Lazy Day, Movies, Actual Craftsual Content.

I took advantage of the rare "cool and low humidity enough to open the windows" state of last night to sleep with the windows open. I learned two things.

My allergies are triggered around 3 a.m. This will be significant later in this boring saga.

Dudley gets chilly and has to sleep entirely under the covers, which in this case was just a sheet because it has been So Freaking Hot and Humid at night for at least a week.

So, around 3 a.m. when I was freaking Wide Awake I realized that I need to make a cotton or bamboo or some other fiber cover for my bed for those times when a blanket is too much but a sheet is not enough. Because I was not only wide awake but slightly chilly, but not chilly enough to make a real blanket an option. I need a very light, airy throw, just a little extra layer of insulation between me and the AC. It has to be machine washable, because duh, I do not sleep alone, and it has to not look tacky.

I am in search of a sophisticated crochet motif (I have several in mind, so don't knock yourself out with suggestions) that will work with the yarn and make a light cover for our hot, humid nights, just enough to keep the AC chill off but not actually make me WARM, that can be washed and tossed in the dryer. I can't find a blanket of the right weight - even commercial cotton blankets can be too heavy.

I spent the day experimenting with what was already in the stash. Softball Cotton is too heavy. Softball Cotton in the fine weight is too light - I'd like to finish this fast, and certainly before I retire. So I'm looking forward to the delivery of the Bambu 7 (it was on backorder, but I got a notice that it is shipping UPS tomorrow). It may be The Answer.

Movies: When one is awake with draining sinuses at 3 a.m. and starts channel surfing, it can really ruin one's sleep. I had never seen "The Boston Strangler," in its entirety. Bits, yes, start to finish, never. Damn, that is an awesomely well done movie, so sharp and sophisticated it is timeless. So instead of falling asleep I watched the entire movie, then dozed off until Murphy pointed out that it was morning and his bladder really needed relief. (Dudley almost never has that bladder issue, he's a dog who appreciates a good long sleep. He'll stay in bed until Murphy says it's time to get up.)

I spent the morning unsuccessfully swatching crocheted squares (I'm thinking squares in case I underestimate the yarn needed, so can fall back and punt and add another color - yeah, I planned it that way). Bleh. I don't own the right yarn (yet) and it got tiresome. But then I remembered something I did need to make.

I have a real issue with carrying a felted bag in the Florida sun past the first Hot Flash. It's just a Cosmic Wrongness. One should not carry the woolly Cold Climate bag around here when it's 90.

Years ago (I think Girl was a freshman in high school) I made a crocheted tote bag, I think Lion Brand did the pattern but since they have made their patterns a pain in the ass to search and require registration they can kiss my ass and I won't link to them.
Anyway, it's just a big round bucket-style tote bag with a strap. And I realized that I could make one that looks nicer. And I have a cone of tan Crystal Palace mercerized cotton in the stash, waiting for a job like this. (It has been waiting at least 5 years.) It would be just right for carrying the odds and ends I tote to work that don't fit in the big leather bag, like Lean Cuisines and fruit salad and whatever. So I started it, using an H hook and worked the base in half double crochet, until I was halfway through Silence of the Lambs on AMC and realized that I was a an idiot because that base so totally needed to be single crochet. And I ripped it all and restarted it in single crochet, and it's much better. After I make the turn to the upright part of the body I think I'll throw in a mix of textured rows so it's not sc-till-I-want-to-scream. I'm more creative in crochet, I think because it's so much more flexible as to the stitch counts and such - I can eyeball crochet all of the time. I can eyeball knitting about 3/4 of the time, the rest of the time I crash and burn. But I have a good feeling about this bag - it's a stash-eater, it's useful, and I have a Vision in my addled brain. Photos when it looks slightly more interesting than a single crochet circle. Whoo.

My horoscope said

that Mars in Cancer would give me all kinds of energy. And it did.

I ripped out the wooden platform beneath the non-functional outdoor shower. It came out very easily and didn't fall apart, but I had to send my Helper Dogs into the house to do it - I was using the crowbar to rip it at one end, got it loosened up to lift out in one piece, and Murphy was STANDING on it watching. The dog does not respond to screams of profanity, either. He's heard it all his life, he's like a canine longshoreman by now.

I planted three tomato plants and one jalapeno pepper. (I'm sure there's a way to put a tilde on that n, but I don't know how.) I took a shower and went to Lowe's and found a double-blossom peach hibiscus to fill the space left when one of the three plants my husband put in years ago died in a freeze and never came back. (The other two died back but grew back fine, the third was never heard from again.) I went to Publix. And I came home, planted the hibiscus (after removing Murphy from the hole I'd dug - damn that dog is nosy) and decided to tackle my closet. It's been bothering me for a while. Mars is the planet of closet purges, apparently.

Goodbye to the 90s office wear lingering in dark corners in the back. I have not worked in a downtown law office in fourteen years and God willing, I never will again. And if I did I'd have to buy clothes that were from this century.

And Goodbye to various Christmas party outfits that look tres dated. Goodbye to pleated pants, ill-fitting shirts, and every other fashion mistake I've made in the past few years, but held onto because damn, they cost good money. This is not a valid reason to hold onto shit you don't wear or use. It was also very revealing in that a significant portion of what I gave away was black - not "widow wear" - I never went in for that - but conservative office and cocktail party attire. Except for a couple of really nice but wildly out of style blue suits, it was all black, red, and neutrals. Time to fill the closet again, with casual color and fun things. Yeah, I could have had a garage sale, but I loathe the damn things, so I dropped 5 bags of stuff at Goodwill. My closet now contains only clothing purchased in this millenia, with the exception of the down coat I have had for about 12 years, and the leather jacket (ditto) because they are useful and don't go out of style. After weeding out all the 90s law firm stuff my closet has a lot more color.

There's still more to do, it is not a gloriously organized space by any means, but it's better. Damn, I'm tired. But it was so worth it - I knocked out several Things That Have Been Bugging Me in one day.

I think next weekend I may have to treat myself to a trip here. And Yay for Sunday Hours! So though I won't be going to MDS&W sniffles bravely maybe I can treat myself to a local binge. Hmmm, if I calculate what it would have cost me to go to Maryland, just about anything I drop at Chez Cas will be a mere pittance in comparison, right? Right???

Tiny tomatoes. Awwww....

I found a hibiscus to replace the one that has been dead for about six years. It wasn't until I saw this picture that I realized that the plant on the left has visions of being a topiary tree - except for that random shoot that comes out of the same root system and stands about 6 inches from the rest of the tree-wannabe. These poor things died back in a bad freeze a few years ago and one did not survive. So now we have the big bushy one, the wannabe-tree, and the short, squat new arrival. But at least they are all peach double blooms - it's as matchy-matchy as it's gonna get.

I trimmed the bougainvilla without drawing blood, which is quite an accomplishment. Roses have thorns. Bougainvillas have barbed spikes 3/4 of an inch long. Please note that the branch in this picture is over 1/2 inch in diameter.

It's some sort of redneck war in the plant world - the Confederate Jasmine is taking on that invasive species the Chinese Tallow. I love my Chinese Tallow trees, they are 25 years old and shady. But the jasmine has plans to take 'em out. They are an invasive species in Florida and the jasmine is determined to do what it can to get rid of these intruders.

The Little Hibiscus That Could. This plant is about 3 feet high . It has about 25 buds and several flowers like this. I treat it with contempt, as I do all my plants.

I bought herbs. I bought catnip. Boris and Higgins didn't see it, but my purse must have brushed against the plastic bag that held the catnip plant, because they made out with my purse and purrrrrrrreeddddd....

