Blowin' Off the Dust

It's been a long time, old friend.  Let's catch up.  

Honestly, I don't know why I stopped writing.  Like any good relationship you have to put in work.  I suppose I just became lazy and stopped trying.  I stopped trying in many aspects of my life.  It's time to change that, and this is the first step.  It's going to be a journey.  There will be days without movement, but you know, baby step and all.

So, the kidlets are now young adults.  All of them are still here.  Not one can afford to move out with this economy. Plus, we've added one.  The Weasel's girlfriend has moved in with us.  It's a long story.  Years ago I would never have imagined having a kidlet's significant other living with us, but we are a different generation from my parents.  

The Husband has retired and gone back to work.  He's a published author, with another book on the way.  He's not making Stephen King money, but it's a nice extra check.  The Girl has her master's degree in occupational therapy and is making good bank, but she's living here in order to pay down her student loans.  Thing 1 annouced years ago, when he was 8 I think, that he was never moving out and would take up residence in the basement.  That's were he is most days.  Thing 2 is working at a vet's office and loves it.

I have gone back to work.  I work at the local high school as an aide in one of the multi-disability classrooms, and I love it.  I love these kiddo's so much, I would rather work with these kids than the typical teenage high schooler with all the drama.

This is supposed to be a knitting blog, but other than a few biggies, does anyone read them anymore?

Guess I'll find out.

How you doin'

I have turned into my mother. My mom was a stay at home mom. I knew it was inevitable that I would be one the minute I was downsized 16 years ago, and the Husband and I decided that no one would hire a 6 months pregnant lady only to train her and have her take maternity leave 3 months later. Never mind the fact that I would probably only make enough to cover day care for two kids.

Sixteen years and a pair of twins later, that is how I ended up chaperoning a marching band trip to NYC for the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. This parade has pretty much taken over since July, often in very subtle ways. It has been lurking in the shadows since it was announced the band was marching with the occasional fund raisers, but it really made it's presence known when band camp started; and I volunteered to be the official band photographer. (That's my Teva tan from camp down below.)

It has even taken over my iFruit. Oh yeah, those are last year's unis. They have brand new ones for this year. (More fundraisers)

So in addition to all of the things I need to think about, gather, and buy for me, the Boy and Girl who are marching, the most important of all is the knitting! I must have new sweaters for this trip. I can't let the 300 kids and other chaperones see me in the same sweater twice, right? I don't care if I wear the same jeans all week, but I have to switch out the sweaters. Besides, I can't let the other knitter band moms show me up!

As an aside, we have an unofficial Thursday night knit night at marching band practice. Last evening two moms each took an end of a Dr. Who scarf and started weaving in ends with the goal of meeting in the middle. I don't really get to participate, because I'm usually on the field taking photos.

Back on track, I decided that I could knit two sweaters and a pair of flip top mittens before we leave the end of November. It's doable, right? Yeah, not if this is all you have completed of sweater number one.

That is a crappy iFruit photo of the beginnings of the February Lady Sweater. I am forever the optimist. I know I'll have two great new sweaters, and I'll be gleefully walking the streets of NYC just like Mary Tyler Moore did on the streets of Minneapolis; but I will NOT throw my hat.

 

I've Grown Accustomed to His Face

Sweet Willy will be leaving us in about three weeks. He has lived with us since late February. He looked like this when he moved in with us.

 

 

In three weeks, he will be returning to learn how to be a service dog to a child with autism or epilepsy. I have grown attached even though I swore to myself I wouldn't. He is so sweet and soft. He often makes me laugh. I have had great fun taking you to restaurants, meetings, stores, nursing homes, and high school band concerts. Even when I had to apologize for your behavior (you know what you did). I have to keep telling myself that he is meant for a greater purpose than making me smile.

Godspeed, Willy!

 

Wow

It's been months! The Husband pointed out that I had not blogged in some time. So I thought about this and came to the conclusion that I really didn't have anything to say. How sad. It would take all of my writing power to come up with a way to make laundry and the supervision of having a new deck built worth reading about. It's funny how life gets in the way of living. We get so caught up in the daily work of life that we don't have the time to live. There is always some life chore that takes precedence.

