But there is no yarn involved in this one. This contest had an entirely different -- but no less wonderful -- kind of prize, .
Eleanorfromthecommentbox had a contest. I'll let her tell you about it.
"I have just noticed that I have 110 posts on my blog. I'm amazed at myself! ... Now. It has come to my attention that many bloggers offer up a little prize to be raffled off to one lucky commenter, in celebration of a blogging anniversary. I have therefore decided to offer (as a lucky comment-box-door-prize) this beautiful knitted pair of socks I whipped up yesterday:
"Hahaha. If you fell for that one then you are obviously a very new reader. I cannot knit, nor can I sew (at all!), nor patchwork.
"Oh, really? What did you say? Oh, yes, well...that's true.....I do occasionally write a little poem.....yes.....I admit it....what? You say that maybe I might make a poetic offering to one lucky commenter? A poem on demand. I like the sound of that, and yes, I know it is a good idea because it makes me very nervous and self-conscious - that is a sign that I am on the right track here.
"So, without further ado... I proclaim that one of you will have your name drawn out of a hat (Miss Commentbox's hat which I bought her from Etsy for her birthday and which she adores and which I would never have found if I had not been blogging) if you leave a comment below. You comment below should also state the SUBJECT of said poem!!
"Good luck and may I not regret this decision tomorrow."
My amazingly good luck (except for the part about the broken ankle) held true, and Eleanor's beautiful daughter drew my name from the hat. Eleanor e-mailed me the good news and promised to begin thinking about my poem right away. Three days later she e-mailed me to say it was done and to let me read it.
The subject I had chosen was blue October... with a little bit of orange.
Here it is. (I added the corny coloring just because I could. Eleanor has far too much class to do such a thing.)
BLUE OCTOBER
That month's added numbers
May well write of
Equality,
And that mother of men
May well dream of
Eternity.
But I have seen
All her books,
Arithmetically labelled,
And to me they did
Colour-talk,
Blue, red,
White and
Yellow.
Primarily blue
Told a tale of
A whiteness,
Of fiberglass mouldings
And chairwheeling fantasies.
Then red
Itself knitted
A man for all seasons,
And a wife
For good measure
And the very best reasons.
But the yellow
Spoke harshly
Of numbers
Of lifetimes,
Of death
And destruction
In her desert imaginings.
So I took out
My paintbrush
And my dirty old palette,
And started to mix it,
Out of love,
And some madness.
I married the red
Of her son’s future bride,
To the yellow of climates
Of warring disguise.
The ending I coloured
With hope, thought and courage,
And her sunset soon flourished
In glorious orange.
I was stunned. That is beautiful and profoundly moving. I didn't realize she would read my blog and get to know me in order to write the poem
(although in hindsight that makes absolutely perfect sense). I am
honored by her generosity and talent and sensitivity. Thank you, Eleanor!
* * * *
You might wonder how I chose the subject for the poem. Here's what I wrote to Eleanor.
I just realized that I never disclosed the reason for my chosen subject. There is an old, old poem called "October's Bright Blue Weather" that was a favorite of my beloved fourth-grade teacher, Mrs. Howieson. She was the sweetest lady; I totally adored her. It was a tradition in her classroom that she read that poem to her class every October and had all those little nine-year-olds draw a picture representing the poem.
When you announced your contest it was November 1, but the weather outside my window as I read your post was exactly like what is described in the poem. I looked outside and knew exactly what I wanted the subject to be. I threw in the orange because it is such a typical October color here in the northern US, the orange of pumpkins and changing leaves.
You can read the poem here:
http://www.potw.org/archive/potw10.html
Clearly it was written a long, long time ago, but it makes me remember Mrs. Howieson and all the Octobers she helped me appreciate.