Fibonacci

Fibonacci whose real name was Leonardo da Pisa was an italian mathematician who lived during the middle ages. A fibonacci sequence starts with two numbers. These are fibonacci numbers which are found in nature; typically through numbers commonly found on flower petals, pinecones, seedheads on flowers etc. The third number is the sum of those two numbers. The fourth number is the sum of the previous two numbers and so on. For example: the fibonacci sequence as it appears in nature: 0,1,1,2,3,5,8,13,21,34,55,89,144 and so on. How cool is this!!!! So what is my point? This is the greatest idea for designing stripes in knitting. I would like to do an afghan but first I will knit something small to test out exactly what it is I want to do with the fibonacci sequence. If your going to take the time the knit something you might as well get excited! Don't tell my high school math teachers. They should have taught me knitting first.
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How to make the world a better place (one idea)

Do impatient people knit? (They ought to) What do they do when there yarn gets hopelessly tangled? Or children turn the digits on there row counter? Do they give up when they drop stitches or get bungled up in a pattern with a knitting error? Besides patience knitting teaches humility. Just when you get proud and wing it without doing a test swatch you will knit a sweater that will fit nobody you know. Probably because those body measurements don't exist. Knitting teaches gentleness. When your rough with the yarn you split it. When your rough with your needles if there bamboo they break and if there metal they bend. Broken or bent neither are of any use other than to gently poke whoever is getting into your knitting basket. Knitting teaches forgiveness. You will give things away that you have spent ten thousand hours on that are not appreciated. You will knit things that are so hideous that you will have to forgive yourself. We need more patience, humility, gentleness and forgiveness with each other and that is why the world would be a better place with more knitters.
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This is the tree whose leaves I will put amongst the raspberries...

But until then I will let its ethereal beauty permeate the soul. Autumn. The first rain intensifies the colors. Fallen cedar tips glisten rust reds on wet, sandy roads. Maple trees glow sunset golds against dark evergreens. Why is it that death can be so beautiful in the natural world? The island is quiet now. The crowds and most of the people are gone and I am spending a lot of time alone playing with Babygirl. I find myself embracing the silence like the sister I never had.
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The rest of the story

Last night after a 1 am nursing I heard what sounded like numerous mice running and chewing on the colemon coolers outside the bedroom window on the new deck. Having decided to break an avoidance habit of mine I got up and under the glare of my headlamp dug out traps and baited them with peanut butter. I set the traps in a cardboard box and opened the door. Now imagine my surprise when I found it drizzling on my new roof. But the story doesn't end. I set up my trapline and in the morning they were empty although one was missing. There were large, muddy dog prints surrounding where the trap had once been. I wonder if he went home with a trap attached to his nose.
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Here is the deck I built with Babygirls assistance of course. Although I feel exhausted it more than replaces the one I had to take apart last fall. Now I'm going to sit in the rocking chair with my baby and sing lullaby's until we both fall asleep.
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Surviving Thanksgiving part two

I washed these rocks for a fireplace I'm designing for someone. The ones with iron stains I put in a discard pile. Was it the surrounding soil or iron in the ground water or perhaps the iron leaching out of the rocks that made the stains? When I got home I found a winter wren quietly waiting inside a sill. Earlier I had left the back door open. As soon as I opened a window it flew out. Perhaps it was trying to tell me how to respond to my pain. "Weeping may remain for the night, but joy comes in the morning." Psalms. How long before morning? But perhaps I shouldn't be asking that. There are beautiful, black, shiny new head feathers on the no longer bald headed towhee. I looked online and apparently this bird is male as it is black and the chocolate colored ones are females. I'm glad he's got his feathers back. Even a bird can find something to be thankful for.
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Surviving thanksgiving part one

As the weekend begins I find the struggle to survive it increasing. Last night I found through a blog someone who had experienced greater loss than my own. It induced a perspective. Loss and rejection bring the age old question of what do you do with the pain? In the poem The Invitation it asks "....I want to know if you can sit with pain mine or your own without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it......" Raw and wind whipped is what comes to mind. Does it lesson the pain by dwelling on it? Or did the arthur merely mean acknowledging it?
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