Hmmm.
I'm glad that the universe enjoys the process of smacking me upside the head. Looks like I am learning something.
Tonight, while reading a knitting book as I ate dinner (because if you can't be knitting, it's good to read about it) I learned that the word fascia, which is one of my favorite discoveries from anatomy class and is the little-known but amazing layer of tissue that encapsulates your inners and gives structure to the body and provides nourishment to bones and muscles and blood and nerves and what makes you feel so good after yoga or a massage because the fascia has been released, comes from the history of knitting.
This, from Vogue Knitting's The Ultimate Sock Book. Ancient Roman men wore fascie, or strips of fiber made from fabric or leather to cover shins, legs, and sometimes feet. Soldiers donned fascie for battle, while the elderly used them as the first bedsocks to keep themselves warm. Thus, it makes sense that the word denotes the layer of tissue that lies under the skin, wraps around bundles of muscles and ligaments and tendons, and encircles almost every cell in the body. If you pluck at the skin on your hand and notice that it doesn't go too far, that's because of the fascia holding it down.
And earlier, while writing my previous post, I was entertaining myself using anatomical directional terms - anterior, posterior, medial, lateral - to describe the different items on my loom. As in, the lease sticks are posterior to the heddles, but the heddles are anterior to the raddle. I deleted this, because I'm not sure anyone other than me, and perhaps members of my immediate family, would see this as humorous. (I just spellchecked my post, and I'd spelled the word "humorous" like this "humerus." As in arm bone.)
The third thing of odd synchronicity: as I was reciting to my husband the list of things that were up in the air and felt unknowable and without the guarantee that one might wish would come with big plans, like studying yoga therapy and going to India, I was fussing about the unknowability of how I was doing as a yoga therapist in training. And I mentioned one student who I had not heard from in a while. And then my husband asked me to repeat the name, which he then recited back to me. Twice. Turns out that there was a message on the answering machine from her, saying that her practice was going fine and she was planning to come to my regular weekend class one of these days soon.
Tonight, while reading a knitting book as I ate dinner (because if you can't be knitting, it's good to read about it) I learned that the word fascia, which is one of my favorite discoveries from anatomy class and is the little-known but amazing layer of tissue that encapsulates your inners and gives structure to the body and provides nourishment to bones and muscles and blood and nerves and what makes you feel so good after yoga or a massage because the fascia has been released, comes from the history of knitting.
This, from Vogue Knitting's The Ultimate Sock Book. Ancient Roman men wore fascie, or strips of fiber made from fabric or leather to cover shins, legs, and sometimes feet. Soldiers donned fascie for battle, while the elderly used them as the first bedsocks to keep themselves warm. Thus, it makes sense that the word denotes the layer of tissue that lies under the skin, wraps around bundles of muscles and ligaments and tendons, and encircles almost every cell in the body. If you pluck at the skin on your hand and notice that it doesn't go too far, that's because of the fascia holding it down.
And earlier, while writing my previous post, I was entertaining myself using anatomical directional terms - anterior, posterior, medial, lateral - to describe the different items on my loom. As in, the lease sticks are posterior to the heddles, but the heddles are anterior to the raddle. I deleted this, because I'm not sure anyone other than me, and perhaps members of my immediate family, would see this as humorous. (I just spellchecked my post, and I'd spelled the word "humorous" like this "humerus." As in arm bone.)
The third thing of odd synchronicity: as I was reciting to my husband the list of things that were up in the air and felt unknowable and without the guarantee that one might wish would come with big plans, like studying yoga therapy and going to India, I was fussing about the unknowability of how I was doing as a yoga therapist in training. And I mentioned one student who I had not heard from in a while. And then my husband asked me to repeat the name, which he then recited back to me. Twice. Turns out that there was a message on the answering machine from her, saying that her practice was going fine and she was planning to come to my regular weekend class one of these days soon.
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