Science Class Stories

illustration from Pa Lia's First Day

According to Mrs. H., my eighth grade science teacher, the first nylon stockings were too durable. They rarely ran, and so, they were rarely replaced. In order to make a profit, manufacturers had to produce a shoddier product. And they did. Surely that’s an important lesson for the young to learn.

Most of the basic science facts that appear on standardized tests did not weave their way into Mrs. H's science classes. Instead she treated us to the facts she felt we needed to know. She explained to us why our nylon stockings never lasted more than a few wearings. She informed us how men, who like her own husband, can leave one afternoon to buy a pack of cigarettes and never return again. She educated us about a time when the health department posted quarantine signs on a family's door, like when she and her family had the flu. Mrs. H was a young girl back then, I’m guessing this was the 1918 flu epidemic, and until she took sick, too, she nursed her mother.

This week as school starts in Iowa and we as a nation struggle with educational standards and reform, I think about all that I learned from Mrs. H. Those long afternoons, in her over- heated classroom with its scuffed hardwood floors, tall paned windows, and long bank of radiators that hissed and moaned, my only job was to sit and listen to her stories. No one tested me for signs of genius. No tough homework was ever assigned. Academic stress was decades away.

Mrs. H. was a terrible science teacher. Later, in high school and college, I did my best to fill the gaps in my knowledge. But after all these years, I still think about her stories.

Notes:

What's it like to be the new kid on the first day of school? Read Pa Lia's First Day and find out how she makes her way at Jackson Magnet. The first book in my Jackson Friends series.

A Tribute to Genie McCliment

Genie's Hat from A Knitter's Home Companion

Genie McCliment, July 2, 1935- August 5, 2011

Just about nine years ago when my husband Rody and I moved back to Iowa City with our three less than jubilant children, we were busy. We didn’t have much time to neighbor.

But a few houses down the street from us, Genie and Ed McCliment, and their golden lab Sophie, did. While we scurried about, unpacked, and tried to settle our family, they acquainted themselves with our youngest daughter Lelia, a displaced nine year old who loved dogs. And that fall, a mere six weeks after Lelia and her classmates got their band instruments, Genie and Ed showed up at her first concert and introduced themselves.

“We’re your neighbors,” they told us.

We were amazed that they came to this event, attended mostly by parents. After all, the kids had only been playing a month and half.

“Thank you for coming,” we said.

“Lelia invited us,” explained Genie.

Genie and Ed went on to sit at many of Lelia’s concerts.  As walking became harder for Genie, she became a master at sitting. She sat on her couch and welcomed the invited and uninvited--friends, relatives, and neighbors. She sat in a chair and picked up a pen to write letters to those far away and heavy-hearted. And in the thick darkness of an endless winter night, Genie sat down and dialed.

“Haven’t seen you lately, how are you?” she would ask. And she really wanted to know.

Sitting, Genie checked up on us all. Sitting, she shared her family with us. First the stories of the daughters she loved--Cathy, Nancy, and Lisa. Then came the tales of the grandchildren. We knew about Hanna and Hilary. We rejoiced with her when Miranda, Anna, and Liam were born. And when they visited, we felt honored to meet them.

Genie knew how to show up, sit down, and be present. She understood houses, too. She knew how to fill a living room with friends. Serve generously in a dining room. She knew how to stretch a family room with big screen TV on game nights. She knew how to arrange a circle of chairs around a backyard fire pit on a chilly, star-filled night. She knew how to butter the popcorn, chill the beer, and welcome the crew that came to share that starry night.

“People who love people are the luckiest people in the world.” When I was kid, and Funny Girl was a Broadway hit, my father would often sing in his off key voice this line from the show’s most popular song. And when he finished, he would toss those words out again, hoping we might catch their message. I did.

“People who love people are the luckiest people in the world.” Even through the grief, the heartache and the pain she endured the last few years, Genie McCliment, my friend and neighbor, was person who loved people. She one of the luckiest people in the world. And by offering us a chair in her circle, she made us lucky, too.