I find that it becomes more and more important to sneak in little bits of living when I can, besides, it gives me blog fodder! This past Tuesday, the Husband and I travelled to Kent, Ohio to attend a concert by my favorite band Great Big Sea.

It was a four hour car ride which gave the Husband and I time to talk about something other than the deck, or the kid's upcoming band camp schedule. We actually talked about politics and what I would like to do when I grow up! It also gave me time to work on a blanket for my friend Bruce who lost his home in the Colorado wildfire that hit Colorado Springs in June.

Several of my college friends and I travelled to Corning, NY to attend the memorial service for the mother of a dear friend. It was a turbulent emotional weekend. Bruce flew home to CO on a red-eye arriving early in the morning to the fire department telling him he had about an hour to load up his car and evacuate. Later that afternoon his house was a pile of ashes, and his whole life of possessions and mementoes fit in his car.

I decided that Bruce would eventually have a sofa and he would need a blanket to nap under on a fall Sunday. The perfect choice is the Moderne Log Cabin done in manly colors, Bruce being a single gentleman. I'm still on the first square, but much further along.

Upon our arrival in Kent, we saw this oddity. I love the kitschy in America.

Yes, that is an x-wing fighter.

We stopped at the May 4th memorial at Kent State in remembrance of those 4 students who lost their lives during the anti-Vietnam demonstration.

We also had a fantastic meal at bar/restaurant.

That is smoked Gouda macaroni and cheese topped with hickory smoked pulled pork. I'm drooling again.

We then went to the concert. We had third row seats!

This will only make Great Big Sea fans jealous, but we were no less than 15 feet from the stage. The day was steamy and hot, and I don't believe the a/c was up to modern day standards. This is what the Husband and I looked like before the concert started,

and this is what I looked like at intermission!

And that, my friends, is a little bit of living.

Oo-oo That smell, Can't you smell that smell?*

Gorgeous, right? I impatiently wait all winter for the all too brief time these lovely trees in front of my typical suburban home to bloom. I gleefully drive about admiring these Bradford pear trees, and marvel at the larger specimens knowing that one day mine will be tall and glorious. I take delight in the field that is next to the community ballpark, where these grow wild by the hundreds, although many are just wee little trees.

I also love the view from my deck. Our neighbor to the back whose property abuts three yards, mine being in the middle, 12 years ago selflessly planted 13 of these beauties.

In spite of my allergies, I love this time of year. Except, Jay-Z on a cracker, those trees stink! Oh, good Lard! When I open the windows to blow out the stink, as my mother used to say, a worse stink comes in with every breeze! There's just no getting away from the rotten stench permeating the air.

As much as I love these trees, I wish they would hurry up already and show some leaves already.

*Lynard Skynard

 

My Morning View

The lovely fellow on the right is a 5 month old, 50+ pound, Golden Lab puppy, service dog in training, who thinks he is a lap dog.

Once he completes his training, he will be partnered with a child with either autism or epilepsy. He is destined for great things. I just have to keep reminding myself of that when I have to stop him from falling into the pool to retrieve a ball, or when I see him trotting about the yard with a log from the wood pile in his mouth, or when he is chewing on the chair in the restaurant, or....

The other guy? He just gets cranky with the whippersnapper.

This Never Gets Old

Have you ever had one of those moments when you accomplish or finish something that you are so proud of, that it makes you want to run out in the street and stop every person and point out to them that, yes, you are awesome? But instead you hold your bubbly joy inside?

I had that happen last week. Over a year ago I cast on Gwendolyn by Fiona Ellis. I finally finished it two weeks ago. It takes a little bit to finish a sweater if you put it down for 6 months, because your irrational crazy self has convinced your sane self it's too small, even though you were spot on with the gage. So you spend those months knitting things were size doesn't matter, like scarves and wraps and shawls, for example.

