Wanderlust and Dwindling Numbers

Yesterday we attended the funeral for my Mummu. Heartbreaking.

On the drive home, instead of knitting, I regalled my man with tales of my family, immediate and extended. She had a beautiful obituary, but there was a detail in there that really stood out with me. Mummu had six children and 16 grandchildren. I am the youngest (I do believe) of the grandchildren. I am in my mid-40s. The next statistic was that there are 8 great-grandchildren. (and one beautiful little great-great grandchild) I do believe that generally speaking, the generations grow over time. Six to sixteen to eight? I examined that and realized that relatively few of the grandchildren had children themselves. That seems odd to me. Only three of the original siblings have grandchildren. My father is not one of them. The man and I examined that. He pointed out to me that he had had a conversation with my dad and asked him when he left home, to which dad replied "the day after I graduated from high school I climbed on a train". I know that I, too, headed off for adventure shortly after my college graduation, choosing adventure, experience and opportunity over settling down with a family. Many of us cousins have apparently gone that route in our lives. I stated that I felt these statistics were oddly high for one family. It was my man who pointed out that I originate from adventurers. My grandfather left Finland to seek adventure, experience and opportunity. My Mummu's family left Finland to seek adventure, experience and opportunity. I come from a long line of this. It all makes sense when viewed through that looking glass. Nothing wrong with that (though the thought that the family line is diminishing).

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There has been knitting. On Valentine's Day I finished the man's slippers, which he loves. He could barely wait for the felt to dry, checking them daily. They are now on his feet. Unfortunately, they are not a perfect pair to this knitter's eyes. At the conclusion of Bev Galeskas pattern, there is the option, when joining, to knit a bumper or not. Apparently, I knit the bumper on one and not on the other. Followed two different sets of directions. Both involve a three needle join and bind-off, so I didn't immediately realize the difference in my knitting. But, no matter, the man does not care about the difference, stating that it is simply aesthetic and not functional, this bumper, and since it does not affect the fit of the clog, nor the walkability of them, he could care less.

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I'm turning the heel of the second in my pour moi pair of socks. Had initially anticipated finishing them by the end of February. The long drive to and fro the U.P. did not involve quality knitting time, as generally would be my passenger habit. That is ok. I spent time conversing with my man and sharing stories of my clan. (These socks will be off the needles this week!) I had two days of driving and giving dedicated attention to the love of my life. Quality time I am thankful for and there are no regrets that I spent that time in the manner I did. I am lucky indeed to have him in my life; I am lucky indeed I am from the clan I am; I am lucky indeed that I have time, talent, inclination and funds to support my knitting habit.

All need attention from me.

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I met family for the first time. What a joy to be connected to these people. And all because of our matriarch, who leaves us with each other.

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(The Frederik VIII is the vessel Mummu sailed to arrive in the US at age 4)