Doesn't the pond look sweet in the dappled afternoon shade? Too bad it spends much of the day in full sun and is green with algae despite all efforts. I'm going to have to invest in another damn expensive UV filter.

Lady? Lady? Put down the damn camera and pick up the can of goldfish food!

Whoa! Too funny!

Yesterday I decided I'd take this afternoon off and go to the garden center and run all my errands so I can get out and do yard work bright and early tomorrow. And here's my horoscope this morning:

Daily work (by Astrology.com)
Your body may be at work, but home is where your heart is -- and it's probably occupying your mind as well. Plan to take off early if possible; it'll motivate you to be at least somewhat productive in the meantime.

Okay, that's it - I am destined to take the afternoon off.

Possum Patrol

So, last night there was a flurry of barking in the yard and Murphy wouldn't come when called (most unusual for him). I grabbed a flashlight and went to investigate, and found Murphy protecting our yard from a baby possum. The possum had dug under the fence, trying to enter our yard, and Murphy was telling him off. (Dudley barked too, but decided to let Murphy take the lead here.) Oh, possums are so cute when they're tiny! Oh, they are so ugly when grown - and if you've ever seen their teeth up close in person, they are scary damn things. I wasn't bothered by the baby, but was bothered by the thought that it had a mama nearby. So now when the dogs are in the yard I go out with the flashlight and scan the yard for intruders. Oh, and the bear was back, down the street, where he got into someone's patio area, couldn't find his way back out and knocked down their fence to leave.

If I can get away this afternoon I plan to leave work early and go to the garden center and run other errands. I haven't had a weekend at home in several weeks and the yard needs attention. I hate yard work. This isn't "gardening," gardening is sweet and pretty and fun. Gardening is flowers. This is keeping the jungle from taking over again. This is killing fire ants and pulling weeds and hacking at that mysterious vine that keeps growing back along the fence, and the spiky bougainvilla, and it's hot and sweaty and nasty and boy, it makes me want a condo. But yay for weekends!

Today Was a Good Day.

I sat in a tedious 3.5 hour meeting, was bombarded with problems, and wrapped it up with an email from someone in another part of the state who sent me something to review and comment on because it's really urgent and they need it this weekend, with no background and it made no sense, and I could respond nicely and laugh. And I am pulled more deeply into company operations and asked for my opinion with every email and phone call and "I need to ask you...." So though I whine about brain overload, I'm glad to be where I am, doing what I do, because it's challenging and interesting and dammit, it's fun when it's not pissing me off. And even when it's pissing me off it's still fun, because I can rant to people who get it and laugh with me. And I wouldn't have gotten to this point now if I hadn't slogged it out in the trenches, doing time in the unexciting jobs when my kids were young. And those kids? Are more than fine. They are people I like to know and am proud of - very smart, funny, compassionate, generous, independent nice adults.

And I'm glad I'm where I am, and I'm glad they are the way they are, and we all got there on the same family trip - and God knows it wasn't an easy one. But we all survived the hard trip of the last 5 years and I'm damned proud. And I'm grateful that it all worked out this way. Just thought I'd share that, for the working moms who get grief for their choices. You'll survive the shit from the housewives - it's just bitchiness. You'll also be ready to deal with whatever life throws at you. And that's what counts, for you and your family.

Tired. Cranky. Brain. Full.

Today I was staring at my 4 page long project list and thinking of all the people who aren't as smart as I am who make way more money and don't have half the stress. Then I realized that they really are smarter than me - because they figured out how to skate through life while I was issued a shovel and a bucket and boots - and that bugged me even more. So it's time for a random spin around the blogworld, visiting people who cheer me up by being smart and funny and snarky and having either cute pets or kids. I got as far as Amalah and got stalled when my cranky mood and the contents of her comments created the perfect bitchstorm.

My daughter introduced me to Amalah and her adorable family about a year ago, before the babalah was hatched. I think I mentioned the shit she had to endure from strangers on the Internet when she went back to work, and how it pissed me off. So now she has the opportunity to go freelance and she's taking it, and those who reviled her are now happy because she is going to be "a stay at home mommy!" She has seen the error of her mothering ways and has given up working! Well, no, not really, she's going to be working freelance from home with a baby at home, and that's going to be harder than going to the office, but only some of the commenters have been down that path and GOT it. I'm excited for her because I think she's a talented voice and she should be making her own money off her talent, not making money for a corporate entity. And I wish her the best on her new professional venture. But it was remarkable to read through the comments on the last few posts and see how many SAHMs were delighted that she gave up that working nonsense and is going to sit around watching Noah pick up Cheerios, because God forbid you miss a single O by, oh, earning money to pay for them. The first wave of posts congratulated her on taking the plunge as a freelancer - then the tone changed and it was "Yay for you for quitting work!" Apparently freelancing doesn't count as work?

If I could pay my bills and have health insurance as a consultant/freelance person, I'd do it tomorrow, and my kids are grown. So would every man I know.

I also loved her touching story of the day care ladies' reaction to Noah's departure - and that photo at the end! Too precious! Then the comments - especially the ones about how the day care ladies were faking, shouldn't have made her feel guilty (by loving her child!) And the mommy wars were on again. I followed the link from one of the lucid voices and met a fellow Floridian: Jonniker, and how did I not find her before? I know, wrong demographic - I came into blogging in the knitblogger world and there I have pretty much stayed. I need to keep reading this one.

I'm so glad we didn't have Mommy Wars on the Internet when I was raising my kids. I can't remember hearing crap from anybody about working. My daughter drove past her old day care a few months ago and began to wax nostalgic about daycare and the teachers and the things they did - and she remembers what day of the week was devoted to which activity, and I could hear the happiness of those memories when she talked about it. Through the years the day care arrangements changed - for several years my husband was a work from the home dad - he was able to work from the house and occasionally hauled a kid to a customer site with him. They enjoyed that too. They came to work with me now and then, and even got paid to help out once in a while - I'm surprised my daughter still wants to go to law school, I thought the hours of making copies and assembling exhibits to an appeal when she was around 11 would have gotten that out of her system.

Why do I care about this issue, when my baby is almost 23? Because I have a daughter who wants to go to law school and possibly spawn as well (and a son - and it's indirectly his issue too). And every time I read these blogs with these nice young working moms being beat up for daring to want to continue to earn an income and have an identity beyond Mommy, it pisses me off. The Mommy Wars reduce the choices to Stay At Home - Good Mommy! and Work - BAD Mommy! They don't address the possibilities of Daddy working from home, Mommy working from home, job sharing, part timing, freelancing, consulting, and all the other ways MEN AND WOMEN can combine parenting and having a life and identity beyond their offspring. I know it's real because I know many, many people who do it and don't think it's a big deal. I've worked with female attorneys with three school-aged kids, and male attorneys who brought their kids to the office on days off school.

And of course the Demonizing of Daycare is a big factor here - never mind that there are corporations even here in Right To Work State that offer fab on-site facilities to help retain good employees, places where mom can pop in to breastfeed and dad can go eat lunch with a preschooler, oh, no, All Daycare is BAD!!!

Until we shift this discussion to "How do we help PARENTS combine work and family?" and quit this Mommy Wars bullshit, we are not going to make real progress to finding solutions. And THAT is a women's issue, and it's inflicted on them by other women.

Paralegal Off Ramp Exit in Sight.

So, without boring you with technicalities that will make your brain ache, there's a drainage issue that needs fixin' and our crack team of experienced land people are backing away, because this involves figurin' out legal how and the dirt how. And you know, it's the damndest thing but I can actually see the dirt how and the legal how. So now it's my baby. And I get to talk to the engineers and the lawyers and translate engineer into lawyer and back again. And in my spare time I clean up title exceptions and do contract shit and HOA shit. I am being pulled into the Dirt Side (Darth Vader says, "Luke...") but the Legal Side still has me in its talons. And I can't tell which one IS the Dark Side. Be careful what you wish for....