Six months later you decide to pull up your big girl pants and wet block what you have done so far in order to shut up Ms. Crazypants. And here's the best part: when you've finished all the bits of the sweater, you get to seam it!

I love that the super simple mattress stitch can make this

look like this

 

After you soak and block it, it looks even better! So much better that you will receive compliments from the nurse at the doctor's office and also the doctor (obviously a female, men as a rule don't notice such things) within minutes of each other. Resist the urge to go on and on and on about how awesome you are. The doctor might consider calling in a psychiatrist for a consult.

 

Aahhhh

A steaming hot cuppa in my new favorite tea mug, and I'm prepared for the morning. Maybe I'll start with cleaning my desk.

 

A Sort Of Bad Dye Job

Pull up a stool and sit a spell. I'm here to tell you a story of a scarf. Many years ago, I put Ene's Scarf on my mental to do list. That's what we did back then, make mental notes, because we didn't have these electronic knitting tools like Ravelwhosit or iThingies.

I knew that I couldn't just use any yarn for this project. It had to be Blackberry Ridge Silk Blend Laceweight, as was called for. Being frugal, I trolled the online auction sites looking for the yarn in the amount I needed, the color did not matter. Days became weeks, and weeks suddenly grew into years, but my dogged perseverance paid off. Finally, I obtained the coveted fiber in the needed amount in natural!

Jubilant, I cast on at last.

I knit and knit and knit, loving the pattern and the yarn the whole time.

 

 

Until, one day, I had to start with a second ball of yarn. After several rows, I noticed something...the color of the new ball of yarn had a slight grey tinge to it. I decided that is was just probably a little of the oil from the spinning machine left on the yarn after processing. I convinced myself that a proper wash after completion would sort that right out.

See the difference in color as it floats in the bath? One bath didn't wash the"oil" out of the yarn. In fact, after three trips in the bath, I was deflated by my slow witted realization that it was simply a different color. The only way to move on would be to dye the thing.

This being my first attempt at dying, I only had a vague idea how to do it.

I knew I needed dye, I only happened to have red and green. I also knew I needed vinegar, a pot, and water. So I soaked the scarf first, got some vinegar water simmering in the stove, added, dye, added the scarf, and let it continue simmering until the water was clear. Then I rinsed it a couple of times, and, well, it didn't turn out too bad. I think this could be the beginning of another hobby.

 

 

Spreading Holiday Cheer

 

The Husband the police officer took this photo while on duty today. That is a live tree, with the lights turned on!

 

I've done something right!

For those of us that are mothers, you know what it is to constantly worry about whether you are doing the right thing as a parent.  It's normal to sweat the small stuff, like if you allow your child to have that extra piece of candy, are you setting them on the road to years of dental work and Type II diabetes?  Or if you allow your teenage daughter to wander the mall with the other packs of teenage girls, is she going to come home with an extra piercing that is not in her ear?  You know that when your toddler hits another toddler in his playgroup, because he feels that some injustice has been done to him (the other toddler took your child's toy train), you know deep in your heart that you are raising a serial killer.  Just me?

These fears begin to fade when you see your nose buried in the computer teenage son hold open a door for a lady that is not related to him.  Or when you are running errands with your beautiful teen daughter, and she suggests that rather than driving through that burger joint, you go somewhere to get a salad or a turkey sandwich.

From Hell's heart, I stab at thee

It tasks me. That sock is actually finished. I refuse to take a picture of it's completed self, until it tells me where the other ball of wool that matches it is hiding. Some days I think the knitting is out to get me.

I started this sock back in the summer, because I had convinced myself after knitting most of the back of Gwendolyn, that it was going to be too small. So rather than block it while it was on the needles to see if I could severely block it into submission, I threw it aside.

Right about that time I received the Wandering Thyme installment of the Bare Naked Club by Anne Hansen. It is a gorgeous organic cotton that felt like kitten fur. The bugger required a cast on of 40 brazillion minuscule stitches. I could not get past row 3 on that dang thing without making a mistake. So it, too, was cast aside like last night's Homecoming queen. But you're not off the hook, yet, Wandering Thyme, one glorious day, I will own you.

