The Purple Yarn

I am knitting with purple yarn that I've had awhile. The yarn itself is plain, a good wool in a brand I like and trust, and in a color that I am fond of--or at least I was, once.

A few years ago, I wanted to knit a sweater. I wanted it to be a purple sweater, a cardigan, and I had bought something like 12 balls of the above purple yarn (on the right) on sale some time before that--I got a really good deal on it, it was still what I would consider a staggering sum today, but like 80% of my stash, those were the good days (with 2 incomes) when I could buy a staggering amount of fiber without saving and scrimping and selling a dozen finished pieces to raise the cash.

My knitting skills were ok, not great, but I'd ventured into slightly larger projects before and felt confident I could pull it off. I understood knitting, purling, and cabling. I'd been doing all three of these things properly for some time. I knew that gauge was a fickle, fickle mistress, and thought I understood the importance of proper gauge--that math which allows you to extrapolate the size of a finished garment based upon how many stitches you get to an inch in a smaller square of knitting, called a swatch.

Oh, I had grand plans. I was going to make this sweater, and it would be my favorite sweater, and I would wear it every day and proudly say to those who loved it "why, thank you, I made it myself."

Take a moment and look at that sweater. Really, go look, I'll wait. Now contemplate these changes:

I was a much bigger girl then (2 bust sizes bigger, according to that pattern) and very self-conscious about it, so I wanted a loose fitting sweater and planned on making it a size bigger still (the largest size the pattern provides). I wanted to take a garment that was meant to be fitted, and make it a loose one. I was especially paranoid about wanting to cover my hips, so I planned on elongating the cable-and-garter ribbing at the bottom, to cover my ample bum.

Second, I don't care for zips on knitted sweaters, so I was going to change that to buttonholes, without actually knitting a separate button band, just using a garter stitch edge--changing the closure, which may have changed the stability of the front of the sweater.

Third, I am not a big fan of the hood. I know hoodies are all the rage, and that they're supposed to be the ultimate in casual wear, but for me a hood is a functional statement more than a fashion one, and I prefer hoods only on outerwear. I figured I'd make a shawl collar (or the like) in its place. (The plan was vague.)

Finally, as much as I loved the sleeves and was confident I could pull off that sort of knitting feat, I wanted it done in my lifetime, so I opted to knit a plain sleeve with a little cuff detailing instead, thereby changing the central motif of the sweater.

Confident that none of these changes would affect the pattern enough to make it un-doable, I carried on. I cast on the sleeves, knit until the raglan decreases, and put them on a holder to set it aside to do the back. I had a little trouble with the back, but got it to the same point as the sleeves, and then knit the 2 fronts.

It was when I started decreasing to bring the 5 pieces together that I realized things were getting a bit big. I slid the stitches around on my 29" circular needle, no clue how big it really was but figuring it was fine, no big deal....the decreases started to measure a little long, but I wasn't concerned....I decided I was bored with the decreases, and I'd gotten to the point where I could more or less do some seaming to bring the body together, so that's what I did....

After weeks of decreasing and nothing seeming to get smaller, I decided to try the thing on.

Imagine my surprise when I put it on...and realized it was a bit big. Really. Just a little? Oh, and long. (Elongating the hipline made it longer? REALLY? Get outta town.) Also? The fronts pulled oddly. (Couldn't be because I changed them.)

I sighed, and realized--I was never going to finish this sweater. I'd knit for weeks, using so much purple yarn I'd actually had to go back and add to it (16 skeins? That wasn't the tipoff? Denial is powerful my friends). And even after I came to the conclusion that nothing could save it, it was destined for the frogpond, I still had to spend hours ripping the thing back and rewinding it into useable balls.

By the time I was finished, with hours of knitting and nothing but yarn to show for it, I was sick of the yarn. Purple? What was I thinking? ARGH. I tried dying some of it to no avail. I gave some away. I stuck what was left of the full skeins in a bag, and tried not to think about it.

But needs must, and here I am again, with presents to knit and no budget for yarn. So the purple comes out again, to knit into baby sweaters, and into mittens for Tessa...and I'm trying to ignore the twitch over my right eye, because I really do like purple, and I really do like wool, and I'm trying really hard to remember that...and not the Purple Sweater of Doom.

Sorry You Hate My Opinons, But...

Gotta get this one off my chest.

Just once I wouldn't mind being the one nobody wanted to offend. I am so sick of the haters--don't take a picture of me, don't quote me, don't tell anyone I said that totally innocuous thing. People I choose to be around in my life are the people I want there and actually give a damn about and I'm, GASP, proud of. If you're so offended by that, well, I'm sorry, but that is your damage, not mine. I'm sick of biting my tongue and editing my thoughts and my very personality to the point that I'm becoming the troll under the bridge just so NOBODY will be offended.

If I take a picture of you, guess what? It's because I like you. I like having you in my home and in my life, and I like showing you off to other people because I think you are a beautiful person and I'm proud of you.

If I talk about you in a status update on facebook, guess what? It's because I like you. I'm amused by something you said or did and I think you are clever.

