Skip to main content

Spring is in the air

The sign in the dress shop across the street says it.
But the flowers in the tree pits announce that it is spring as well.



On a different note, I found an old friend on the street today being sold by one of the men who sells books from folding tables  along Broadway.
I had bought this book in 1974 or 5. There was a needlepoint conference taking place in Boston at one of the downtown hotels. I was at that point pretty serious about needlepoint. I think my parents may have given me permission to leave school early to go. I think it may have been around the time of my birthday so they gave me some money to buy stuff.  I bought this book. It was expensive, $25.00. 

The book had an excellent history of needlepoint and even better large and well drafted instructions of how to do hundreds of different stitches.
After I would finish my homework I would work on mastering stitches.  I approached the book like I do any other big body of knowledge. I dove in working my way randomly finding stitches that appealed and that I thought I could manage without making myself too frustrated. 

I do remember this particular page spread. I remember admiring the star stitch and failing at it often until it finally made sense for both my head and my hands. This book taught me that the complex is always made up of small and simple parts that are repeated in a pattern. I learned that even the hardest problem is solvable-----eventually. I also learned that by plugging away at something, eventually I could become quite skilled.

I haven't done needlepoint probably since I was in college. If I ever become demented you can tell my kids to give me a canvas, a needle, and some yarn to keep me out of trouble or to stop me from asking them the same question over and over again.

It was nice to see my old teacher on Broadway. No, I had no desire to buy the book. Taking the photos and writing about it here was exactly what I needed.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

מְחַיֵּה הַמֵּתִים

  וְנֶאֱמָן אַתָּה לְהַחֲיוֹת מֵתִים: בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה יְהֹוָה מְחַיֵּה הַמֵּתִים   You are faithful to restore the dead to life. Blessed are You, Adonoy, Resurrector of the dead. That particular line is recited at every single prayer service every day three times a day, unless you use a Reform or Reconstructionist prayer book . In those liturgies instead of praising God for resurrecting the dead God is praised for  giving life to all.  I am enough of a modern woman, a modern thinker, to not actually believe in the actual resurrection of the dead. I don't actually expect all of the residents of the Workmen's Circle section of  Mount Hebron cemetery in Queens to get up and get back to work at their sewing machines. I don't expect the young children buried here or  the babies buried here to one day get up and frolic. Yet, every single time I get up to lead services I say those words about the reanimating of the dead with every fiber of my being. Yesterday, I e...

Connecting with the past

A few months ago I had a craving for my father’s chicken fricassee.  If my father were still alive I would have called him up and he would have talked me through the process of making it.    My father is no longer alive so I turned to my cookbooks and the recipes I found for chicken fricassee were nothing at all like the stew of chicken necks, gizzards and wings in a watery sweet and sour tomato sauce that I enjoyed as a kid.  I assumed that the dish was an invention of my father’s. I then attempted to replicate the dish from my memory of it and failed.   A couple of weeks ago I saw an article on the internet, and I can’t remember where, that talked about Jewish fricassee  and it sounded an awful lot like the dish I was hankering after. This afternoon I went to the butcher and picked up all of the chicken elements of the dish, a couple of packages each of wings, necks and gizzards. My father never cooked directly from a cook book. He used to re...

Food friday - your grandmother's food processor

My grandmother bought my mother this wooden bowl and a chopping knife, known in Yiddish as a hock-messer, soon after my parents got married. Yes, she also got them a dairy set as well. these wooden bowls and chopping knives were a big part of food prep when I was growing up. meatloaf and meat balls were mixed in this bowl. Chopped liver was made in this bowl as well. Sundays we often made chicken salad for lunch made out of chicken left over from Shabbat chopped with vegetables and mayo. That too, was made in this bowl. When I was in college my parents got their first food processor and the chopping bowls were not used as much. Several years ago, my father asked if i would like the bowls and the hock-messers. I was happy to have them. I like the sheer physicality of chopping up a big bowl of stuff into teeny pieces. While the wooden bowls have stood up well to the years of use, the hock-messers had not. The bladed which were bolted into their handles, wobbled. The blades wouldn't ...