For several weeks The Traveling Shawl was on hiatus while one of our knitters dealt with unforeseen circumstances in her life.
The shawl is now on it's way to our 50th knitter! This week as I traded emails with our 50th knitter, Lynda in Wisconsin, I learned that she is a perfect person to put the final rows on the shawl. I'm sure that Lynda will soon have a post sharing her experience.
When the shawl was again on it's way this week we also learned that The Traveling Shawl was highlighted in the News section of the Fall Issue of Vogue Knitting (page 18) in a lovely article titled Sister Stitchers. We hope that everyone who is following the shawl's progress will take the opportunity to read this wonderful tribute to our project. A big thank you to the people at Vogue!
On the Donation front - we've surpassed our goal of $1000! Originally Kay and I had discussed and set a goal of $5000. Yes, it was quite an enthusiastic goal. As financial problems began to have a devastating affect on many citizens we realized that the economic struggle would impact donations to charitable contributions as people lost jobs and homes and we lowered our goal. As we all know though, cancer happens regardless of what the financial state is of the nation. Men and women are still being diagnosed, seeking treatment, recovering and dying of breast cancer. Because our goal of $1000 dollars has been achieved we hope that you will continue to donate and purchase the pattern of The Traveling Shawl in an effort to contribute to the research that will some day find a cure for this disease.
Thank you
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Monday, July 27, 2009
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Thursday, July 2, 2009
#47 Lincoln, NE
The shawl arrived at my home on June 26. I knew as soon as I saw the box, it was my turn. One of 50 knitters who would share a project, that could make a difference---that could help find a cure. When I first saw the project on Ravelry, I thought it was an amazing idea. I have knit prayer shawls for several years, but to have one shawl created by so many hands, whose story is spread across the country seemed pretty powerful.
Over the past few years, I have known several women who have fought battles with cancer. One lost her battle, another is fighting the disease for a second time. Several have gone through surgery, chemo and radiation---they are probably the bravest people I know.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
#46 The Little Shawl on the Prairie- The Shawl in South Dakota
When most people think of South Dakota, they picture Mt. Rushmore. I take nothing away from The Hills (well, okay, maybe I do. I grew up in the shadow of the Cascades, so to me, The Hills are just that- pretty hills with a few trees on them), but there is more to South Dakota than a carved mountain and a drug store that gives away free ice water.
I live in Eas Triver (SD Parlance for the half of the state that is east of the Missiouri River), the land of the 360 degree horizon, where you can watch thunderstorms building up 100 miles away (a handy thing, especially lately), where 20 mph steady winds are considered a breeze, where there truly are amber waves of grain.
I was happy to represent my part of the state as the South Dakota knitter for the Traveling Shawl. I expected to take some pictures of The Shawl on the prairie (after all of its travels to big cities and the like, I thought a quiet day or two in the country would be a relief), and I knew that I would marvel at this amazing project, and at all of the knitters who have contributed to it so far. I expected to feel proud, both of the knitters, and of myself, for being part of an enterprise that is so much more than the sum of its participants. I expected to be blown away by the beauty of the design and the softness of the yarn, and I worried that my own knitting skills would not be up to that of the previous 45 knitters.
All of those things happened (my skill was likely up to standard, but I was still intimidated by the possibility of making a mistake).
What I didn't expect, and what caught me totally off guard, was the emotional wallop of seeing the shawl, this work of love and dedication, and the accompanying journal, in person.
The shawl itself is gorgeous, worked in a softly variegated dark mauve, and the yarn is incredibly soft (and even the needles are pretty- KP Harmony circulars). I oohed and aahed over it for a bit, before opening the journal to find page after page, each written by a different knitter, most dedicating their work to specific women and men, battlers, survivors, and those who lost their battle with breast cancer.
The stories described on every page of that journal were amazing, and overwhelming. So many people affected, so much love, so much courage. So much grace. I am not ashamed to say that I wept.
I talked about the emotional connection I felt to the writers, and to the men and women mentioned, whom I will never meet, to the TV and newspaper reporters yesterday (one, whose writing was a little slower due to numbness and redness in her hands, from her own chemotherapy), but I'm not sure I got the point across as well as I would have liked. I talked about how amazing it is to contribute to a single piece, crafted by so many hands, each working with love.
I talked about the women I dedicated my work to- our neighbor Paulette, who lost her battle, and my knitting and spinning friend Deb, who is still battling. I talked about the mundane things, like how to go about donating to this amazing cause. And of course, I talked about myself, because that's the way I roll.