If I don't want to enter into an argument with you about something I feel passionate about, be it politics or opinion or whatever, guess what? It's not because I'm not strong enough in my stance. It's because I don't see the point. I'm not going to convince you, you're not going to convince me, and not engaging in a battle of wits isn't because I don't have an argument to bring to the table, it's because I'm not about to waste my time convincing you of something that we've clearly both assessed the angles of and come to different conclusions.

I live my life out loud in many ways--but for every out loud thing, I guarantee you there are 500 things no one will ever know about me. The things I say and post on a public forum are the things I actually feel are not going to spark controversy or negativity, and I get deeply hurt when someone wants me to police them simply because they're not comfortable enough to own who they are to me. If you don't want to be in my life, fine, but if you do, be flattered enough that I care so much about you that I want to say that part of my life out loud.

Taste is subjective. Thoughts are subjective. Every course of action you choose is one that you think is the right one, based on the evidence in front of you. If I screw up, I'm sorry, and I'll be the first one to admit it. But I'm not going to get a waiver signed for every picture I take, every word I say, and every time I talk about another person, particularly if it's in what I think is a flattering way. I don't go around bashing people on purpose and I don't post something I think is unflattering, be it a picture or a quote, because I am so afraid of hurting people's feelings--but even with that, I still manage to somehow offend every person I love.

My instinct is to give up, to be the troll, and to tell everyone to go eff themselves. But you know what? The people who freak over stuff like that are the ones with the problem, not me. And I am constantly reminding myself to worry about the plank in my own eye, and not the speck in theirs. (Yes I just got Biblical on you.) I know my own insecurities and they are many, and it takes all my energy to handle those. I can't go around handling yours too. If you've got a problem, deal with it, but don't try to make it my problem by telling me it's my fault unless it really, truly is.

End rant.

The Lucy Hatch Novels by Marsha Moyer

The Second Coming of Lucy Hatch by Marsha Moyer

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


I love this book. Ok, it's a bit racy and steamy for my taste, generally. But Lucy is such a real, accessible character to me. The writer truly transports me to Mooney, TX and makes me want to know more. A fantastic beginning.



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The Last of the Honky-Tonk Angels by Marsha Moyer

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


My favorite of the series--#2 of the Lucy Hatch books. Lucy is still tentatively moving forward in life, but her space is shared now by Denny, her 15 year old stepdaughter. I like continuing Lucy's story & narritive, but I especially enjoy Denny's young, fresh perspective.



Pluses: Denny's narrative, curiousity, new perspective on her father & soon-to-be stepmom, getting to know a bit more of Ash's heritage and going more in-depth with already loved characters.



Minuses: Slap-dash plot, trying to hold together too many lines at once and failing on some of the deeper levels (less race relations, more music & personal histories would have been my preference).



My favorite.



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Heartbreak Town: A Novel by Marsha Moyer

My rating: 3 of 5 stars


Honestly, not the greatest. Yes, it's another page in the story. Yes, it's interesting to see what has happened to them all this time later. But the timeline gets sketchy at times; they make it seem as though years have passed, but then maybe just weeks; and it's not clear how the time is passing even within the story. It took a long time to "get going" past the day-to-day as well, and while that's interesting, it was hard to maintain that interest. Not that great but definitely a good step; I wouldn't want to read the series without it, but at the same time I probably would have handled the info differently.



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Return of the Stardust Cowgirl: A Lucy Hatch Novel by Marsha Moyer

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


A lovely conclusion. Room for more to be told, but really, I'm ok with leaving the Hatches/Farrells here. They are in a good place.



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Vacation

Tessa and I went up north this last week, to go camping with my Aunt Gina. I got to show the sock I was working on Northern Michigan. It was enthused.

We camped for 3 nights at Aloha State Park in Aloha Twp, MI. I built pretty good fires--evidently certain skills just remain dormant, til they're needed.

Tessa got to swim, a LOT. Girl is a fish.

We also took Tessa to Mackinaw City, and she got to cross the bridge for the very first time.




My aunt & uncle have a cabin nearby, and welcomed us into their summer home. It was so nice. They also know the foremost expert on the yellow swallowtail butterfly, so Tessa got to meet a real, live entomologist, which made her crazy happy.




We watched a lot of sunsets, and it was so beautiful. Even Paddle enjoyed himself, I think.


We celebrated my Aunt Marcia & Uncle Denny's 43rd anniversary with an unbelievably delicious dinner.



I'm so thankful Aunt Gina gave us this wonderful opportunity and fantastic memory. She really is the best of the best.



And Tessa was pretty ready to go when it was time to leave--we really tired her out.




P.S.--I didn't get photos, but I did get some nice vacation yarn, thanks to both my aunts. :-) I also finished a really gorgeous shawl.

Possibly Crazy?

So....It's been a long, long time since I've had a vacation. Oh, sure, I've had "time off work...." but for me that generally means medical appointments to go to with my mom, an apartment to clean, classes to take, job training at a second job to do--hell, one of my "vacations" once included me in the hospital for 4 days recovering from an infection.

