"A letter to my father"

Dear Dad

It is now over six years since I needed to buy you a fathers day card and six years plus since I carefully selected a gift. Much water has passed under the bridge but never has a day gone by when I haven't thought of you and missed your loving guiding hand in my life.

I thought I knew you well but since that March day we said our goodbyes I have learnt so much more. Your loving kindness and gifts used, expressed in loving memory by your friends made me realise there was so much more to you than being just "my dad".

Your selfish love and kindness since teenage years used to guide and mature boys into strong men with your years of voluntary work for the Boys Brigade. Work recognised justly with being made a "Companion of the Queens service order". All your life you truely knew how to serve.

But you were even more than that. A talented photographer , gifted picture framer, art gallery owner, award winning weaver as well as in your later years a writer. Your mediation skills well used on the meetings you chaired and led. You have been sorely missed by many.

Our first house you helped us buy, my first car you lent me money for and in those worrying hours of labour that may have gone so horribly wrong a comfort and strength to David and your smile of joy as you greeted your new born grandson long remembered.

I never knew or guessed how hard it is to be "head of the family". [ I sometimes so wish to give this position up, did you so wish? ] You never let us see the stress and strain you must have felt. Never a cross word let alone a "swear" word was heard. No strong drinker or absent father were you. Always present and ever loving with strength and silent nuturing love.

You guided me in my first weaving project, taught me to fish, showed me the wonder of the developing print in the darkroom, let me start my working life in your gallery and when I strayed from the straight and narrow path you were there to pick me up and lead the way home. Not once, not twice but many times! Always loving never judging.

When I wanted to garden you built the compost bins and the raised beds. Every year a load of mushroom compost appeared and many a seedling "left over from planting" came my way. Many was the time you arose from your bed to "rescue" us when one of our many cars needed a tow. When times were hard furniture "appeared" as you had fun at the auctions on our behalf sometime being more generous than we had room for!

You gave me away twice , paid for two weddings and twice it was you I rung when I was left behind by loved ones passing. Your strength and love always only a phone call away.

Dear dad I miss you still! I sometimes think I would give anything for one smile, one hug, one phone call. When times are hard I miss your wisdom and strength, those phone calls for guidance. But I think that was your greatest gift.... somehow , somewhere you gifted me some of your strength. Each day I get up and get on.... because of lessons learnt well at your knee. If I can be half the wo[man] you were I will be well pleased.

One day , somewhere over the sunset I hope to see you and thank you as I never did. I love you dad.

Happy fathers day.

"Mana island sunset from Plimmerton beach, a view you knew well."

Dear reader

My dad was a very special man and one of the things Mum gifted me with recently when I helped her move house was a bag of quotes he had saved from news letters and the like. I thought this treasure richer than gold. Quotes my dad found good enough to save so I have been using them to head my messages. Here is another and well did my dad live by this:

" I shall pass through this world but once. Any good thing that I can do or any kind word that I can speak, let me do it now, let me not neglect or defer it, for I shall not pass this way again."

May I remember this in the years to come and if you still have your dads make the most of them, love them, spend time with them as one day they too will be over the sunset.

Knit on >^..^<

"A blue aran"

" Love is communucated not in the big event, but in the small acts of kindness"

Way back when I started this blog, you know around the time of the winter olympics and the buzz of the yarn harlot's quest for us to join in. Blogging was new to me and the whole world seemed to open up.. and get smaller and it seemed that knitters could truely change things for the better ...! In choosing a name for my blog I wanted to talk about yarn and also tell "yarns" or stories.. about life and families... hopes and dreams...

I have a "yarn" / story tonight for any who may have held on all this time and still be reading this poor missive of mine.

I give you the story ... of "A blue aran"

"Yes , but chances of you finishing it..!" So did my then dear husband meet my desire to knit him a jersey for his 21st birthday. Well he may have been right to be sceptical, my history until then didn't include large areas of knitting. At twenty my knitting to date included some designed on the needles dolls clothes, a bright pink jersey in a rather rough wool that my mother had to finish for me as I had run out of steam [ and yarn, it had short sleeves] , a bulky knit bright orange jacket for me and two items for our then 8 months old baby son.