But it's fun. But this is why I am not into being Challenged by My Knitting. I don't want knitting I must do in silence, without distraction. I want knitting I can do with a phone to my ear and the TV on and a beer at my side. Because dammit, I get all the freaking brain challenge I need between 8 and wheneverthehell I get out of there. Lunch meeting tomorrow. Girl is at the beach. Clench those bladders, dogs!

I want to make things like this

crocheted sweater. And I'm still marveling that I love Eddie Bauer clothes this year. Generally I think they're "eh." I've spent a lot of time Googling crochet patterns and it's a sorry situation - knitting patterns are everywhere, but crochet? Who the hell still wears hair scrunchies? There are like 5000 patterns for scrunchies out there if you do. Often made of Red Heart. Because there ain't nothing sexier than a woman with a fuzzy acrylic handmade jellyfish holding her hair. Men just can't wait to get that sexy thang home to that bed with the crocheted antebellum bed doll plopped in the middle.

Bed doll patterns - what the fuck? No wonder Viagra is so popular - how could any man perform for a woman with a lumpy, woolly hair scrunchie and a crocheted doll on her bed without a case of beer and massive chemical assistance?

There are a couple of cute shawls and bags - the aforementioned Delta Breeze shawl looks very promising, but cute, light, fitted little sweaters, like you see in the stores? Nada. It's all accessories and afghans. Dishrags. Doilies, of course, and though I admire them technically, they really are works of art, and I love antique doily books, they do not work with my personal style.

Melissa Leapman's Cool Crochet has a few nice patterns, including a cute lacy cardigan I really want to make. I think that will be my next sweater project, if I get off this kick of Flat Things Only. Right now I'm just plugging away on the All Season Shawl - it's easy and a good wind-down project for the evenings.

My Googling did find Crochet Magazine, and I'm going to try their sample issue. I'm not much for boho skirts no matter how they are constructed, but at least the styles are, uh, styles. The major knitting magazines get into boho stuff too, but it doesn't all suck. So I'll give this a try.

Oh, My Aching Liver.

I had a wonderful time with the cousins, and I remember most of it. The drive up was hell, and I really didn't want to turn down the beer (at noon) because damn, it was a really bad drive. The Snowbird Migration started on Saturday, and I-95 was hideous - car after car with out-of-state plates, piled to the headliner and heading North. If you're ever considering looting North Carolina, I'd suggest Easter Week, when they are all down here. Just hit 'em before Saturday when they ALL get on the road and Drive Real Slow. Ohio must have been pretty empty too. And none of them could drive for shit - speed up, slow down, hit the brakes for no reason - the last straw was when they had a mass slowdown a mile from my exit. There is a good reason I don't trust myself to carry a gun. Anyway, I got to my cousin's and my blood pressure was through the roof and I was hoarse from shouting curses, and the breeze off the water was lovely and the view was lovely and the beer was cold. And it was good. Then it was off to a beachside bar/restaurant (L's sainted husband was designated driver) for more beer and raw oysters and blackened tuna and fried things. Then back to the house, where apparently it was Margarita Time. What could I say, my cousin is very proud of her margaritas. And they were good, with lots of salt on the glass, yum. Then the neighbors, drawn like all good Floridians to the siren song of alcohol being consumed outdoors, tromped across the yard and we found ourselves partying with 70somethings - hilariously fun people. The back of the house is all sliding glass doors onto the lanai, with the screened pool beyond and beyond that the canal that leads to the Intercoastal, and damn, I love that house. It was all opened up and still cool enough to sleep with the windows open and the fans on - lovely! My cousin is NOT rich, they bought this place 20+ years ago before it became chi-chi-poo-poo, back when shopping meant the Winn Dixie and a restaurant was McD's off the interstate. Now it's worth a freaking fortune, especially on the canal - the neighbors have cabin cruisers that cost as much as my house tied up out their back doors. (My cousin doesn't have a boat.) I'm definitely making more weekend trips up there this summer - without Cousin L and her husband my liver will not be tortured (as much). Lunch was another highly caloric but alcohol-free indulgence, then I had to get on the road to come home. Southbound traffic was moderate and moving nicely, and I was home in the usual hour and fifteen, door to door.

Went to Target, Spent Much Money - but I didn't spend anything at the cousins' except my contribution to the food, we didn't shop. (Too drunk.) I bought another set of those bamboo sheets at Target, I really do like them, they are very silky and cool and comfy, and sheets without holes are a Good Thing. Doing laundry. Need to color hair. Wanted to paint nails but I don't have the energy, I'll save it for tomorrow night. The work week begins again. Damn.

Oh, My God, He's a Busy Dog!

Dudley has a new project.

When we bought this house ten years ago, it had an (ancient, in bad shape) screened-in spa and an outdoor shower. We took out the spa when the heater gasped its last, the screen enclosure went next and the porch it was attached to is now the office in which I sit. (I would LOVE to have a spa again but that one was just not worth the price of rehabbing it.) The outdoor shower remained, unused. It had a wooden "deck" under it. The deck got old, nobody was using the shower, and it really needs to be taken out. So Dudley decided to start removing it. Such a helpful dog! He's figured out that this is a fun doggie demolition project - his registered name of "Demolition Dudley" was prescient. He's got half of one of the boards out of there already. When I get back from my cousin's on Sunday afternoon, I guess I'll be out in the yard, finishing the job for him, because I don't need him hauling rotten wood into the house piece by piece. He's so pleased with himself.

Demolition Dudley indeed.

Happy Friday to All!!!!

Wooo! This week went by fast but not without its share of crazy, so I'm really, really ready for fun this weekend, and I shall have it - I'm going to visit my cousins. We will overeat and do serious damage to our livers and probably stimulate the economy, because my tax return appeared in my checking account today and my Cousin L is always up for shopping. I'm looking for accessories. I don't own enough, other than bags and even then, can you really have too many? And shoes. I want cute flat shoes. I currently own ugly, functional black loafers. I want cute and fun shoes.

I'm loving the crocheted shawl for the most obvious reason - a dropped stitch is A dropped stitch, if I put it in the bag and the hook falls out I don't have to scream and curse, it Doesn't Matter. Ditto the Ripping Out if I screw up (and I can screw up anything) - one stitch at a time, it's so low-stress. I'm remembering the joys of crochet, I just wish I could find a really cool source for sophisticated crochet patterns. I've Googled my fingers to the bone and if I see one more freaking afghan square or bath scrubby I'm going to barf. I did find this Delta Breeze Shawl that looks like a keeper. Otherwise, let it be known: an afghan wrapped around the body is not a shawl.

I've never understood the enormous style gap between knit and crochet - crochet has the potential to do all sorts of things, but the sophistication is all spent on doilies. My Gram was a demon crocheter, she made doilies out the wazoo and trimmed everything that didn't squirm away with crocheted lace. I still have some of her handiwork and she's been gone over 30 years. But when it comes to garments, crochet hasn't kept up - at least in the pattern venue. The stores are full of trendy crocheted cardigans and shrugs and such, crochet is very hip, but dammit, where are the patterns??? I have the skill (been crocheting since before I can remember - seriously, I think they started me around the age of 4) but not the time or inclination to design anything - I am happily lazy, but frustrated because I can't find what I want. Oh, to win the Lottery and become a crochet designer!

So, I'm wandering through Daily Kos,

minding my own business, and I hit on a post that talks about this thing called the Purity Ball. Daddy takes control of daughter's vagina until he hands it over to her husband - woman as property, unable to make a decision about her own body. It doesn't get much plainer than this, folks. Digby analyzes the jewelry they are peddling. Do read the comments, they are funny and sharp. And scary as hell. This isn't about responsible sexual behavior, it's about reducing women to chattel.