But not THIS TIME. This time, "vacation" actually means a break. Some of the plans include: heading over to dear friends for a joint-family BBQ, Jeremy going to work on his graphic novel with his friend Thom, Tessa participating in a "family dance party" at Art 634....and, most astoundingly, me and Tessa GOING UP NORTH with my aunt to go camping!! (Jeremy was invited. He doesn't see the point of camping. He has no desire to sleep on the ground for 4 days. He doesn't swim. He doesn't do mosquitos, bugs or heat. His loss. At least the apartment won't be untended.)

I also have planned a LOT of this:

A bit of this:

And some challenging knitting in the form of this:

Gonna be a great week. :-)

Walking on Eggshells

Wow. The last 48 hours have been some of the weirdest I've lived through in awhile.

I don't want to go into too much of it. Personally, there's been some things, some of it good stress, some not so good, but all of it takes its toll, the good and the bad. Professionally there were some things as well, and again, those I will keep in private contemplation, but it also has my mind swirling.

One thing I can share about in general terms though--community.

I'm a member of a really great community online that has truly been a good substitute for a religious institution in my life. It fills that need for gathering and support, and does it in such a way that I don't feel as though I have a "void"--I grow, both in faith and in my inner being, and I both give and receive support from the members of that community.

Recently there has been some upheaval, and despite my attempts to not involve myself, I found that I am deeply affected, no matter that I'm not a participant.

I feel like I'm caught in the middle of a splitting church--you know, the sort that splits over deep theological issues, like carpet color and whether or not the benches should have padding--and now I don't know which study group to go to. Do I stay with the originals? Do I go over to the new splinter? Do I just keep a foot in each camp because frankly, I'm friends with all the parties and have no beef with any of them?

It's one of those situations where I can see where both parties handled things (in my opinion) very, very badly in some ways, and yet both parties did what they felt was right. On the one hand, I absolutely hate how the situation was handled on both sides, and in equal measure. There isn't any one side of this that did worse than the other, as far as I am concerned--I don't know the order of events, but again, it appears to be something that just kept building and building. At the same time, both sides did what they absolutely believed in the deepest part of their beings was the right thing, and I am completely supportive of both in that--the parties involved are principled, thoughtful people and stood firmly by their own convictions, and that is always to be admired.

In the end I find myself backing away from all of it, taking away the lesson that even the most religion-free communities can have deep dramas, and perhaps nowhere is safe. My heart is broken to see dear friends hurting in this way, and nothing I can do to mediate or soothe. All I can do is sit back, do some meditative knitting (and praying), and hope that hearts can be healed and life can go forward for everyone.

I hate this.

Book Review: Matched by Ally Condie

Matched by Ally Condie

"I'm not so sure whether I like this or not. On the one hand, I "devoured" it quickly--read it in a day and a little, election day. And it was good. I guess.

It takes awhile to get going. I'm not sure how but I think the author could have described the "world" in a better, more approachable way. It's almost as though she took sketchy notes from a journal and only fleshed out the bits she felt like it.

Also, I never really "got" the whole "sorting" thing. I mean, ok, I kind of understand it, but what "job" would it be used for in adult life? What's the correlation to the "past" in this world? Meh.

But, over all, it's an ok story. I'll probably read the rest to find out what happens, just because I like the character of Ky. Still, the whole thing kind of felt like the author just jumped on the "Hunger Games" bandwagon."

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The little things

This morning I unlocked the front doors of the library and I saw a piece of paper on the ground. I picked it up to throw it away, and noticed it had a little “heft” to it, so I looked closer. On the outside, there was written a note. The note said “My Name is _____. I owe you 20c for 2 pieces of paper” (we charge 10c/copy).

Every day I see adults trying to welch on their obligations somehow. I get especially frustrated when one will put off paying a 50c fine, but then drop $5 on movie rentals. Here this kid (definitely a kid’s handwriting) came down before we opened, and when he saw it would be awhile, he took the time to leave the money anyway, trusting that we would be the ones to take it in. It's such a little thing, and we would have never known that he had even made the copies--there was no note on his record stating he owed us for anything. But he still went out of his way to make sure he paid what he owed.

What a refreshing start to the day.

Reviewing "The Distant Hours" by Kate Morton

The Distant Hours by Kate Morton

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

First of all...this is not a thrill-seekers story. If you picked it up because you love mystery stories with grand conclusions all tied up in a neat little bow...walk away.

This is a book for readers, and writers, and lovers of the written word. The descriptions are sweeping, and mean as much to the story as the hundred quiet little intrigues that they build up.

The suspense and mysteries, while concerning large events, are never revealed in a giant "A-HA!" conclusion. Instead, they are introduced quietly, and just as quietly played out. In the end you know all the conclusions, in a very satisfactory sort of way, but again--it's not some giant "resolution" and those who like stories like that will not like this one.

