Champagne and Chocolates

2008-01-01T17:35:00.000-05:00

Last Post of 2007

2007-12-31T15:32:00.000-05:00

And last entry on this blog. I gave some thought to a new blog and abandoned the idea, as nothing creative came to me, and the last time I started a new blog (this one) things didn't turn out as planned and in fact got quite bizarro. Call me superstitious, but I don't think I'll tempt the Universe to send me any new growth experiences by trying to be clever. So I've been doing a little redecorating back on the old blog, and as of tomorrow the Bossy Little Dog and I will ride off into 2008, and God Only Knows What Adventures. Please adjust your links accordingly, all 3 of you.

I'll leave this blog here, and a trail of empty champagne bottles back to the former/future address.

I am glad to see the back of 2007. I am glad to be here to see the back of 2007. 2008 is not going to be easy either, but at least it will be a fresh adventure - new work situation, moving (somewhere as yet undetermined) etc. Today Girlchild returned her father's old Sentra, which will sit until Boy can come fetch it - I will probably take it for a drive now and then, just so it gets a little exercise, but I haven't driven a stick in years so I'll have to take it around the block a couple of times until it comes back to me. I drove a stick for decades it's not like it won't come back. Girl loves her new car. When I drove her and load of her stuff back to her house it was in the carport looking all shiny and pretty, and damn, it is a cute car. It was raining, so no pictures. My heart belongs to Baby, though - I need Baby. Baby is a hard working girl, and 2008 is going to be a hard working year.

The animals got me up at 5:15 this morning, so I do not plan to make it til midnight. I'll open the champagne around 9, and toast the end of a really, really weird year, and contemplate goals for 2008. There are many.

The Way We Were, circa 1992-ish

2007-12-31T12:24:00.000-05:00

In the course of the endless sorting, donating, and throwing out, I found a few old photos from the early 90s, when the kids were small, including one of my favorite shots of my notoriously camera shy late husband:

You can see where Girlchild got her smirk, can't you? I think she was 8 or 9 here:

I swear I was sober in this picture, and all I can say about the hair and makeup is give me a break, it was the 90s. I don't think the makeup was really that heavy in person, I think that's an effect of the flash. I hope.

Boy was around 11, and in this picture appears to be 11 going on 20 - what a serious kid he was, even then.

This not working thing is exhausting.

2007-12-29T20:02:00.000-05:00

Last night L and her bf and his friend (I think this is either a fix-up situation destined to go nowhere, or we are just each other's available suitably presentable escort) met for drinks, followed by greasy pizza. Kiss off those extra WW points.

So, I got up early, went to post office, hardware store, Tarjay, came home and started sorting crap and loading boxes, and around 1, 1:30, I called my lovely Girlchild, to see what she was doing - I'd lost track of her work schedule and whether she expected me to return her dog. No, she was going car shopping and hoping I could accompany her.

So I cleaned myself up - slightly, I still looked like shit - and we went car shopping. To cut around 5 hours of confusion, pain and drama very, very short, Girlchild is now the happy owner of a very lovely new '07 leftover Honda Civic. Pretty blue w/a sunroof, satellite radio, place to plug in your iPod, lah-di-doo-dah, which is now the basic Civic package. Photos to follow, if it's not too rainy tomorrow. Tomorrow there is furniture to move, and an elaborate car shuffle in which her old car, which started out as her father's car, will come back here to hang out until Boychild can fly down to lay hands upon it, heal its ills, and take it back to NC.

I am wiped out, but Boy's input on the car shopping process was most comforting (he used to work for this dealer group) and the dealer's nice staff made it fairly painless. She has a car she loves and a car payment she can live with, and all is well. I still don't understand why it is impossible to buy a car in under 5 hours even if you know exactly what you want when you walk into the dealership. Even the adoption of the Subaru took that long, and I had selected it online and wasn't financing it.

If anyone is looking for me, I will be in bed with Captain Morgan, Boris, Dudley, Murphy and Shrek. I think that officially makes it a menage a menagerie.

Look Who Followed Me Home Today!

2007-12-27T17:08:00.001-05:00

Actually, he didn't follow me, I sort of dognapped him, at his Mommy's request. She is working another 12 hour shift tomorrow. I had just finished lunch with D and had wandered to the mall, because nail polish was calling to me and Ulta was having a sale. So I went, I bought, and I saw calendars on sale, and tried to reach Girl to ask her if she'd like a half price Boston Terrier calendar for the fridge in her new place. I didn't reach her but she called me back as I was pulling out of the mall parking lot, into hellacious traffic - she said she had to swing by the house and put on makeup and get presentable for work, and she would like to drop Dudley at my house since she's working a 12 tomorrow, but she's not sure she'll have time. I said I was right near the interstate and could drop by and pick him up if that would help. Problem solved. Our timing was so perfect, she was approaching her house from one end of the street as I came up from the other end, we did a very fast dog handoff (after duly greeting roommate's dog, a lovely girl, a young Lab mix who sits politely to be petted unbidden - unlike my little wild man who leaps like a crazed wind-up toy).

Dudley's manners, which were always pretty darn good, have improved noticeably since being away from Murphy - I'm not saying my dog is a bad influence - well, yes, I am. I think the difference is that when Dudley is here he takes his cues from Murphy, and Murphy is tiny and tends to jump and/or bark to get attention, or just to see what the hell is going on in the world above ankle-height. He'll knock it off if you tell him to, he's not THAT bad, but he does remind you that it's frustrating to see the world as a sea of feet, and would someone please lift him so he can participate in the conversation? Now Dudley is the little dog in his new home, and he has started taking his cues from the big dog he lives with and those who visit and his behavior has shifted slightly from little dog like to much more big dog like, because he wants to imitate his big new friends.