It was at this time, I had just started working on "me", which tends to make my world no bigger than the one I was living in inside my brain. I had no room for complex thoughts that did not involve "me". Some days I still go there for a visit, but no overnight trips.

Since my daily activities could not involve complex thought, a simple sock would do the trick. So I grabbed what I thought were two matching balls of yarn from the stash and cast on. This was just the thing for a brain that needed to keep it simple. Soothing.

Now came time for the second sock. I cast on, completed about 5 rounds, when I realized that the colors seemed off. I had grabbed the same manufacturer of yarn, in the same style, but a slightly different color. No problem, I'll dive back into the stash and grab the correct yarn. That was 3 weeks ago.

I still have not found the matching ball. I did find leftovers from the mittens I made a few winters back, and am now knitting a replacement for the one I lost. That's something to hang my hat on.

I'm thinking of nailing a gold doubloon to the door post as incentive for the crew, uh, family to find the elusive ball. That should turn out good, right?

 

Prepping for All Hallow's Eve

 

On a foggy morning, no less. Naturally.

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What a Slacker

I have a good excuse. I finally said "enough" to my depression.

For those of you that are rolling your eyes right now, thinking that you've bumbled across another self-absorbed blog, you may move along to that shopping you were going to do. I understand. I used to feel the same way. One simply did not talk about mental health issues.

It took me several years to figure out that I couldn't snap myself out of it. I finally broke down and asked for help. There's no shame in asking for help. One would think that I had been raised in a British household. Stiff upper lip, keep calm and carry on. Without going into detail, it took me 16 years as a mother to realize that we, as adults, continue the example our parents set for us. Brick, meet my head.

Fifteen years ago I was thrust into a role, that I neither wanted nor had the skill for. It wasn't that of being a mother, it was that role of being the glue that held the extended family together. What finally pushed me into the depression was the guilt I felt when my glue wasn't sticky enough and it all fell apart. That and my daughter pointing out that I didn't laugh any more. Knife, meet my heart.

So with the help of a therapist, some really good doctor prescribed drugs, and some knitting, I am slowly digging myself out of this collapsed tunnel back to the light. It's a process. Keep calm, and knit on.

 

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What a summer!

Monkey Trucker! The summer is half over! I think I've used enough exclamation points! (dammit!). I better quit.

I realized the other day that I had not posted in a while. I started thinking that I really had nothing exciting or note worthy to write about. But doesn't that make for the best summer?

Summer is supposed to be about a whole lot of nothing. I was just sitting here thinking about what I have accomplished the past month and a half. At the Girl's urging, I read the Hunger Games series. It didn't take very long. It's an easy read, and I was sucked into the story.

I've managed to get the kids to help around the house more. I know it doesn't sound like much, but to me it's a big deal. Because those of us with children know how kids love to clean and do chores.

I've also taken the time to work on me. I don't feel comfortable admitting this to just anyone, so with out going into detail, let's say I'm working on some issues. I'm really glad I took this step, and I feel as though there is a way out. Its a very common condition for women of a certain age, and not one to be ashamed of, I'm just not ready to blurt it all out here to the 3 people (!) (bugger, another one) who read this.

There has been knitting, but not as much as I would like.

That is the Apples in Clover tam by Anne Hanson, made with the lovely Loft yarn by Jared Flood. It's a club offering, so I don't know if the pattern has been made available to non-club members yet. When I took this picture, I realized that I had switched the background color and the main color halfway through the design at the top. I'm trying to convince myself that no one will notice, the problem is that I notice.

So I'll sit here quietly so as not to disturb the 12 year old Thing 1 that fell asleep with his head in my lap on a sunny summer morning, and contemplate what I'll attempt to accomplish the rest of the summer, because isn't dreaming what summer is all about?

 

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I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey work of the stars *

The hole in my back yard has turned into this.