I'm so glad I've read this. Morton clearly has a love for the written word, and her voice reads more like prose than simply "a novel." Some have complained that the book needed editing; again, I disagree. For me this was just as much about the descriptions and seeing things through the lives of the characters as it was the story itself.

Well done.

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Wine & Wool

Today I'm in a state of wild anticipation--for tomorrow, OH, TOMORROW, is Wine & Wool day!! It's the most, wonderful time, of the year....ok, maybe not quite, but for mid-Michigan fiber types it is.

Last year I scored some gorgeous purple/gray alpaca that is almost too pretty to spin. There were other things too....I'm working on a shawl (if you call beginning it, knitting for a long while, seeing that the concept you're aiming for can in fact be done, and promptly tossing it on the "projects" basket "WORKING") made from a merino/tencel brand I bought as well. I spun it up single ply, because me and plying aren't really great friends, and it's knitting into a beautiful self-striping yarn:

It's further along than this now, but I seem to have lost the yen to photograph projects. Perhaps because the only ones I've "finished" lately are gifts for friends or family...some of whom read this blog. And while I SUCK at surprises, I'd like to keep one or two that way, at least until they're gifted.

So anyway...tomorrow. Specifics, if you're interested: Sandhill Crane Winery on Walz Rd. (google it, I'm lazy), 11-5. "Overflow" parking is at East Jackson Middle School (there will be a shuttle), and wine tasting is free. Lots of great vendors, local to the tri-state area. Come take a look.

Inside Joke

Thinking today about Amber. For days, weeks, we had wondered, prayed; wracked brains, prayed; packed up her things, prayed some more; I cannot begin to tell you how many times I had wanted to bash my head against the wall in frustration. "Where are you?" was a constant refrain, fear for the worst a constant companion, and anger and sadness constant emotions. "Stressful" doesn't begin to cover that time for all of us who know her; "out of my freaking mind" may come closer, for me.

And then, she was found, bodily whole. Oh the joy! Pure and unadulterated. More godly souls than I may compare it to the rapture Christ must feel at His children's homecomings; for me, it was like this physical weight had been lifted from my chest, a missing piece found.

But not all the pieces were there yet. (And still aren't.) Amnesia? That sounds like the plot of a second rate daytime soap! Surely not real life? And yet. My joy was tempered, thinking "at least I know she's alive," but she was not "she" yet.

Slowly, slowly it began to come back. Who she was. Who her family was. But would she know her friends? Not all. Not even most. But some? Would she know me?

Simply said, she did. She knew my name, knew who I was to her. Knew my face, in her mind at least....but many faces in her mind did not match the current face of the person in question. Can I begin to relay to you the fear of that? Of having everyone around you be familiar and completely different at the same time? Probably not, only she would know. Would she know this me, this face? Or would I be a stranger to her in this form?

On the first hot day of the spring, she came. I watched her parents' vehicle pull in, watched as she laid her head against the seat. Her mom came and told me her head was hurting, probably from the stress of it all. Nerves--I had a case, too. How do you prepare for what you do not know?

She got out, walked up. Shy, shy, shy....I said, "You're really nervous aren't you?" She walked up to me....did a strange thing. She put her hands around my glasses as if to make them bigger. (Remember the 1990s? Remember the eyeglasses? Mine took up half my face then.) "THERE YOU ARE!!!" And then...

Hugs, tears. I was the only one to "look like" me. I was me! Sure, different glasses, a little silver hair, but ME in face, body, voice. Emotional connection? Immediate.

But still, there were things....3 hours that day, I told her a lot of stories, gave her encouagement (I hope), listened. Such a weird experience, telling her stories about herself! Many things she remembered about "us" though, her childhood. It was encouraging, having these little pieces of her back.

And it continues. She makes progress, daily. We've found ways to communicate, like passing notes in class when we were kids; a short message here and there, sending things by text, through the mail, the occasional phone call. And each time there's a little piece of her...a new joy.

Today's? An inside joke. We all have them, with our nearest and dearest. Something that, even when said out loud in front of others, makes no sense to anyone but yourselves. Amber and I have many, many, many of them...and I've not told her any, hoping she'd remember on her own. Today....she did.

"How you doing doll? I'm stuck at work today, yuck." I told her. Waited for her response, expecting a rundown of what she was doing. Instead.... "Red pop and bananas. That's all I have to say."

A choked little scream. Happy tears. A little jumping up & down. Scared my co-worker to death. But it's a piece of her. It's a tiny, pure joy. It's a gift.

Found!

Our dear one has been found. She has amnesia! I feel as though the whole free world already knows this news, so I will refrain from more detail--suffice it to say, it's the happiest I've been in ages, just knowing she is in the world, alive and physically well.

This past weekend Whimsical Grace Creations (what I decided to call the little studio) was part of the Art & Home tour 2011 that the local arts & culture alliance put on. My sister-in-law Tierney joined me, and we didn't do that great, but not that badly either. It lead to us being able to be open every Second Sunday from 1-4, and perhaps get more buyers in that way.

My mother has been very ill and is slowly improving. Her most recent trip to the doctor showed her blood values are improving in ways they want to see, which means her body is responding to treatment. She is still very weak but managing her pain well.