We didn't stop being chattel that long ago, folks. When my husband and I bought a house in NC in the early 90s, we went to the closing table to find that the deed was to "My Husbandsname, et ux." I told them to walk their happy asses back to the computer and put MY NAME on the deed, because the only place my name appeared was on the goddamn mortgage and if I was responsible for paying for this property, I did not expect to have to prove that I was its owner by proving I was my husband's wife. They apparently didn't deal with too many uppity bitches like me, but they did it. I am still shaking my head. For those who don't know antiquated Latinate legalese that nobody in the legal profession still used at the end of the 20th century, "et ux." is "and wife." This was in 1992! Florida had done away with this and updated its legalese to plain English and recognized that women have NAMES back in the 70s, but referring to a married woman as "and wife" as if she's his property without an identity of her own was still alive and well in NC. (It may be to this day, I don't know.) It was my first clue that I wasn't cut out for living in North Carolina.

But back to the Purity Ball - I'm sorry, I was raised Catholic and I thought we did sexual repression to the nth degree, but early-70s Catholics were wildly progressive compared to this! This is just so perverse on so many levels, it boggles the mind. On the "purest" level (heh) - and I'm trying very hard to ignore the creepy incestuous angle of a father owning his daughter's sexuality until he "gives it" to its new owner, the theme is simple - women aren't capable of making their own decisions, they are owned by their fathers and then handed off to husbands. Because those menfolk know what's best for us.

Every time I hear a young thing say, "Oh, I'm not a feminist..." followed by the "but" of "but I expect to have control over my own destiny," I want to shake the child. This is how it was. They're baaaack....

Aunt Purl is singing my song...

I didn't leave a comment because there were already over 100!!! but I'm still all about decluttering. And you know, it IS actually possible to go to Target and come out with only trash bags and cat litter and lightbulbs? Who knew? I'm a much more discriminating shopper these days, I actually stand in front of an item and ask myself whether it will REALLY make me happy, and why. It's not that I quit shopping, I just got much more discriminating. I'm still holding out for the Just Right Patio Furniture, for example. I am sick of making do. If it's perfect, I buy it. Life is much easier that way.

I've never been much of a knickknack collector, I hate cluttery decorator shit, but I still have a houseful of STUFF to weed through. I cannot get over my loathing of garage sales enough to have one, so local charities score big every time I do a sweep of this joint.

I think back on all the things I spent money on and then never used, and I'm motivated to have a knitting magazine "garage sale." I have alot of magazines and I really don't look back through them, and they are taking up space in my house. I need to list them and see if anyone else wants them.

One thing I do treasure - old photographs. My daughter found an album her grandparents gave me, old family photos from before I was born, and came to me with the picture of what I believe is some unknown Maine cousin who could be my doppelganger. The girl in the photo looks so eerily like me at the same age, my daughter thought it was me and had to ask. Even I would think it was me if I didn't know better. I should take that album to my folks the next time I go over and see if my father can remember who she is. I'll have to dig that picture out and scan it - all of the photos in that album are fun.

So far, so... who the hell knows?

Yesterday I received a frantic voicemail from my mother. She was out at the store and needed to talk to me. I called their cell, she didn't answer, so I called the house line and my father picked up. It took several minutes for him to realize who I was, and he sounded very confused. After talking to him I was reminded of my husband's condition when his brain mets started bleeding here and there - it's amazing how very smart people can sound like they are making sense when they really aren't. You have to know them to know that what they are saying is actually crap, because they can deliver it with such sincerity and clarity. But he wasn't making sense, and after about 15 minutes I told him to watch TV and I'd get back to work. She didn't call me again, but I was able to figure out that she had just figured out that the feeding tube would be there a while, maybe forever. Tonight they called and he sounded much better. PT and Speech Therapy starts tomorrow. I'm fairly sure he's had a minor stroke, but his primary won't say for sure and really, what difference does it make? He needs speech therapy and a feeding tube no matter what label you slap on it, if the S word is scary on top of the D word and the Two C words and just plain old age, why say it? My father is annoyed with the feeding tube and is determined to dump it ASAP because he misses eating, and who can blame him? So if he comes back enough he may even relearn how to swallow and eat real food again. Or not - but you never know. Nobody knows at this point. But the situation is as under control as it is going to get, if my mother will just chill the fuck out they'll do fine, at least for now.

I'm going to try to go to my cousin's this weekend. I need beer and laughter - her stories about her cat's encounters with her visiting sister's cat and dog are hilarious! But not because I need cheering up because I'm unhappy - because I'm not. I'm oddly positive and energized about life in general. Maybe it's because Mars is in my sign or something. Good stuff is happening all around me and I'm obnoxiously cheerful.

Work is good. I had one of those happy little moments that only a tired old paralegal can really appreciate - I got to tell a lawyer (very nicely, because I love him to pieces) that he was wrong, in front of my boss (who barely knows me, because this is the Replacement Boss). And lawyer (and this is why I love him to pieces) said, utterly without attitude, "You're right." You who have not toiled in the paralegal trenches can't quite get how cool this is, that a lawyer will concede to a paralegal in front of the president of the company paying his bills, but this guy is a good egg. Last week was good in that regard too, I was able to jump into a big project and bring it to closure. So I'm really liking the job, though it is rather taxing and has an annoying tendency to get busy after 3 p.m., when I am really over the entire work day concept. I seldom leave at 5 lately - I aim for not too long after, but last week's "leave at 3" became "leave at 7" so they owe me. And the nice thing is they know it and said so. So I can't complain about the job right now - I actually feel like I'm where I belong.

And it RAINED today! And rained and rained and is still drizzling, and we are in a major drought and had only a 10% chance today. So even the lawn and the flowers and the fish are doing a happy dance. We just keep on going, because who the hell knows?

Good sniffy moment.

Dog enjoying yard.

I really need to do some yard work because those pretty flowers are climbing in my bedroom window. OTOH, if you've ever seen the spikes on a bougainvilla, it beats the hell out of an alarm system.

Random picture of pretty flowers.

The All Season Shawl in sportweight Softball Cotton. Looks eh. Needs color. I'm thinking it will be reborn as a soft green.

The Morehouse Merino shawl - a very simple pattern which I have nonetheless managed to screw up more than once. But the beauty of it is that it doesn't matter! If I really blocked the hell out of it it would look like the image on their page, but I intend to give it just a light blocking because I like the texture.

It has been such a wild week.

I'm finally decompressed, relaxed, cheerful, have it all in perspective, and I have one more whole day off before I have to go back to the office and pick up the loose ends of the project and wrap it up and direct traffic and deal with it and all the other work without my colleague, who had to bust his ass all week and then catch a plane out of town to deal with family medical crisis drama of his own.

I really do like what I do. I am energized by challenges. I am an adrenalin junkie and I know it, but the older I get, the less it takes to get the rush and get over the whole experience. This week was pushing the envelope. And I had the easier end of it, my co-worker had the way more mentally taxing part. We did conclude that the next time this issue arises (and it will) we want 1) more lead time; and 2) to be left alone to do it without "help." It was a classic "too many cooks" scenario, and also illuminating as to the talents of the other people in the department. They are good at what they do, but don't ask for thinking on their feet.

So, all in all, it worked out okay - my father's condition isn't great but it's under control. My mother can cope with what she has to do.

