars
clustered at my feet?
Surely it was you
in the white rush of water
cascading in a blue tumult
towards me from the peaks –
exultant over stone.

By Susan McMaster

In case it’s not clear, Susan is my mother. The link will take you to her website, which has a few other poems up, and information about her books of poetry and other creative achievements.

Posted by Aven at 02:45 PM | Comments (5)

February 01, 2007


Yesterday was the debut of the baby Haiku, to match my own Sonnet, knit long ago. And note the little Baby Tart hat, too!


This picture is a little clearer, and shows the sweaters better, though he’s not smiling:


I think it’s pretty cute, if I do say so myself! I love the patterns, thank-you Knitty!

Posted by Aven at 07:17 PM | Comments (13)