It's been a very eventful month here, and today a lot of it caught up with me. I woke up with some neck pain and general uckiness, so I called off work and spent the entire morning in bed asleep. It did me well, but it's 5:00 now and I feel as though I could sleep another 8 hours at least.

And that's what's new here.

Missing

I've been missing from the blog world, but there's a lot going on. My mom is sick and I've been up at the hospital with her daily for more than a week. It will be a long road back to the "new normal" but we will find our way together as a family.

Also missing is my best childhood friend. We are no longer close but this disturbs me a lot, to say the least. She was last known to be in Tunnel Hill, Georgia; her car was recovered there and this is where the search is concentrated. Those of us in Michigan are unlikely to have any incendental information, but if you are contacted by her, please call the Whitfield County Police Department at 706-278-3029.



Amber, we are praying for your safe return.

Springing....

Chevron & Lace is coming along nicely, I have one complete sock and most of another so of course I've sprung onto something else because I got a case of the shineys.

First, I came back into possession of some of my own homespun yarn and realized that the chances of selling it in the new & improved armory gift shop that's coming down the line are slim to nil, unless some other knitter sees it. So, I turned it into a pretty little spring scarf.





Isn't it lovely? I was thinking of selling it when the gift shop is running again. What do you think?

I also started a little multi-colored laceweight spring shrug. I'm hoping it doesn't take too long. Again, the pattern is more or less from my head, borrowing heavily from the yoke directions of a sweater I've done before. Which begs the age-old question, if you change the gauge, weight, style of finished product, and stitch pattern....at what point does it become a new pattern? Pretty much all I'm using is the method of increases and stitch counts. Hmmm.....thoughts, knitterly friends?

Chevron & Lace

"cowboys & angels, leather & lace, the salt of the earth meets heavenly grace...."




I found an old chevron & lace pattern in a stitch dictionary. I've kind of been obsessing over it. I used it in a blanket a few years ago, just a few repeats for a square. Then I saw it again, and thought I'd use it on a scarf (pic forthcoming; sorry, lace looks like ramen noodles til it's blocked.) About a quarter of the way through the scarf, one of my handknit socks went missing. So......

I'm hoping to actually write this pattern up. Too often I improvise things and then don't do the work to put pen to paper to make it a reproducible work. But this time I'm determined. (Anybody wanna help me with this?!?!) KnitPicks & Ravelry are both putting out calls for independent pattern designers; I know how to do it, 90% is execution, what have I got to lose?

For Lilly, and other newlyweds

My sweet friend Lilly, whom I've had the privilege of knowing for about a decade now, got married yesterday. I'm so pleased for her--she will be a good wife to her military man, and I wish them both all the best.

She asked me, as a person who's been married longer than a day, for personal advice I could give to her as a newlywed. This is what I told her, and I share it now with you:

*********

When you fight, and you will, do it constructively. Don't attack, don't tell him how he feels. If he needs space, give it; if you need space, take it. Don't lose yourself; protect those areas of interest that are unique to you, and take time for them. It's counter intuitive, but if you spend every waking moment focused on one another, you will burn out quickly.

Don't put any photographs in the bedroom. Don't fight there or talk about negative things there either. It's a really complicated space with a lot going on in there already. Keep it clean, as free of clutter as possible, and as peaceful as you can make it. Try not to do any tasks in there that go beyond the scope of intimacy.

Do not go to bed angry, even if you have to be up all night. Don't talk about the dissent if you can't find a reasonable conclusion; agree to disagree and hold one another until you've both calmed enough to sleep. Barring that (since he's military and won't always be with you), remember to tell each other you love each other.

You'll hear all sorts of things about open relationships and the myth of monogamy and so on. Don't listen. It doesn't work. I've watched many couples do this, and even the ones that say it works well for them appear to be unhappy at some point. Remember that still waters--both yours & his--run very deep.

Having a few secrets is healthy. Not talking about things that affect both of you, not so much. Learn when to keep your mouth shut and when to share what's in your heart. Not opening my mouth about the little stuff has saved a fight 9 times out of 10, and the little stuff always passes.

Find a community that uplifts you, be it a church, a military wives support group, something, and stick to your values within that framework. It's so important for women to support one another. Too often we're in some sort of "competition" to be the best wife and mom, instead of sharing quiet words of wisdom without judgement. There's so much pressure, and it's important to share the burden instead of making it worse for one another. Supporting one another will help more than you could possibly know.

*********

Congratulations again, Lovely Lilly, and may your life together be one which will allow you each to grow.

Pissed off

I was in a great mood most of the morning. Work was actually the best part of the day, because I have a certain amount of control. Then I got home, and then one thing piled on another, it didn't get to me until I realized how out of the loop I'm left by some people in general....and it's not the kind of thing I can ignore. But I don't really know what to do about it, because it's the kind of thing that even if I change my own attitude about it, it's not going to change anything, and the end result will be the same. I just hate not knowing what's going on with people I care about, and it's hard to realize that people I care for deeply don't think the same way about me.