But last night, when I was doing the actual knitting, I thought not only about Paulette and Deb, and the other men and women mentioned in the journal, but about all of the people in my life who have faced cancer. I thought about my husband's mother, and two of his brothers, all gone far too young, and his sister, whose cancer was caught early and cured. I thought about my friend Diane, whose mother, and two grandmothers all battled the Big C. And my stepmother. And Betty at the library. And Kevin. I thought about my aunt, dying of lung cancer in her 40's, and a cousin who died before reaching adolescence, and an uncle with brain cancer. And I thought about my son, whose dire prognosis eight years ago, laid me flat. He faced his ordeal with much more grace and courage than I did, and came through with only scars (visible, and non) as reminders of that dark time.
I thought about how much I whine and moan, how little time I take to appreciate just being here, and being with those I love. I knitted my six rows on the Traveling Shawl as a contribution to a cause, to a fight, that I wholeheartedly support and believe in. But The Traveling shawl gave in return- a renewed awareness of my own good fortune and happiness, and a hope that should I face this battle, that I will be even half as brave as the people in the journal, as my own friends and family have been.
I am honored, and humbled, to be a part of this project.
I live in Eas Triver (SD Parlance for the half of the state that is east of the Missiouri River), the land of the 360 degree horizon, where you can watch thunderstorms building up 100 miles away (a handy thing, especially lately), where 20 mph steady winds are considered a breeze, where there truly are amber waves of grain.
I was happy to represent my part of the state as the South Dakota knitter for the Traveling Shawl. I expected to take some pictures of The Shawl on the prairie (after all of its travels to big cities and the like, I thought a quiet day or two in the country would be a relief), and I knew that I would marvel at this amazing project, and at all of the knitters who have contributed to it so far. I expected to feel proud, both of the knitters, and of myself, for being part of an enterprise that is so much more than the sum of its participants. I expected to be blown away by the beauty of the design and the softness of the yarn, and I worried that my own knitting skills would not be up to that of the previous 45 knitters.
All of those things happened (my skill was likely up to standard, but I was still intimidated by the possibility of making a mistake).
What I didn't expect, and what caught me totally off guard, was the emotional wallop of seeing the shawl, this work of love and dedication, and the accompanying journal, in person.
The shawl itself is gorgeous, worked in a softly variegated dark mauve, and the yarn is incredibly soft (and even the needles are pretty- KP Harmony circulars). I oohed and aahed over it for a bit, before opening the journal to find page after page, each written by a different knitter, most dedicating their work to specific women and men, battlers, survivors, and those who lost their battle with breast cancer.
The stories described on every page of that journal were amazing, and overwhelming. So many people affected, so much love, so much courage. So much grace. I am not ashamed to say that I wept.
I talked about the emotional connection I felt to the writers, and to the men and women mentioned, whom I will never meet, to the TV and newspaper reporters yesterday (one, whose writing was a little slower due to numbness and redness in her hands, from her own chemotherapy), but I'm not sure I got the point across as well as I would have liked. I talked about how amazing it is to contribute to a single piece, crafted by so many hands, each working with love.
I talked about the women I dedicated my work to- our neighbor Paulette, who lost her battle, and my knitting and spinning friend Deb, who is still battling. I talked about the mundane things, like how to go about donating to this amazing cause. And of course, I talked about myself, because that's the way I roll.
But last night, when I was doing the actual knitting, I thought not only about Paulette and Deb, and the other men and women mentioned in the journal, but about all of the people in my life who have faced cancer. I thought about my husband's mother, and two of his brothers, all gone far too young, and his sister, whose cancer was caught early and cured. I thought about my friend Diane, whose mother, and two grandmothers all battled the Big C. And my stepmother. And Betty at the library. And Kevin. I thought about my aunt, dying of lung cancer in her 40's, and a cousin who died before reaching adolescence, and an uncle with brain cancer. And I thought about my son, whose dire prognosis eight years ago, laid me flat. He faced his ordeal with much more grace and courage than I did, and came through with only scars (visible, and non) as reminders of that dark time.
I thought about how much I whine and moan, how little time I take to appreciate just being here, and being with those I love. I knitted my six rows on the Traveling Shawl as a contribution to a cause, to a fight, that I wholeheartedly support and believe in. But The Traveling shawl gave in return- a renewed awareness of my own good fortune and happiness, and a hope that should I face this battle, that I will be even half as brave as the people in the journal, as my own friends and family have been.
I am honored, and humbled, to be a part of this project.
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