I recently participated in a discussion re the conversion of St. Paul, who was thrown from his horse and struck blind on the way to Damascus. “Of course our lives aren’t nearly as dramatic as St. Paul’s,” one of the other participants opined, at which point I thought, Mine is!
Caryll Houselander, aka the Divine Eccentric, was a big fan of learning to do some kind of hand-crafts (she whittled little animals and Biblical figures out of wood).
I myself have taken up knitting. After a rather severe mishap in which I attempted to “wind together” two thousands-of-meters long skeins of string-like, viscose yarn that of course became hopelessly tangled, and that took literally five to six hours to unwind, I undertook what proved to be an abortive attempt to start a scarf while simultaneously watching Joseph Losey’s The Servant,
I then managed to knit out a skein of beautiful red-orange ribbon and completed what turned out to be a 9-inch or so square of…What is it? I asked myself after consulting my how-to knitting book and triumphantly “binding off.” A guest (i.e. never to be used) washcloth? A welcome mat for a gay dog-house?
In a burst of inspiration, I folded my creation in two, stitched up the sides, snipped off a royal blue tassel from one of the many moth-eaten lengths of tapestry draped about my room, affixed a silver cross (ditto) to the whole, and now have what I’m calling a makeup case! That can’t travel anywhere besides the back of my toilet as everything would fall out. Frankly, however, the whole calming, repetitive, over, around, under, and through process is such balm to my fevered psyche that I don’t really care whether I’m actually making anything.
TREASURES IN THE MAIL
Ten to eleven a.m. is always an exciting part of my day as this is the hour when the Filipino mailman is most likely to either shove the mail through the slot in the front door, or, in the event of a package, to knock.
The other day I rec’d a shoebox-sized package, return address from my brother Joe who resides with his Japanese wife Mimi in Marietta, Georgia.
Joe once sent me an autographed photo of George Jones (a mutual hero). Another time he Fed-Exed me a note, filched from our childhood bathroom (utilized by, among others, six males) and written on a piece of scrap paper in my mother’s hand reading: “GOL RAM IT. PUT THE SEAT DOWN!”
Joe-Joe must have picked up this latest memento on the recent Queers‘ tour: a varnished crocodile head with green glass eyes This has taken up pride of place in my current bathroom:
ONE OF MY MANY BOYFRIENDS
I like to keep my personal life under wraps, but I do think this photo of yours truly with the great William G. of Glendale, California, is worth sharing.
9 Replies to “ON THE WAY TO DAMASCUS: DAILY DRAMA”
Love the images, from the Caravaggio to the crocodile!
I missed some crucial punctuation as I was reading this for the first time, and thought that you were "knitting Caryll Houselander"! An effigy of the Divine Eccentric in yarn!
And as for your many boyfriends, all I have to say is: "!!!" (With a great big wryly smiley emoticon thrown in for good measure!)
God has blessed you. May He continue to do so!
peace & love ~
Love the Yankee thrift in repurposing the knitting. Brilliant. 🙂
Heather, I love that you crack me up as much as you inspire me- Lord knows, I need a sense of humor as much as anything else in my life…
But, my favorite thing on this post is that crocodile head- in the, um, bathroom…!!! Lends new meaning to the phrase "Bite me!" Just imagining the experience of using the facilities in the middle of the night with your spiny friend also in residence there….
Thanks for the gift of a belly laugh this morning. Life is good!
I have to say, I am amused at the timing of your post.
I spent some time thinking about "Parched" last night. (I read it a year or two ago, but have thought about it a lot the last week or so as I prepare for Lent) My thoughts last night centered on the book as a great "Road to Damascus" story. Sometimes God uses other people to knock us off the horse, but it makes hitting the ground no less dramatic.
I got a laugh out of your unwinding thousands of meters of tangled yarns. I love untying knots and untangling fishing lines.
HaHaHaHaHa. You're precious and priceless at the same time! I'm spending 3 months in the Florida warmth this NY winter, and brought a long-forgotten cross stitch along for the ride. I'm half-way through the "winter" and haven't even picked it up. Kudos to you for taking up this knitting craft. You inspire me. Thanks for the belly laughs.
Oh yeah, I come from a long line of the original recyclers and repurposers. Apparently my Aunt Eleanor tatted windowshade pulls from old teabag string…After laboriously knitting a foot or so of scarf, I dropped a stitch or…SOMETHING happened, and suddenly a giant swath of unraveled yarn appeared through the length of the thing…so this'll be interesting, patience not being my strong suit. Or rather all my patience gets concentrated in my writing…Nevertheless, I have cast on once again–and there IS something soothing both about knitting and about untangling yarn!
Thanks, dear folks, and welcome, Whitdog…
YOUR MISSION, SHOULD YOU DECIDE TO ACCEPT IT: TO KNIT A GIRLY-TACKY TOILET-PAPER DOLL ON WHICH TO MOUNT THE CROCODILE HEAD.
Knitting. I have tried, put it down, tried, put it down and somehow always forget. Can't crochet either. But, I can sew on buttons very well.
And -take up hems(all by hand.)
The crocodile head…hmmm…