You know how, when you go to a party, there's all these little subgroups? And maybe you got there late, or maybe you just don't know that many people, but you just can't break in to one? I'm not talking about being the center of attention, the one telling the story; that can be fun too, but I'm not comfortable enough a lot of the time for that. I'm talking about just standing on the edge, and being in the loop of what's going on.

I have days when I feel like I'm never in the loop. Like everyone else I know has this great relationship with one another, and I'm not even on the fringe of knowing what's going on. I find out big, important, life changing events on a public forum, or from someone else who's not even involved, and maybe they just didn't think of sending a quick email or (god forbid) picking up the phone (or even asking someone ELSE to pick up the phone FOR them)...and I feel hurt, like everyone else knew what was happening before I did. And then those in the know will send these cute little cryptic comments to one another, or in general, and everyone else seems in on the situation but me....

Say the life changing event (pregnancy, marriage, makeup, breakup, whatever) was simply announced to everyone at once on facebook, twitter, whatever, and there was no fore-knowledge by anyone....when did that become ok? I can see it for a big announcement like a pregnancy with your outer circle....I have 300 people on my friends list, I certainly wouldn't send individual messages to my husband's friend's mom or my friend's friend whose kids I watched that one time or anything like that....but my inner circle--closest friends, siblings, parents, nieces, nephews, close cousins--would certainly get a heads up before I posted it in a general feed. Even I just sent a group email a few seconds before a general post, they'd get the courtesy of those few seconds of knowing something big before that friend's ex-girlfriend that I used to hang with when they were dating did.

I'm not Emily Post, but I know rudeness when I see it. And my family may not be my best friends in the world, but they know what's going on in my life when something big happens. They don't have to find out second, third or 4th hand. The immediacy of social networking hasn't just taken away the personal touch--because it is possible to have a personal touch even within that framework. It's completely obliterated the sense that a personal touch is even necessary.

Someday, I'll have another kid, or change jobs, or move out of state--some major life event will happen that I need to tell people about. But I'm so, so tempted, in a fit of pique, to not tell those people who've marginalized me & mine this way. To let them find out in the most general sense, if at all. It hurts to be left out--it's one of the first rules you learn on the playground. It would be nice if people would remember that.

Ugh.

The stomach "flu" of whatever variety is circling around Jackson, and I'm here to tell you, it sucks.

So instead, you get to look at cute pictures. Because I feel too crummy to knit.

Tessa and her favorite kitty stuffies.

Reading her favorite series.

Cuddling her favorite kitty.

Sleepy Brynnie.

Oooo, a sunbeam.

Bullies

I dreamed of a bully last night.

She didn't look like a bully, with her angelic blonde curls and big blue eyes. And all the grown-ups thought she was just swell. But from my earliest memories until the last time I saw her in adulthood, she was always a bully to me.

We had the misfortune of crossing paths in many aspects of our lives, affording her plenty of opportunity to cut me down. I can remember specific instances of having my fingers stomped, being pushed down, all the physical signs of bullying. As she got older she became more cunning, and would cut me with words at every opportunity. When we were elementary aged, she told her friends that they couldn't be friends with me, and they listened..."We'll hang out now, but when ___ gets here, we're going to have to go with her..." In middle school, she told me I couldn't sing with all the other girls in the class as we said goodbye to a classmate "because you haven't been at this school that long and don't know her as well as we do..." Never mind that the one student who came into the class AFTER me was allowed....

High school was a little better, but only in that we didn't run in the same circles. I was still reluctant to make friends with "her" friends, and I think anyone new coming into our class may not have known that was the lay of the land, and probably just thought me shy. _____ took in those she deemed "cool," and I was clearly not one of them. By this time I'd learned to ignore her shenanigans for the most part. And of course she was the sentimental type when it came to leaving high school--while I couldn't wait to leave it behind and get my life started, she was in tears over it and even "apologized" for "not making my life easy." As if that made her the bigger person.

In adulthood we've only crossed paths once or twice, and both those times she's looked at me as though I were emitting a foul odor. But I have a different perspective now. I'm no longer the mousy little girl with her nose in a book who couldn't stand up for herself. I'm well-educated, employed in a job I love, married to a man I adore and have a wonderful kid, who is the absolute opposite of my childhood bully. Tessa is a peacemaker, when she sees bullying happening, she calls a person out on it, and when friends argue, she tries to mend the fences. She isn't a bully-er, but neither does she allow herself to be bullied, the way I did.

I'm confidant now that if I crossed paths with that bully, I'd be able to hold my own. But in my dreams, I'm 8 years old again, and she's getting the better of me.

It's a Heartache

It's been a sad few days in our community. There was a fatal crash in which an acquaintance in my "outer circle" (sheer fluke we hadn't met, we know about 30 of the same people) was killed & her unborn baby delivered not breathing. The baby was resuscitated but has thus far shown very little brain activity. She is going in for a (possibly final) EEG even now, and if there is no improvement, her father has elected to end life support.

