Ch-ch-ch-changes

I've been knitting a scarf. Honestly, that's about the extent of my knitting talent. This one is a beauty. Did I choose the pattern for its name (potato chip scarf) or for its appearance? It's a toss up. Love my chips, I do. But this was really a beautiful, ruffly design. Anyway. I selected the yarn at my local Evanston knit shop and told the woman I was trying to push myself beyond my comfort zone of colors. I choose an inordinate amount of browns, black and whites, some subtle tweeds, for my knitting...nothing too daring (except for my amazing afghan that is ablaze in fiery reds and oranges... yes, but I don't wear that one...but I digress.) The yarn I selected is Japanese and is called "The World of Nature." In a single skein of yarn the colors range from greys to purples, to mossy greens, to aquas. I had no idea how it would look once it was knitted. I was taking a chance.

I explained to the yarn shop woman that I didn't want it to be "stripey" when it was done. She assured me that it wouldn't. As someone who likes to have control over lots of things (OK, everything) it was hard for me to give myself over to the randomness of this yarn. I found myself examining it closely as I knit, straining to see how one color worked itself into the next color. It was SO cool! I'd be knitting grey and then there would be a g-r-a-d-u-a-l bit of light lavender mixed in to just a bit of the strand. In the next row there would be a slub or two of deeper purple, but just a bit. Further along the purple would overtake the grey until suddenly the whole row had changed to purple. Magical.

It got me thinking about how I make changes in my life. SO gradually. I am sure not a 'jump in with both feet' kinda girl. At least I don't think I am. I try out a little something and then add a little something more, and then a little more...and voila! A change takes place. It's my style. Case in point: my hairdo? Move the part from center to just right of center. Tiny steps. Angle the bangs a tad. Shorten up the back into more of a bob. Voila! I've got this century's version of my high school 'page boy!' I'm so not a risk taker.

When it was time to retire from teaching, the package from the district (for which I am grateful down to my toes!) required us to give notice a full 4 years out. That worked for me. It let me deal with the emotions and the realities of ending a career over a long stretch. When I first signed my 'irrevocable intent to retire' I wasn't at all sure that I was making the right decision. By the time I reached my last month in the classroom I had made the big shift, writing gleeful songs to celebrate the end of a long road where I had walked in lock step to a rigid schedule. A bell would ring and I'd wake up (5:30 a.m., folks). A bell would ring and class would begin. I'd have to wait for a bell to eat; a bell would allow me to pee. The day to day rigidity was a reality that had been imposed on me. At the end of a carefree summer (yes, I know I was lucky to get summers off. I am so grateful.) a bell would ring and my empty classroom would fill up with students who all brought their various needs and talents, their wit and their hormones, their insights and their family's baggage into my domain. At the end of a school year a bell would ring, and the kids with whom I had spent every day (and to whom I had given no small piece of myself) would walk out the door and disappear (for the most part) from my life. It all seems unreal, except that it was my reality for more than 30 years.

In retirement I didn't jump right into a million activities. I let myself marinate in the unstructured days and weeks. I devoured books. I watched too much TV. Monthly, I explored my feelings with my wonderful women's group. Then I signed up for a class at Northwestern. I volunteered at the soup kitchen. I added a weekly guitar class to my gradually building schedule. I heard about a great Current Events class at the JCC. Michael and I started to attend weekly. I took up mosaic again. I added treadmill time to my days. All of this unfolded over the course of a year and a half. It felt right. No drama. No sudden abrupt agenda shifts. It still feels right.

We had started talking about getting away from Chicago's winter before I retired. We took our time exploring places. Ventura, California? Maybe. South Carolina? Not warm enough. Florida? Not so much our style, we decided. Tucson came up for discussion. It kept resurfacing as a contender. We spent days and then weeks online poring over the maps and listings of rentals. We spoke to friends and acquaintances. We bit the bullet and signed a contract in August, which gave us lots of time to get ready. We made lists (OK, Michael made lists and I just ruminated) of what to bring, how to travel, etc.... It all unfolded in a gradual way.

And here we are, loving the easy life of a temperate climate, single-floor living, mountains right outside our window...and the amazing opportunity to explore to our hearts' content. Bit by bit we are learning our way around this warm and welcoming community. We've found the greatest hiking in Sabino Canyon, the coolest deli (Shlomo and Vito's), a great bike path along the Rillito River (which only has water running in it after it rains), any number of galleries and clothing boutiques, an awesome Asian 'Farmer's Market' unlike anything we've seen before, a nearby town with an artists's community, Tubac, with fun shops and friendly shopkeepers...and we've just begun to scratch the surface.

And my scarf? It's done. It's gorgeous. A boutique owner even offered to represent me if I wanted to knit more and sell them at her store. No thanks, but hey! You know what? My scarf looks exactly like the mountain range. See for yourself. Colors shift gradually as the sun and clouds pass over them. They are always different colors depending on the time of day...lavender, rose, smoke...You can't put your finger on when the changes occur. It's subtle and spectacular. A lot like my life these days.