 

That picture was taken before the pool dudes were completely done. The piles of dirt are now gone, but I have nice level mud in it's place. I feel like I am using the same amount of water to fill the dang thing, as I am trying to get grass to grow. So far all I have are little bitty leaves of grass right at the pool's edge.

I am also trying hard to resist this.

That, my friends, is a slice of banana heaven. I love the little town I live near. One day as I was driving along the main street through town, a pick up truck pulled up next to me with a trailer hitched to it. Inside the trailer was a sheep making it known she was not happy to be there! There is a field of cows across the street from my daughter's school, and we have a wonderful local yarn store. Besides all of that, there is this little diner that has been open since the 1930's that has fried chicken and pie that will bring tears of joy to your eyes.

 

I also plan to get much knitting done this summer. That is the Poinsettia Cowl by Anne Hanson in Blackberry Ridge sport blend. Black yarn is very difficult to photograph. For a better picture, follow the link.

As Walt Whitman wrote, "Give me the splendid, silent sun with all his beams full-dazzling."

* Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman

 

Stop Getting Older

Tomorrow my middle kidlet, the Girl, will be 14. I always thought that it was goofy when, as a kid, my mom would implore me to stop growing and getting older. I get it now.

I don't care about the fact that I'm getting older and fatter. I do care that my kidlets are moving closer to not needing me for every little thing. Hungry, you say? Go make yourself a sammich! You're filthy, I say. Go take a shower, and hang up your towel! No longer having to make their every meal, pour their every drink, and hang over the edge of the tub during bath time has given me more free time.

I now have time to still clean up after the little girl who wanting to be like mommy took a dozen eggs, sat on the floor and proceeded to crack, or smash, each one in, or near, a bowl. She still likes to crack eggs, but these days she manages to get them in the bowl, combine it with other ingredients, and come up with something yummy. I still have to clean the kitchen when she is finished.

The Girl who used to give her mom sweet hugs, now punches her with a fist that feels like a hammer during a competitive round of "punch buggy". Whose idea was it to put the girl in karate so she could defend herself? Dad's. Guess what, dad, she's going to knock anyone out that tries to manhandle her. Don't believe me? Take a look at the bruise on my upper right arm!

When she was born, my mother in law was so excited to finally have a granddaughter, that she flew into the room minutes after the Girl was born with nary a glance in my or the Husband's direction, and went straight to the Girl. That was the moment that I realized that she was really going to be something special. She may never be well known for curing cancer or the common cold, but that's o.k. She will always be special to those that love her.

Although it is bittersweet seeing her growing up, I know that she is going to do wonderful, great, majestic things with her life. She has the strength, the intelligence, and compassion to blaze her own trail.

 

Watch This Space

 

In My Fridge

I really need to work on the kidlet's spelling.

Happy Vernal Equinox

What a gorgeous spring! I hope I'm not going to jinx it by writing it out loud. Although we are only approximately 13 hours into it, so far, so good. Here is the view from my lap. I really need to weather proof the deck furniture.

Speaking of gorgeous, I joined Anne Hanson's Bare Naked Knitspot Club. I'm not usually one to join knitting clubs or knit-alongs unless they really grab my attention. This one not only grabbed me, but it held on and possibly pinched a little.

After learning how to spin, I didn't purchase already processed fiber. I jumped in with both feet and bought fleeces. I have always loved the idea of seeing a fiber in its natural state. I feel that you can see its true beauty. I compare it to seeing a woman without her make up. You really get to see her, not the face she wants you to see.

Before you start to think I'm a crunchy granola earth mom, there is a time to slap a little color on your face and yarn, like when you are heading out to a wedding and you have the perfect red wrap to go with your little black dress. Just be careful not to tread down Christina Aguilera Street with the facial slap. Where was I? Oh, yeah.

The first offering of the club is a beautiful springy two ply merino from Mountain Meadow Wool. Anne did a stellar job with this one. I can't wait to finish this wrap because the second installment has arrived, and it's yak! Yak, y'all! We'll yak later.