Of course not only is this in the paper but it's also ALL OVER facebook & on his blog. The outpouring of support has been amazing. Someone started a "praying for Miranda" group on facebook, and today it grew from 3000 when I "joined" at 8 a.m. to over 14,500 people (at the time of this writing) leaving prayers & positivity. Simply amazing.

But then there are always "trolls"--those who go looking to bash/provide negativity. There are those in response to the newspaper articles, commenting things like "don't turn off the life support," as if the father came to that decision lightly, and "she could have been saved if they'd done a c-section in the field," as if they were on the frontlines and knew the situation. It's easy to let jerks like that get under your skin.

Things aren’t looking good for baby Miranda, but I am certain that the 14,500+ people who’ve joined the “praying for Miranda” group in the last 24 hours are lifting her family’s hearts.

For the record, when I say “pray for” someone, I only mean thinking positively about them. And yet there are 843 responses of “not attending” the event. WTF??? Come on, even my atheist husband knows that when someone asks for prayer, he may not actually pray to a deity he doesn’t believe in, but he sure does feel hopeful for them. And really, isn’t that the point? Why would you throw out the negativity of “not attending”? That’s even worse than Ravelry's “disagree” button in my opinion, which, as my friend Jennie pointed out, can be used for good. “Not Attending,” to my mind, conveys “not only do I not care for my fellow man, but I am also offended because apparently I’m unable to think outside the religious box and spare a positive thought for another human being.” If you don’t want to “attend,” then dismiss the event without answering. No one is making you click that button.

I don’t care what your religion is. I’m a co-exsist person myself who happens to be a Christian. I am very, very open to whatever it is in your life you follow, even if it’s simply your own heart & intuition. Hell, I’m married to an atheist, and I’ve friends of practically every mainstream following in the US, from Wiccan to Mormon to Muslim & everything between. It really isn’t that big a deal for me.

I’m not trying to force “prayer” or any other walk of life on anyone, and am open to whatever. I just believe this little girl’s family needs all the positivity they can get right now.

And if you have a problem with that...well...as my friend Audrey says, go play with some yarn.

Does it Matter?

I find that I live in my head a lot. I realize a lot of people do, but I really *really* wish I shouldn't. And while Living in my Head sounds selfish, let me explain what I mean by it--I mean, I don't say a lot of what I think, and I think a lot, about other people.

I have this love/hate relationship with Facebook. I love that I can see what other people are doing, what they're saying, what's on their minds. But I hate that it matters *so* much when the people I'm closest to, or at least I think that I'm close to, don't seem to be close to me. And that *is* selfish. Because really, does it matter? It shouldn't. If someone doesn't see fit to tell me what's going on in their lives, that's their problem, not mine.

This is especially difficult when it's a family member. One would think that family would keep you in the loop, but most of mine rarely do. And that's really all right!! God knows I keep hardly any of them in the loop of what is going on with me. (Here's a hint--if you think you know--you probably don't. And if you do know, you're probably not related to me by blood or marriage.) Talk about a double standard.

So what do I do when the "being left out" begins to matter to me? I hide. So that is what I think I'll do with Facebook, yet again. Going offline more often (checking only once or twice a day) forces me to live regular life better. So here I go again, semi-off the grid. If you need me, call me, or email me, or post to the blog.

***
What am I knitting? I've actually moved on from the baby hats.

To a baby sweater.

I can stop whenever I want.

Eggy face

Tessa had her first sleepover "party" (as in: more than one child) this weekend. It was in celebration of her 9th birthday at the beginning off the month. She had her two best friends, Alara & Jessa. Alara is Jeremy's friend Dave's kid, she's 7 and a little; Jessa lives in our building.



Alara, Jessa, & Tessa

They did pretty well together. All 3 are "only" children...Alara has older almost-step-siblings, and Jessa has a much younger sister....so as you can expect, there's some pretty strong personalities. I think Alara felt a little left out at times, just because the older two have such a nearly-unspoken rapport & are around one another constantly. But Tessa, ever the peacemaker, did a good job mediating when things did get tense. She chose activities they'd all have fun with, like playing Band Hero:



They call themselves "Past, Present, Future"....a girl band in the making...look out Bangles!

They watched some movies, snacked on pizza and stayed up til 10:45. The room was a disaster by the time they were done playing in the morning (I have a picture, but it's scary) but they had pancakes for breakfast and played some more. Both girls helped clean up before they went home.




Pancake breakfast!

It was fun, and exhausting, and we'll do it again....when I've forgotten how tiring 3 little girls can be!!

I will say this: it often amazes me, the maturity level and grace with which my daughter can conduct herself. In addition to her peacemaking skills, she also displayed the ability to compromise, to follow through with instructions, to be a good leader, and to be a good hostess. Before her guests arrived, and without prompting, she cleaned her room; set up places for her friends to sleep; created "goody bags" out of her own belongings (little erasers, silly bands, pencils, and the like); took a bath, and dressed up in a skirt "so I'll look nice & be a good hostess." She's an amazing kid.