So, I celebrated by Buying Yarn. I realized how much I enjoy the All Season Shawl pattern and I want one in a drapier yarn. Not that the Softball Cotton doesn't drape, but it's not a slinky drape, and I want a slinky drape. So I went with this: Bambu 7 in Dusky Blue. And a cone of Cotton Tail 8/4 in Deep Brown. And a color card, because that stuff comes in 50 colors and if I like it, I see a lot of cotton coming this way. I know the Cotton Tail won't slink (it may hop?) I'm thinking the very pale ecru shawl in progress may be reborn as a nice mossy green, and may be a gift to my former boss. It'd be fabulous with her hair, wafting on the deck of a cruise ship. We'll see. Life is full of possibilities.

And I woke up this morning with food cravings - not for crap, but for fruit salad and yogurt and salads and roasted vegetables. I eat healthy most of the time, so it was weird that suddenly I had to have yogurt - it's not like I'm denying my body calcium, for Godssake! But I went with the flow, and I'm stocked with veggies for roasting tomorrow, and yogurt, and salad makings, and fruit salad. Maybe my body is just responding to being so stressed out by demanding nutrition. And exercise. And sleep, and yarn.

Tough Love, Easy Crochet.

The visit to the Old People wasn't as hard as I'd feared - it was more Seinfeldian than anything else. Just in case you are wondering, my mother can repeat information conveyed to her by nurses so precisely and in such detail, a parrot would hang its head in shame. And repeat it, and repeat it, and repeat it, until a parrot would be screaming, "Shut UP! We Get It!" Then she claims she doesn't understand any of it, but she demonstrated that she does, asked smart questions, etc. The feeding tube ain't rocket science, and as my weak, frail and slightly confused father kept telling her, "You CAN'T kill me if you screw it up." Which is true - it's pretty much common sense, if she'd let herself calm down and tap into her common sense it would be as easy as making coffee. (It really is that mundane.) I did the tough love thing, kept telling her she's making it harder than it really is and in a few days all of this would be second nature - and it will be, if she'll quit telling herself she can't do it. She'll manage. It's not that taxing - kinda boring, really, because he has to sit in a chair or propped up in bed while bags of liquid stuff drip into a port in his abdomen - but it's painless and virtually mindless to set up. Put nutritional substance in bag. Hang bag on stand, turn on. Occasionally squirt water into the port, both for hydration and to keep the damn thing from clogging. It's definitely weird, but it ain't rocket science. She can do it. It's not a lot of work, it's not a lot of anything, and in a few days I think (hope) she'll realize that it's not a big hard thing. It's hard to do Tough Love and offer just a little, but not too much, sympathy, but that's how it has to be.

As for my father's condition - though Dr. Dude didn't have an explanation for his inability to swallow, my money's on the mini-stroke. He's a bit foggy mentally and his voice is different, whatever has impeded those throat muscles weakened his vocal cords. His speech isn't slurred and he's 90% with it, but there's a difference. I think we can cross "scar tissue from throat surgery 20 years ago" off the potential causes list.

I spent last night fretting over today's visit - not the visit, I had no control over what happened there - but about what project to bring to keep my blood pressure from spiking from that weird combination of boredom and stress that is dealing with medical issues. The knitted shawl's rows are getting too long to be easily pick-up and put-downable, and even though the pattern's one of those "a monkey can do it" things that is my speed, I didn't count on myself to be able to count four rows and listen to endless repetition of how hard it all is. So I re-started a frogged project from the past. The All-Season Shawl is one of those patterns that intrigues me because it has such flexibility. It is the boneless chicken breast of crochet patterns - you can doctor it up with skinny yarn, fat yarn, fuzzy yarn, drapey yarn. So I dragged out the big cone of sportweight Softball Cotton and re-started this shawl with a hook one size larger - I'd ripped it in dissatisfaction because it wasn't quite right - almost, but not quite. I went up a hook size to an F and I like it - it loosened up just a bit but didn't lose the pattern. The yarn is an ecru color, I may leave it that color or dye it after it's done. It's flying along at an amazing clip, and I intend to park my ass in bed at 9 and work on it until I pass into a blissful and GodIHope 8 hour long sleep.

Get me someone who won't crack under pressure.

How about Mr. Rogers?

It's a shittiful day in the neighborhood. My father was sent home from the hospital today, in the classic indifferent clusterfuck manner that is apparently normal hospital procedure. Home health care was supposed to be ready, they weren't. Someone was supposed to show up to train my mother on the feeding tube - they didn't show. The pharmacist caught the prescriptions he was given and said they'd interact badly with his heart meds and he'd have to call the doctor. This is just fucking wonderful. So she's home with him, has no idea what to do and calls me. As if I can do anything at all?

Meanwhile, I worked from 8 until 7, the 4th long day this week, fueled on 2 Diet Cokes, about 8 pretzels, and a lot of rage. During this time I talked to the doctor once and my mother twice. Long calls. She's flipping out from the stress, and I don't think she's going to be able to handle this without a lot of support from hospice. They are supposed to show up tomorrow. So I'll try to get there early and be there to talk to them too. The doctor (who sounds like an okay guy but not impressively doctorly, if you know what I mean) has no real explanation for the inability to swallow - it could be this, it could be that. But otherwise, my father's condition is stable and may even improve. Or not. Who knows? The conversation was less than satisfying.

Me, I'm getting increasingly UN-stable, and tomorrow's recon mission is, I hope, not the first of many slogs across the state triggered by panicky phone calls. I am going to size things up, talk to hospice people, and leave as soon as decently possible. I am too fucking tired and stressed for this right now. I have had an insane week and I'm not 25 years old and I'm not going to ruin my health for this. If I sound like a bitch, I earned it. I could tell you stories, yet I'm trying to be a responsible daughter here. I saw this day coming and did everything in my power to get them to move over here. BTW, in case you are wondering, they are not in the Old Family Homestead, surrounded by friends they don't want to leave. Fuck no - they are in a house in an "active adult" community where they have never been active or made any friends. There is no support system there and his doctors are not exactly the goddamn A Team. I tried to get them to move, I would have arranged everything, I would have found them other doctors in nationally ranked facilities, but...no. I'm willing to be a good responsible daughter, but they are not willing to meet me halfway, so my role is limited. Their choice, whatever.

I'll be in bed at 9. I think I screwed up a row on that extremely simple shawl, but I don't have the energy to think about it right now.

"What's the vector, Victor?"

I still don't know where I'm going or when. This week is a train wreck. The Big Scary Project Worth Millions is almost wrapped up, I hope I hope I hope. Note the critical word "almost." If the guy who has a parental crisis in another state can stick around another day and do most of the heavy lifting before rushing to the airport tomorrow, I can stay too. My crisis is only two hours away by car and I managed a relatively lighter load, (at least to me, since his load involved Math, and mine Words)and I need to stick around too. Besides, I have no idea what the hell is going on from one day to the next, so I may be planning this big face-to-face discussion and by the time I can get over there they may have shipped my father somewhere else, because hospitals do that. So I'm taking it one crisis and one phone call at a time. Michelob Ultra is helping me prioritize the crises.

On to Fashion! Longtime readers (Bess) will remember my rants against the abomination before the fashion gods that this generation is calling capri pants. Those baggy-assed, bellbottomed highwaters are NOT capri pants. Audrey Hepburn wore capri pants. She would have shrieked (a ladylike shriek) if presented with the capri pants of today. I cringe when I see women my age wearing them - did you not SEE the movies? Did you not Get the Memo from Either of the Great Hepburns, who even from beyond the grave can guide us past all fashion faux pas?

But, there is hope! A new shape and form has arrived, and it is (in keeping with the theme of Getting All This Shit Wrong) being called Bermuda Shorts. But they're actually...capri pants. They stop at the right point below the knee, like real capri pants, not in the middle of the widest part of the calf or, God help us, below the calf, like those wide, flared, ugly schmattas posing as capri pants today. The new style is too long to be real Bermuda shorts, (which I am pretty sure go to the knee, not below, unless everyone in Bermuda wears 'em wrong). What the hell, call them what you will, at least it works. Girlchild the Fashionista bought a pair at Express and I approve. They are just right with a low-heeled sandal, casual, yet not shorts. Despite their misnomer. I'll wear them.