These were a baby jacket which though lovely was knitted a little loose and he wasn't able to wear until 8-9 months as rather big and a "Bubbles" baby shawl. [ There may have been a pair of booties or two but memories been what they are , they are forgotten in the mists of time]

Many of you older readers may remember the Bubbles shawl pattern put out by Patons in the 50-60's , a circlar shawl with feather and fan increasing out. Knitted on straights, circulars were not the thing in those days in NZ. This meant a join once finished. The shawl ended up lovely if I may say so myself and baby Richard did use it but I was rather ignorant of what blocking meant so it was never properly dressed. [Moths got it too... so unfortunately too late now, shame]

Anyway I digress, having decided to knit a jersey and determined to show him I could and would finish [ his statement being a red flag to my stubborness ] I went off to our local department store James Smiths. [ Long since closed]

Then began the search for the "perfect" pattern. A long look through all the pattern books , baby in pushchair at my feet sucking on a rusk. I wanted to knit one that he would wear and be proud to show off my handy work. So I decided to do not just any old stocking knit jersey in a thick wool but a lovely aran in a good quality double knit crepe. I had never knitted an aran before but was confident if I just followed the pattern closely "she would be right".

So once I had choosen the pattern then the yarn, hmm what colour with his fair hair and blue eyes that was easy so a lovely royal blue good quality crepe wool went home with me that day to cast on and begin.

I was hooked from day one and slowly progressed up the back, then the front and finally onto the sleeves. Being a smoker in those rash days of youth, fortunately long since given up I discovered that cable needles been somewhat slippery and easy to lose a match made a good subsitute. With a young baby to care for and feed I was able to work on the jersey during nap times and at night.

My dear husband had just started a new job as manager of a new food bar and this meant he was not home until 10.30pm most nights. So nights were spent in front of the fire, it being winter at the time and I knitted the nights away in front of TV while the nappies quietly steamed on the clothes horse. Only black and white and one channel in those days, how times have changed!

The twisting of the cables, the texture of the double moss stitch and the crossing of the travelling stitches became a fasinating journey of yarn. But he was right! I didn't finish at least not in time for his 21st. His mother also had knitted him, and me matching jerseys of rib and textured basket stitch. [ I still have mine packed away, sadly a little small now] He was proudly wearing his 11 days later as he went off to work on his motor bike. Another pride and joy of his.

I knitted on through the day determined to finish. That night , a Friday there was a movie on TV and I twisted and cabled away as the story unfolded before me. So engrossed was I in the plot and the very nearly finished sleeves I didn't realise that 10.30 came and went and then at 11.15 a knock on the door... "who, at this hour!? "

Throwing down my meedles and being cauious and home alone with only a young baby for company I looked out of the window first.... "Police...there has been an accident" then a feeling of dread and so it started the phone calls to Mum and Dad, trusty Mum and Dad always relied on and turned to in need. The rush to get to hospital, the Doctor's face as he tried to tell me , too late.. the goodbye visit and hand holding of a still quiet man.

Then home, where Mum held fort with baby on her knee. Dear Mum , as I walked in and saw the knitting so close to finishing yet never to be given, dear Mum " should I finish it.." Mum ever practical later , "Yes your Dad would love to wear it" They must have had a quiet talk.

So the jersey was finished , sewn up and presented to a loving father who wore it with pride. How he thought about it I never knew... but it was well worn and passed on to my brother and I think back to Richard when he grew enough. Where it ended up ..?? I am not sure. But I did finish it and it was worn , with love. And in my stash still, is the pattern and a small blue ball of royal blue crepe.

And since.!? well knitting became a passion, a retreat, an outlet for expression and now my art form to tell my stories... and my baby ?

The biggest and best gift any man can give of himself and leave behind , a son. A son who in a gesture or turn of the head and especially his laugh can remind with loving pride of a childhood sweetheart once loved and long gone. A special son with a special place in a proud mother's heart who, this week turns 35. Happy birthday son... you make me proud.

A mothers' small loving act and a fathers' too meant a jersey finished and worn that would have been a long ago UFO.

Knit on >^..^<