And then she does something like today, when she got paint all over the counter, had to change her clothes 3 times because she got stuff on them, and wiped her egg-covered face on my hand-knitted couch throw. You know, I don't even really mind stuff like that. It's good to have the reminder that she is, after all, only 9, and she has a lot of growing up to do.
**************

I've moved on from knitting baby hats to knitting a baby sweater with no particular purpose in mind. But I've not gotten very far. Jeremy bought me Plants vs. Zombies for the xbox for my birthday (which is tomorrow), so I've been latching on to that like some sort of twitchy crack addict. I can only play a level or two at one sitting though because my eyes get tired. But it's very fun.

Inner Turmoil

An online friend is going through a rough time right now, and another friend was giving her some encouraging words. "His crazy actions are only a reflection of his own inner turmoil, not a reflection of you....."

How often do we do that? Take our own inner turmoil and project it onto our loved ones. Instead of realizing it's our own crap that needs dealing with, we start to take it out on those we love--she's not good enough, he's not following through, they need to get it together....

I know I do it, and I'm holding myself accountable. I'm trying to learn many lessons at once this year, but the biggest one is "when to keep my mouth shut." Too often I speak before I think, especially to fill a gap in conversation. I'm not perfect at it yet (really, who is?) but I acknowledge that I am working on it.

***
In other news...I knit two more baby hats.



Don't look at me like that.

Of Blogging and Babies

I forget I even have a blog. That's why it takes so long between posts. It's not that stuff doesn't happen, it's not that I don't think a lot of great stuff that should be written down (even if I'm the only one who ever gives a crap about it), it's just that...I honestly forget I have this forum. I'll try to get a little better at it.

Thankfully my camera is functioning the way cameras are supposed to again. I thought it might be the battery, and was given one as an early Christmas present. Well, that charged for forever and it still wasn't working. So I formatted the memory card. Well, I lost video from Tessa's talent show last spring (VERY sad about that) but hey presto...the camera worked again. So, that might help toward my blogging, because I can do stuff like this:



I'm on a baby hat knitting kick. It helps that there's been like, 3 baby boys born/about to be born in my immediate social circle, all this week. (Yes, I know one of those hats pictured above is pink & lacy, but that's for an in-kind trade I'm trying to arrange.) I'm currently working on the 4th one, another girl hat because I knit two blue in a row and needed a change. I'll get to that 3rd boy one next--it only takes me about 3 hours to knit a baby hat.

But the whys of the baby hats goes even deeper than prolific reproduction or bartering for services. It's therapy in a way. It's been a rough month, emotionally, for people I know, and since no man is an island, it's affected me too.

A few weeks ago I got the call no friend ever wants to get--a very dear friend of mine's baby died. She was just about halfway through her pregnancy, so that's truly what it was. All the hard stuff goes through your head--what an awful thing to happen, how sad, etc. etc. but add to that the pain of not being able to hold her, cry with her, really any of that stuff that you do to be "a good friend." I know she knows I love her, and that I was praying (am still praying) for her, and that she could talk to me any time she wanted to, if she wanted to. But it still made me feel so inadequate as a friend, a bazillion miles away and I couldn't even cry on the phone because, well, it takes me awhile to let my guard down enough to cry when I'm actually sad (when I'm mad, that's something else). So I started thinking about knitting a baby "something." I didn't do it quite yet. But I've knit for each baby this friend has had, and had been planning a special project for this one as well.

Fast forward a few days, maybe 4? I get another call, from another friend. Her aunt has died. I knew her aunt, both the niece and the aunt are in my knitting group, Liz (the niece) and I are actually pretty good friends even outside group. Tinky used to knit baby hats for the hospital. Have a baby in Jackson County in the last 10 years or more (probably much more)? Chances are pretty high that the hat put on that baby's head was one of Tinky's. Baby hats, prayer shawls, I never once saw her knit for herself. And not just pink & blue, I've seen her use grays, purples, browns--anything soft and pretty. The thing about Tinky, is that even with her faults, she was unselfish. So I thought about knitting baby hats, for Tinky, because she can't.

And finally the happiest of reasons. New babies. Why would I need knitting therapy for that? Because I have a confession. I want another baby, so much that it's painful. I look at very young, unmarried people having a baby, and I resent it. Jeremy, Tessa & I struggle enough as it is (financially), and while you may say "if you wait to afford it, it'll never happen" I'm here to tell you that you can't live on love, and if it never happens, maybe that's better than the building resentment that would happen if we purposely made our situation more difficult with another life to support. Resentment in our marriage, resentment of the child we already have at having to share half of the little resources we have, resentment of those who know (or think they know) our situation and would wonder what we were thinking bringing another child into it. So we purposely don't. But that makes me resent some young couples even more, because it's a want down deep in my soul, and I can't seem to let it go.

So my therapy, and my penance, are baby hats. And I'll keep knitting them. For my brokenhearted friend, for Tinky, for the good of my soul. Because babies are pure potential, and that's a blessing that should be celebrated, no matter what.