Good-bye, Genie. We will all miss you.

Notes:

You may have already met Genie and Ed McCliment. I first wrote about them in an essay about Ed's Hat: Form, Function and Ultimate Winter Warmth . Genie's Hat pattern (see above photo) is in A Knitter's Home Companion as well as her recipe--Genie's Killer Devilled Eggs.

Pattern: Ed's Hat

Vacuum Love

Falling in love with a vacuum took me by surprise. Kitchen appliances and other motorized items have never excited me much. Cars, included. But a few months ago, on a dusty Saturday morning, determined to get rid of the allergens that build up in corners, under sofas, and in places best left unexplored, I hauled out our heavy upright. Just trying to lug that loud, unattractive, inefficient, and poorly designed monster reminded me immediately why I took it out only when it was apparent that I was losing my personal battle with dust. And that is when I had my vacuum epiphany. There had to be a better vacuum.

A few short hours later after some serious research, I became the proud owner of a Dyson DC 24. I shudder remembering my vacuuming life before its arrival.  Quiet and powerful, the bagless clear canister fills so quickly that the existence of dust has finally been unequivocally proven to the unbelievers in my family. Superbly designed, each and every piece of the Dyson clicks into place and stays there until it is called into service. Small, lightweight, and compact, I sometimes refer to it affectionately as my Prius. Attractive in a playful industrial gray, orange, and red palette, I can almost hear a round of applause from the Bauhaus masters.  A job well done.

Vacuum love.

Patterns:

Bauhaus Washcloths

I designed these washcloths to go with my essay An Artful Way to Knit .

The Hush of an Owl Sweater

The owl sweater was a gift from my oldest daughter Meera. She pieced it together with a subtle combination of greens, tan, pale pink, and woody brown prizes from her collection of thrift shop cashmeres. The "feathers" are attached somehow to a light voile, and so what might have been weighty, instead has a lightness and drape. Its whimsy and craft inspire me. Often I wear my owl sweater in my almost always too cold studio. But when this recent summer’s heat hit hard, I sashed it over the back of my computer chair. Handy, if ever I am chilly again. Which I have not been.

The other day, after far too many less than quality hours at the computer and online, I could feel my cells and nerve synapses rearranging into an army waging battle against my future creativity.  Shutting off my computer and making my large desktop screen go dark just wasn’t enough of an escape from the buzz and the roar I knew it could muster. Still jittery, I needed something more transforming. So I slid my spectacular owl sweater over the screen and felt a hush.

Meet Meera:

See Meera's Fabric at Camelot Cottons

Meera modeling a dressed she designed and made.

 

Lacy Leaves

We are in high summer here in the heartland. The heat and humidity have driven most of us indoors to air conditioned relief. We view the outside as a temporarily hostile environment. I have started my  morning walks earlier, my attempt to work with the weather and catch the coolest moments of the day. I have adjusted my stride, too. I take smaller slower steps.

Recently, I bought a pair of Leki Nordic Walking Poles. Several times a week, employing a x-country ski arm movement, I blaze along the sidewalk. At first I worried that the poles would interfere with all that my morning walks give me--time to think, observe nature, and even sing aloud if no one is around. That hasn’t happen, though. The lush green and rolling countryside that appears in Grant Wood glory mid-way on my daily loop still hits me with a profound gratefulness. And on one of this week’s hottest days, gracing the sidewalk, I noticed a dozen or so dried and delicate lacy leaves.

Notes:

Patterns

If you have a hankering for leaves, try knitting some. Leaves are simple and fast to knit. They are great  for embellishing hats, wristers, sweaters, and if you are so inclined, lamposts. Check out these patterns.

Lace Column of Leaves Scarf

A Small Leaf

Assorted Leaves

Recipe

I have had a longing all week to bake. When ithe weather cools down, I'd like to try this recipe for Norwegian Oatmeal-Lace Cookies (Havrekniplekaker).