Edith Piaf knit. This is a photograph of her knitting in her hospital bed after having stomach surgery. If you haven't seen La Vie en Rose, go out and see it. But don't see it, say, in the early hours of a beautiful day. You will cry. (I cried when I saw the preview even.) You'll well up throughout the movie, and at the end, the very end, you won't be able to drag yourself from the dark of the theatre.
I won't spoil all the knitting episodes in the film. I will leave those delights for you to find.
I spent most of Thursday in bed. In her book, The White Album, Joan Didion has a fabulous essay called "In Bed." I was in bed for the reason Didion gave in her essay. I had what the doctors call a migraine. I refuse to believe they are migraines. Doctors will not listen to me when I try to them them that the headaches are related to my cycle. They just want to give me a prescription; I don't take my migraine medicine--it makes me feel as if an enormous pressure is being exerted on my brain and I immediately become nauseated. The medicine doesn't make the headache go away anyhow--it stays, beating dull, hibernating behind my eye.
I usually get headaches on my right side. They usually aren't too bad; I can go about my day, uncomfortable, but functional, usually squinting and distracted and feeling as if I'm underwater. This time, the headache started on my left side. I kept seeing what looked like fluttering bat's wings in the corner of left eye. Then the left side of my face went numb. So I made myself take my medicine and lie in the dark of my bedroom.
I wish I could have knit.
I cried because I was so upset that I couldn't get anything done. Didion, in her essay, says that no one will understand why you don't just take an aspirin, why you just don't shake it off. They have no idea. Believe me, I would always rather be knitting if I could.