Snippets

February. What happened to it? And why is it still way-below-freezing, wrong-side-of-zero cold? It's March now, for heaven's sake. Spring is less than three weeks away. What's the deal?

When the days begin to lengthen,
The cold begins to strengthen.*

Boy, does it ever.

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Years ago I knit a scarf for Mr. M. The ends were basketweave and the body was stockinette, which curled HORRIDLY despite aggressive blocking. A few weeks ago I frogged the scarf back to one basketweave end, then re-knit it in garter stitch. Though unimaginative in design, the scarf is now beautifully flat, and actually covers Mr. M's neck (which is what a scarf should do in a climate like ours).

Yes, Mrs. M does knit upon occasion. But you can see why she prefers to stick to crochet. :)

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My Dad has been in the hospital all week. After several falls over several days, the last of which involved contact between his head and a corner of his nightstand, he took an ambulance ride to the local hospital for staples and a scan. The scan revealed several old blood clots and some fresh bleeding on the surface of his brain, so it was back in the ambulance for a longer ride down to a Madison hospital. There the neurosurgeon on call recommended immediate surgery. They whisked Dad into the OR and drilled three holes into his skull to clean out the clots and install drain tubes.

The neurosurgeon said that if Dad were a younger man he'd have been in a coma from the pressure of all those clots - but since his brain had atrophied with age, there was more space to accommodate them.

Poor Dad was pretty uncomfortable for a few days after his surgery, but is doing better now. The tubes are out, and he may be released to a rehab center in the next day or two.

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As Dad was being wheeled away to the OR, the last thing he said to me was, "We know Whose hands I'm in." I'm so grateful for this legacy of faith.

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A view from Dad's hospital room, where the Capitol rotunda can be glimpsed on the left, and an icy Lake Mendota on the right:

This is the same hospital, by the way, where Mr. M had his brain surgeries nearly 20 years ago. While Dad was in surgery, as I sat crocheting and praying and waiting for the periodic progress calls from the OR, I couldn't help but think of all the other times I had sat here doing virtually the same thing. (Though back then it was quilting, not crocheting.) Talk about déja vu.

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To nurses and nursing assistants everywhere: thank you. For kind words, for a friendly touch, for patience and cheerfulness and understanding when dealing with tired and grumpy patients, for willingness to do an often dirty and smelly job, for fetching and carrying and supporting and helping, for making family members feel welcome, for simply caring: thank you.

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Daffodils from Trader Joe's have been shedding their sunny magic over the dining room this week:

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How have you been? I've missed you all and hope to be around to visit you soon.

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*from Farmer Boy by Laura Ingalls Wilder

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