I talked to my mother and we had a long, detailed conversation. She is holding up well. I knew she had it in her, but I'm still impressed. I told her I can't get over there until Friday and she was okay with that. We'll talk tomorrow and regroup.

Last...Brain...Cell...gasping...fading....

40 minutes on the phone with my mother, on top of 8 hours of being the calm head in a crisis at work, and I'm toast. I've reached "Could fuck up garter stitch" brain function and I'm going to bed. It's 7:30. Benadryl, take me away...at least for a few hours. I think I'll be going over there on Thursday.

A hospital? What is it?

It's a big building with patients, but that's not important right now.

Thanks for the sympathy for my whining. I do realize that there are a lot of people who live with constant health problems and other major issues every day, and I'm not trying to wear the martyr badge - I'm just tired. I'm just Really Fucking Tired. I also know people who skate through life untouched by any more difficulty than the occasional bad hair day, broken nail or flat tire - and yes, I know them well enough to know they are not Hiding Secret Pain - at least none bigger than that guy who dumped them in their junior year or losing grandma, or any of the normal life shit that happens to everybody. And at times like this, I really can't stand those bitches. I'm paying MY dues and THEIRS. And half the Bush family's too. And that thought REALLY pisses me off.

I like my job, it's challenging. I hate my job, It's Really Goddamn Challenging on a regular basis, and this is a bad, crazy week. I'm tired. I'm envying people who Take Vacations and go somewhere pretty and take pictures and drink wine. I won't get a vacation this year - I may take days off, but trust me, I won't enjoy them. I'm thinking that if this week's major crunch project is resolved tomorrow I'm taking off Thursday, and Fuck the Thursday Meeting. My father's in the hospital, I'd kinda like to address that at some point.

I'm envying people who have jobs in yarn shops or bookstores, dealing with soft, gentle things like that, instead of plats and drainage and homeowners association documents and engineers who don't return phone calls and problems that aren't clearly articulated the first three times I ask and turn out to be totally different than I was told, and deadlines, deadlines, deadlines - a hundred unrelated loose ends that are all a critical path to Something That Allows Us to Eat. It's interesting work but damn, it fries my brain. I better get a damn good bonus in June, because I am earning that sucker.

And then I come home and my mother calls with the latest news about my father and sucks the last whimpering brain cell that was still clinging to the inside of my skull right out my ear and into the phone. Any day now my sanity will go with it.

And I had a stress-triggered allergy attack at 3 a.m. So I've been awake since 3 a.m. After I talk to my mother tonight I'm going to bed. God Bless Benadryl, may you work your sleepy non-sniffly magic.

"I picked a bad day to quit sniffing glue."

Name that movie. I don't have a prize handy, but it's not like it's hard quote.

So, today I went to work and had a normal quiet morning, and then all hell broke loose. Work deadline crisis for the department. The guy spearheading it has a family medical crisis in another state. My mother calls, my father has been admitted to the hospital to have a feeding tube inserted (he's still lucid and with us, barely able to find the energy to speak but sharp when he does, but unable to swallow). Tomorrow I will work out the details of the work crisis, guy with the family crisis out of state and I will deal with those things, and our three day weekends will be spent in insane stress. I need a vacation. Far away. With dolphins and waves and pedicures. And wine. Definitely wine and stacks of books.

I do wonder, sometimes, why some people have lives of ease - regular vacations, plenty of money, they can't even imagine having to learn wound care or Oncology for Dummies or mustering the energy to talk soothingly to freaked out 80 year olds 4x a day while juggling a crisis with $10 million on the table - and I got MY goddamn life. I just wonder. I know the stock answer is "These things Happen for a Reason," but hold that out and examine it - it's SO not an answer.

Didn't win the Lottery. Have to go to work. Damn.

I'm worn out and I spent money like a madwoman all weekend. Not on anything fun or self-indulgent, either. It all started when I started to clean my room, and realized my sheets had holes in them. Like the leaking coffeepot, some things just stir you to action, you know? I bought these sheets. I really, really like them, they are luxuriously soft. I absolutely will buy another set. I bought a new hypoallergenic mattress pad that actually fits my mattress properly. The old one was a shrunken mess. New pillows - anybody else see the disgusting story about how many dust mites live in your pillow? I realized I couldn't remember how old those pillows were, and eeew. A drop spreader because I need to fertilize the lawn. Food. I bought the Girlchild a set of pillows and the mattress pad, but didn't buy her bedding since she needs to pick that out for herself. If she ever gets a day off work. The theme park without mice or whales is very busy and understaffed and she's working her ass off. Making decent money, at least, but at a price. She's exhausted, and when she's off she just wants to sleep.

Deb called my attention to this interesting stash management scheme: The Yarn Focus Challenge. I'm not sure it's for me, since I can easily go over a month without buying yarn these days, but it's an interesting and useful way to separate the craving from the need.

I'm still puzzling over the ideal work shawl. It doesn't have to be delicate and lacy, in fact drapey and casual would be much more appropriate. I've mentally (and physically) reviewed the stash and didn't come up with a winner.

Double damn. While I was writing this entry my mother called. My father's condition is worse, she's crying on the phone, but I think that maybe I got through to her - he needs to be hospitalized, evaluated, stabilized if they can, and then (if) when he comes home, she needs to get hospice services in, ASAP. She's exhaused and stressed and she's dealing with this all alone, and he is being difficult. He's already getting oxygen through hospice, and they brought a walker with a seat, so he can sit down when he's tired. He didn't like it and won't use it. Okaaaay. They would both benefit enormously from hospice, and it makes me crazy that they will not use all the services available to them. I told her that if he is not put in the hospital tomorrow I am going to call/visit the doctor myself and raise hell. I don't give a SHIT what he wants, he's killing himself and her at this point. Goddammit, this is EXACTLY why I wanted them to move closer to me years ago - because I saw this day coming, even though they were in cheery denial. Fuck.

This is going to be a long, hard week.

I have a new hairstylist. Finally. Really.

So today I took the gift certificate Boss gave me over 6 months ago and braved the Day Spa - to get a haircut. I have not been thrilled with the recent efforts of my last new hairstylist, particularly her last effort, which was flat and heavy in places and too full in others, and that is bad on both asses and heads. So I figured the spa's hairstylists are used to dealing with the high maintenance, which could be good for me since I don't know how to be high maintenance but maybe they'll automatically assume that I am, and besides, it's free. The guy did a great job. I'm very pleased. The thing about being 47 is that a lot of hairstylists have a mental picture of what is "appropriate" for you, and it generally involves curling irons and hair spray and lots of "age appropriate" frou-frou. Poufy, "styled" middle-aged hair. Shoot me.

I told this guy I needed low maintenance, my fine but plentiful hair flattens out in the humidity and my job can take me outdoors for hours of sweating in the sun without notice and I need to look reasonably groomed while sweating. He started cutting and just KEPT cutting, and took off a ton of misdirected layering. (He also voiced approval of my color, which I do myself.) I now have a daringly short haircut with perfectly balanced layers that will grow out nicely. I had a moment of anxiety when he took out the thinning shears, which are lethal in the wrong hands, (trust me, I know, I've had them used on me by the wrong hands) but he's really good. It works. We hit it off very well. I was impressed with his skill and he got what I was saying even though I'm absolutely terrible about explaining what I want. I did not come home, go to the mirror and pick up a pair of small scissors and start adjusting things that were missed or that I didn't like. I trust him and I'd definitely go back. Maybe I'll even get a pedicure next time. If I have time.

