Living With Fear And Blue Skies

Dear readers,

It's hard to live with fear when the skies are blue but neither the headpounding dread nor the limpid skies showed signs of abating for the entire week.  I had to learn, therefore, the almost unbearable lesson of living with a birdsong filled world when my greatest wish was to sink into dark, undisturbed sleep for several days and nights.

 Last saturday night I discovered a lump in my left breast.  The impact on my stress levels was immediate.  Images of my youngest daughter, barely four and motherless, flitted through my mind and I moaned to myself whilst lying in bed 'Oh my God'.  Ironically, like many of you, I had recently read Kate's post which had left its mark on me.  If I am honest I would say that my (more or less) regular breast check was more thorough than usual this time thanks to Kate's well-written words.  Sunday was hard.  My usual swim with Tristan did little to raise my troubled thoughts and on Monday morning once all the children were at school I picked up the 'phone with trembling hands and dialed my local doctor's number.  Two hours later I sat in her surgery and watched her smile turn to a troubled frown as soon as I uttered the word 'breast lump'.  After examining me she urged her secretary to make an urgent appointment for a mammogram and scan.  Thursday afternoon at 3.15pm was fixed and as I said my goodbyes and smiled weakly at the secretary I descended the stairs out into the brilliant sunshine and wondered how on earth I would survive four days of waiting.

 And much as though I would like to share with you, dear readers, my advice on how to endure heightened stress levels I must confess that little helped soothe my stiff back and excuriating headaches.  Neither spring flowers nor sunshine lifted my spirits.  Knitting Tristan's springtime pullover kept me focused at times. Caring for my children with a serene face and gentle words kept me more or less together.  As often as I could I would allow myself to drift into light sleep; anxiety is exhausting as many of you must know.  Certainly I felt loved and grateful when friends called and texted me with kind offers and gestures.  But the stress levels rose as the week wore on.

 Thursday afternoon after an hour of thorough tests carried out by caring medical professionals I was given the all clear diagnosis I had hardly dared hope for.  And had I, for one second, whilst lying there under the dimmed lights in that clinic entertained the thoughts that all this anguish might have been for nothing the specialist's sad words cut through my fuzzy head: "You did well to come.  I see too many women in their forties with breast cancer."

 So, to echo Kate's simple message please, dear ladies, check you breasts some time soon.  This blog of mine is only small but if my heartfelt words may be heard by one person at least then I will be content.

This sweet musician of mine and his siblings are reason enough to be mindful of such health issues, don't you think?

Tristan wears his second High Water ready for spring.

The yarn is Madelinetosh Vintage in the beautiful colourways Bloomsbury Blue and Grasshopper.

My Ravelry notes are here.

My dear husband took the pictures on this beautiful spring sunday!  Do you see the wild periwinkle flowers in the last picture?

Finally I am joining in wth Laura's The Year In Books with my choice for the March.  Having enjoyed Kate Forsyth's enthralling novel, Bitter Greens  I could not wait to read this version of the Grimm brothers' lives and their neighbour in Kassel, Dortchen Wild.  I must confess I am more than halfway through it already! 

I am also joining in with Karen's Sunlit Sunday for the second time!

I wish you all a wonderful start to the week and I will return wth a much cheerier post soon.

A bientôt,

Stephanie

Delighting In Winter And The Boy

Dear readers,

Some folk cannot abide winter - there's too much talk of death in the garden - and grumble when temperatures hit zero.  Aside from the unpleasant truth of lurking stomach bugs and heavy colds I love it.  I don't consider winter a hardship.  It grants us many happy evenings of warm firelight and play (whether it be with yarn, musical instruments or playing cards), plenty of conversation and, just as importantly, another lens through which to see nature.  Winter is a time to observe the wood and the trees.  Barren branches against a pale blue sky are restful to the eye, and stunning too. The searching eye must prowl the wintery landscape learning the beauty of minimal colour palettes and stark silhouettes.

Here in the Loire Valley winter generally brings damp cold, rising water levels and precious little snow.  There is less sunlight of course (although this January, so far, we have been treated to a lot of sunshine) thanks to the slight tilt of the Earth, when rays strike at a shallow slant and the sun just doesn't feel as warm.  But when the frost strikes, or better still, snow falls, then childhood excitement returns as everything glitters like diamond dust and I find myself weaving fairytales both in my head and in our everyday life.

Mother Hulda (my version is a French adaptation), Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm's fairy tale, with its all-female cast, puts to the forefront the goddess of Pre-Christian German and Scandinavian folklore who single-handedly rules the weather; sunshine, snow and rain.  Mother Hulda is associated with spinning and weaving and in this wintery tale her cardinal role as patroness and guardian of all maidens is to shape the two sisters' destinies.  Mother Holle's eiderdown must be shaken thoroughly by a hard-working girl causing the feathers to fly about and the people in the world below to believe it is snowing.

And that slender, delicate maiden who has surely caught your eye above?  She is a winter fairy or, perhaps, a snowflake turned into the shape of a girl dressed in the finest white gauze with slippers sparkling like snow crystals.  She is also the work of the remarkable Verity Hope who paints, snow fairies aside, an evocate picture of life in sun-drenched Provence amidst the lavender fields.  I have wrapped her in tissue paper for Angélique's fast-approaching fourth birthday.

Finally, let us please turn to Tristan who does not get enough of a look-in both here and on Ravelry, averaging at around one pullover a year, poor child, which is quite shameful as I think about how palpable his excitement is when asked to chose a pattern and colour scheme for himself.  And as I observe him posing proudly for his photo session I marvel how such a dynamic, bouncy child can be so still and receptive to the camera unlike dear Héloïse who is always in movement thus causing many a blurred picture!  Dear Tristan, my guitar player and lover of anitque cars - or any car for that matter - is possibly the greatest weaver of stories in our family.  His imagination seems pretty boundless and his fountain pen nib scratches his ragged, hand-cut exercise books most weekend mornings. Perhaps, as Héloïse said recently, his tales are good because he strives to tell them without paying too much heed to perfection.  The odd spelling mistake or three will not hamper his enthusiasm!

He chose Veera Välimäki's High Water in Quince & Co.'s worsted-weight Lark in the wintery colourways; Frost and Winesap.The pattern is plain sailing except for the joining of the collar to the yoke which left me puzzled for more hours than I care to mention. Fortunately a fellow knitter living in Northern Norway, who is writing a thesis on brown bears, came to my help with a very useful diagram.   If you would like to read more about the simple techniques I acquired whilst knitting this pattern my Ravelry notes may be found here.

Happy weekend to you, dear readers! Thank you very much for all your kind comments which warm my heart.

A bientôt,

Stephanie

ps Would some kind knitting souls pop over to Ravelry here and leave a heart for Tristan, please?  For some strange and touching reason this son of mine attaches a lot of importance to how many hearts his pullover gets.  Thank you :-)