I did my taxes and I'm getting $500 back, which is a nice modest return and means I've got my deductions almost right but I'll need to tweak it again for next year. I was so afraid I'd owe money, I procrastinated until today. But it's fine. Whoo.

And I pissed away HOURS sampling yarn from my stash and the Pi Are Square pattern, and didn't find anything that worked. I want a neutral, keep in my office for chilly meetings shawl. I don't have that yarn in my stash. I have a light gray that is too heavy and warm (I want to keep the A/C off, not an Arctic wind), and a blue Cotton Fleece that really could work but somehow didn't quite, because I don't wear that much blue, and I have to revisit the stash and meditate on this. I don't really want black, and I don't really like knitting with black. I think I have a silky tan wool that could do it. But I'm really craving a handpainted with neutrals, so it's not Entirely Beige. I AM getting a small tax refund.... I did swear I'd buy no more yarn, but that was when I was afraid I'd have to write a check to the guvmint. Hmmm....

Since Taxes were my major thing to do tomorrow and I did them today, and I don't have to pay BushCo anything, tomorrow I can play. And shop.

It's been an exhausting week!

If I put plants on this stand this weekend, where will I display my projects?

Clapotis - the sequel. It could use a light blocking, but I'm really thrilled with it.

Alternate use for an elliptical trainer. The pedal happens to be exactly the right size to support a large cat.

Spoiled? Moi? Every Boston feels entitled to rest his head on a red velvet pillow.

I feel a rant coming on.

The rant du jour: B is for Bullshit.

I haven't ranted about politics in a long time, but I have been stewing this one up all day. It's the way conservatives don't argue from facts, but from pundit opinion. I posted a link on KR to this An Evening with Ann Coulter from Al Franken's site, found via Huffington Post. One response was "Franken lies too," and I asked this individual to prove it. She came back with links to rightwing blogs and opinions of bloviating bloggers. Her big Ah-HAH Gotcha link claimed the Clinton Administration never warned the Bush Administration about the threat from al Qaeda, and that Franken's writing on this subject was a lie! Gotcha!

The problem is, the guy she was citing was lying. I knew this claim was false, because I do follow the news, and it took me about 40 seconds of Google time to link to Bush Adminstration's First Memo on al-Qaeda Declassified. In which it says the Clinton Administration put together a plan in 2000 and passed it along to the incoming administration. Note, this isn't a blogger opinion, it cites to source documents, testimony, all that really facty stuff.

And I realized that this is what pisses me off most, and what we need to bitchslap every time it happens - conservatives don't argue from facts, they argue from what they believe/wish/want to be facts. And I'm sorry, we are in the goddamn mess we are in right now because half the population got bamboozled (but are now waking up, thank GOD!) and because we've been too polite to yell "Bullshit" when we see it. It won't do any good with the Base, because when confronted with facts they put their hands over their ears and shriek, "Clinton got a blowjob!" over and over, to remind them that they are the party that was going to bring honor back to the White House. This must be a very trying time for them, as the Bush Administration is in a meltdown even Al Franken couldn't have conceived when he was writing one of those humor pieces that aren't meant to be taken seriously except by wingnut bloggers who are then cited as sources of proof.

So that's my rant. We cannot, for the sake of politeness, accept bullshit as an alternative point of view. There are documented facts, they are different from opinions. This politeness toward conservative idiocy is killing our planet, literally. People have to be really tuned in to know about global warming, and they don't get it from our mainstream media, because the conservatives have done this really slick mind game on them. A scientist who says the polar ice caps are melting at a very alarming pace and picking up speed, and has the evidence to show how it's happening, must be "balanced" on the news by a BushCo Ho who simply says, "We don't believe it," without a shred of supporting evidence. That's "balanced reporting." That's bullshit.

I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to be polite and pretend that this rightwing bullshit is the equivalent of discussing facts, and I'm going to slap it down when I see it happening, even when everybody in the thread is agreeing to disagree. I'll agree to disagree and be polite when you post a picture of tacky knitting, but I won't politely accept opinion as fact and lies as truth. Because we've been nice for too long and it's killing us.

I'm exhausted, my feet hurt and tomorrow is Friday.

I'd be much happier if today was Friday, but I'll take imminent Friday. And it's so true - life is much easier when you cease to give a shit.

I'm feeling better about the Situation Gloom, I am going to hang back and monitor and only intervene when it's obvious that it has to be done for safety reasons. Otherwise, this is their choice. It's how they have lived their entire lives, and on some level it must be what they want. If they're still functioning, they can function as they wish. They aren't dangerous, they're just eccentric.

Work was hilarious, I'm so stretched in so many directions my brain is going to explode, but it's all interesting. I finally had some significant interaction with my new actual boss the company president, and it was good. The Faux Bossettes (Twinkie and Cupcake) situation continues to be amusing, but I've decided to sit back, let my age and experience work for me, and view it all with not-terribly-veiled disdain. It's just silly girl crap and I'm not going to let it get under my skin. I'm the grownup, I can ignore them, but if they push until I can't ignore them I'll rip their heads off.

I made a haircut appointment at a chi-chi-poo-poo Winter Park salon, because the local gal's cuts were too...erratic. Perfect!! Almost perfect. Oh shit. If the expensive salon guy can do what I want I'll gladly pay the bucks. A good haircut is one of those things where price is basically no object. I'll buy store brands at the supermarket, I'll do without eating out, but I have to look at that head in the ladies room mirror at 4 p.m. when I've been dragged through the wringer, and I want to like what I see, at least above my eyebrows. I can't do much for the tired face looking back at me. I'm earning that tired face.

Knitting: When did I become a one project at a time knitter? This is so not like me. I'm puttering along on the Seychelles Shawl, very slowly, maybe 4-6 rows a day, and it's not even 2 feet wide yet. Finished width: 96 inches. But I can't decide what I might want to start next, so for now, this will do. It's going to be in the high 80s this weekend, so even though I think about starting something woolly for next winter I have this feeling that there is plenty of time.

Shawl sighting: A meeting yesterday. Stranger (co-worker, but I don't know her) in sleeveless top and slacks carries with her a (storebought) basic garter stitch shawl in a green that picks up an accent color in her sleeveless-shell-and-slacks outfit. Drapes it over her shoulders to ward off conference room chill. Looks professional and chic. It was a reminder to me that simple is good, and plain is chic - a flashy Charlotte's Web shawl wouldn't have been appropriate in a conference room, but a plain, soft, simple shawl in a solid color really worked. I'm thinking a Pi Are Square in a DK weight gray wool from the stash, I have a ton of it. Yes, boring, but so versatile and meeting-appropriate. I may have to start that this weekend, if I have time. It's on The List.

You know it's spring when a mosquito commits suicide in your coffee.

Seriously. I just picked up my cup and it was floating there. Spring is here.

My rant did and did not help, and I'm considering deleting it,* but OTOH, this is one of those issues that many of us have faced or will face in the future. My childhood conditioning leads me to feel guilt for even talking about it - "How can I say such things? It's not true! Everything is fine!!" but dammit, it's not fine and it's sad and I'm angry and frustrated because I know there is no good answer. If I intervene via the doctors I'll be the object of their resentment and there is a very good chance (about a 99.9% probability, actually) they will reject the offered services, and it will just create an adversarial situation because I "interfered." It's a no-win situation for me. I spoke my piece, I told her to get the help she needs, if she doesn't do it I can't force it on them. It would require me to "take charge," it would be very demanding and quite likely ugly, and I can't/won't do it. I am not going to let this consume my life.

I already feel like my brain is on overload. My job involves so many complex loose ends and issues, and apparently is developing its own departmental drama, and I come home drained. What is it about people who SEEK drama? I run from it and it chases me. I am not going to volunteer to make myself crazier and put myself under more pressure - if I'm forced to do it I will, but right now I have little leverage and I'm not going to get sucked down that drain.

*I did. It served its purpose, but ultimately it sounded more angry and profane than I really am. I don't want this insanity to make me that way.

Katie Couric Quits Today. Yawn at 11.

Who gives a shit? I mean, really - other than the thought that it will make the CBS Evening News I don't watch anyway even more unwatchable, why do people care? The woman is an insanely overpaid insipid nitwit whose greatest talent on the Today Show was the Katie Face - the Pouty Look of Intense Concern during interviews. (She was either thinking or taking a shit, it was hard to tell sometimes and the output didn't offer a clue.) That, and letting them stick a camera up her ass and/or squash her boobs during sweeps. To echo Angry Black Bitch, I guess we can thank God she quit before the next sweeps fell around time for her next pelvic. So go forth, Katie, with your pouty face and nasty orange Jessica Simpson fake tan, go forth and make millions of dollars flappin' your gums between the commercials that are the real reason you are there. I've figured out that I can cure my morning news crisis by recording Keith Olbermann and watching him while I get ready for work in the morning. Aaaaah, brains. Wit. News. So refreshing.

I really do want to throw up.

But thank God for Hunter, I can just link and let him say it.

I have a love-hate relationship with Daylight Savings Time.

I love it when I'm used to it, but the transition is hell. I'm not a good sleeper at my best, and DST means My Best Hour of Sleep now arrives as the alarm clock is ringing. This is painful.

I spent the day in a mandatory seminar and it wasn't a bad seminar at all, except for the fact that it covered material Boss and I used to teach when we worked for the Big Homebuilder That Must Not Be Named back in the mid-90s. Holy Deja Vu, Batman - I started thinking what the presenter was going to say about thirty seconds before she said it. At one point she didn't say what I thought she'd say so I flipped through the Powerpoint handout - whew, she said it six slides later. In exactly the words I was thinking. Seriously.

I'm not saying this woman "stole" our material because I'm confident that this is a case of Veteran Homebuilding Minds Think Alike and speak the same jargon, just that it really was silly for me to sit through an all day seminar looking at Powerpoint slides that sometimes used the same damn graphics we'd put in the same slides years ago. It was uncanny, though I'm confident it was entirely coincidental. She was from a different part of the country and had great war stories, and I would love to have coffee with her and tell her some of mine, but it was a wasted day, if nostalgic, and I couldn't even sit there and knit.

It was amusing to think that the training we'd devised would have been good enough to go national, because this woman came up with the same stuff and delivers it nationally, but ultimately it's just frustrating. The BHTMNBN never truly appreciated what we did, and today they are probably paying this woman or someone like her big bucks to deliver the training we used to do as part of our job.

Another meeting tomorrow, and possibly one right after that. This is shaping up to be the week in which no work was done.

I'm working on the Seychelles shawl. It's an interesting pattern, nearly mindless, not really lace at all. It's a bit frustrating because it's so jumbly and loopy I can't tell if this is how it is "supposed to look," but I've decided that I like the way it looks. I actually think it will look its best with only modest blocking, because too much blocking will take away the texture it has in its unblocked state, and I like the texture. It's a scrunchy, messy stitch, pretty and casual. It bears only a passing resemblance to the "close up stitch pattern" on their page, which caused me to think I must be screwing it up, but even I couldn't screw up something this easy. The model on their page doesn't really look like that "close up" either. So I'm happy with it, particularly the mindless ease of it. I'm not much for counting stitches these days, counting rows can be challenging enough.

This Uplifting Story Was in My Email at Work.

I hope you are as touched as I was.

Construction workers

Here's a truly heartwarming story about the bond formed between a little
5 year old girl and some construction workers that makes you believe that we CAN make a difference when we give a child the gift of our time...

A young family moved into a house, next door to a vacant lot. One day a construction crew turned up to start building a house on the empty lot.

The young family's 5-year-old daughter naturally took an interest in all the activity going on next door and spent much of each day observing the workers.

Eventually, the construction crew, all of them gems-in-the-rough, more or less adopted her as a kind of project mascot. They chatted with her, let her sit with them while they had coffee and lunch breaks, and gave her little jobs to do here and there to make her feel important.

At the end of the first week... they even presented her with a pay envelope containing a couple of dollars. The little girl took this home to her mother who said all the appropriate words of admiration and suggested that they take the two dollar "pay" she had received to the bank the next day to start a savings account.

When they got to the bank, the teller was equally impressed and asked the little girl how she had come by her very own pay check at such a young age.

The little girl proudly replied, "I worked last week with the crew building the house next door to us."

My goodness gracious," said the teller, "and will you be working on the house again this week, too?"

The little girl replied, "I will if those assholes at Home Depot ever deliver the fucking sheet rock..."

Kind of brings a tear to the eye.

A Day Lost to Pollen.

I had big plans for today, yessiree. Then I woke up to When Allergies Attack. So I took a non-drowsy allergy medicine which didn't make me drowsy, but also took hours to quell the sneezing and snarking. I ran a few errands, and now I'm having the non-drowsy backlash effect - is it just me, or do non-drowsy allergy meds make you sleepy as they are wearing off?

I did buy groceries and wander Target for way too long and spent too much money (damn drugs, damn Target) but didn't do much else. I did work on the Clapotis. It's on the home stretch, I'm halfway through the decrease section. I think that tonight, if I can stay awake, I will drag out the ball winder and swift and wind the yarn for
this. I'm making it in that color, too.

I'm not usually a one project at a time person, but the handpainted yarns have me under their spell - I find it hard to put down Clapotis Two. It's such a delightful pattern, perfect for movie watching knitting. But it's almost time to move on, and time to focus on warm weather knitting - it's 82 degrees out there, for Godssake, I don't need a wool scarf. I need to focus on office-friendly light cardigans and such.

I am on a self-imposed Yarn Moratorium - no new yarn can enter the house until the end of July. We'll see if I can hold to that. I'm flexible, sort of - if I make honest progress eliminating stash that arbitrary 120 day freeze on new yarn can be abandoned, but first I have to make serious stash consumption progress. But then I see a gloriously glorious stash like this flashed stash, and I am humbled in the presence of greatness.

But feeling like a Stash Slacker is dangerous, it makes me want to keep up. I've decided that my new stash focus is luxury. Knitting in Florida is a luxury, not a necessity, and if I'm going to bother to do it at all there is no reason not to go first class. So after I make a decent dent in the stash (yarn moratorium or not) it's gonna be luxury all the way, baby. I have touched the Lion and the Lamb, and there ain't no turning back.

Appropriate for a Cancerian

Stolen from the Profane Yet Maternal One.

Where was your soul born?[pics + detailed answeres]

Your soul was born in the Shadows.Your soul was born in the shadows of the moon at night. You're all mystery and enigma and your element is the Moon. No one really knows who you are, but they might think they know you. You only tell people fragments of who you are and never show your true personality. That doesn't have to mean that youre being someone you're not though. You're always yourself and you never do something just because someone else does. Some might think you're a little cold or dull, but you're just hiding your true self for some reason. Maybe only a couple of selected people have ever seen the true you. You are loyal to these people and it will take time if anyone else wants to gain your trust. You let people think that they know you and that you trust them. But sooner or later they will realize that they never really knew you. Be careful. Someday you might need someone who knows what you need. Trust people. You prefer silence and tranquillity. You're calm and collected and a nice person most of the time.
Take this quiz!








Quizilla |
Join

| Make A Quiz | More Quizzes | Grab Code

Funny.