He has also become a truly fabulous car rider. I told him we were going in the car, and he automatically went to his mommy's car and looked at it expectantly. I said no, Grandma's car. (Yes, I am Grandma, and if it works out that I have granddogs instead of grandkids I'm fine with this. For one thing, I'm going out tomorrow night, and I don't have to say I can't, because I'm babysitting my granddog. I just have to make sure the shoes are secured.) Dudley went to my car and happily hopped in when I opened the door. I'm so glad he is over his car terrors, he is now a fine passenger, he watches everything intently but with no sign of real nervousness.

So, that was my day - I did box some stuff, move some stuff, sort some stuff (not as much as I should have) and had a truly godawful Chinese buffet lunch, the taste of which is still lingering in a most unpleasant way, even though as we were eating it I didn't think the food had any flavor at all.

D's story of work woes is her own and I'm not going to share it here, but I'll just say that it didn't make me feel all warm and fuzzy about looking for another job in this market. There are people who have had bad work experiences and you know them and you think privately, "Yeah, I think I kinda see why this happens to you." In D's case, I have no freaking clue. She worked for us for a few months, I can vouch for her skills, her pleasant and polished professional demeanor, her overall good person to have around-ness. Her experiences would make anyone considering a job as a paralegal or legal secretary run screaming. And I honestly, truly, really don't think it's HER.

On a happier note, the new UV filter in the pond was so worth the money - the pond looks Gawgeous now. The water is crystal clear, and the fish are wondering what the hell happened.

Hey Grandma! Did you know about this? There are sparkly things moving around in there!

Yes, this is sorta kinda a knitting blog. I'm mostly done with the right front of the Minimalist Cardigan (IK, I think it was Fall 07? Or was it Winter?) It is going to be nice when finished, and the Debbie Bliss Rialto is a a pleasure, but damn, I'm sick of it. One front and two sleeves to go. Slogging onward.

And the "getting ready to move" continues....

2007-12-27T08:05:00.000-05:00

Interrupted by socializing more than I'd expected. Lunch plans today, tomorrow happy hour, then I think Girl wants me to go with her to purchase a new car this weekend. I still have a couple of pieces of furniture and some boxes to deliver to her house. I did make a run to Goodwill yesterday, and also made a dent in the junk in the garage. Boy had helped me clean out the attic last spring, but other than moving crap from place to place and staring at it in bewilderment, I didn't make much progress on the "getting rid of" front after the initial frenzy. I'm terrible about holding on to things because "somebody might want it." That has to stop, NOW - I will not have a garage or an attic, and I'll be damned if I'm renting a storage locker for 10 boxes of Christmas ornaments that haven't been unpacked in 20 years. Now that Boy and Girl are out on their own, if they want this stuff they can have it and figure out where to keep it. I am starting over.

2007 has been a wild, wild year.

And now I must get back to packing boxes and moving stuff around to make room for new carpet in my bedroom, before I shower and get ready for lunch.

Back to work....

I'm so bored...

2007-12-24T17:18:00.000-05:00

...I'm taking action shots of my dog walking. Expect a video any day now. Please, please send good energy, I must find temporary work after the first of the year.

Murphy is becoming a most impressive walker - we did our short walk this morning, maybe 3/4 of a mile, and I tried to turn him toward home when his tongue started hanging out and he resisted - he wanted to go to the Big Lake and walk some more. He's a mad, walking machine.

My bayberry candle is already burning. I may burn two, just for emphasis.

Merry Christmas!

This and That.

2007-12-23T19:52:00.000-05:00

So, Girl came over this afternoon, did laundry, watched the shows she is still recording on my DV-R (she doesn't have cable yet) and then left with her clean clothes and her dog. He was happy to be here and happy to leave with her, he's nothing if not an agreeable, happy guy. He jumped into her car - I think Thanksgiving's long drive to and from my mother's went a long way to deal with his autophobia, now he is actually a good car riding dog, and hops right in and seems to enjoy himself. And I did not cry when they left, in fact, I am not sad. I love him, he is welcome here anytime, but Murphy and I have gotten back into being just us, and we love our walkies and such without him, and we are fine.

Girlchild did joke that I should rent a two bedroom apartment wherever I go, just in case they have to live with me again. I was already thinking of at least a 1 br. with a den, just because I'll need the space. If I get a 2/2 I have to keep that fact from my mother, or she'll want to move in. Of course, I will be on at least the 2nd floor and she won't do stairs. Heh.

I stayed up too late and got up too early, so today was a fairly wasted day around Home Improvement World. I had planned to plunge in and start painting the trim in my bedroom, and then my bathroom, tomorrow, but tomorrow will be more prep work, because I got a wild hair and started cleaning out the floor of my walk-in closet yesterday, so it is now ready for carpet. But trim and bathroom paint must be done before the carpet, so a timeline is falling into place.

On Friday, Pond Guy (an expensive godsend, but still a godsend, bless L for finding him) and his crew fixed my little goldfish pond so it is now absolutely spotless, his crew scrubbed and cleaned for hours, and they rebuilt the filtration system and installed a pricey kickass UV filter, and I am so very grateful that L found him, though I am aghast that I am writing checks like a drunken sailor on the freaking house two weeks after losing my job. It was absolutely necessary - the pond, when sparkling and full of lovely bright fishies, is a bonus that comes with the house. When it was in its previous state, an algae festival, it looked like a foul green mosquito breeding tank and would send me running away screaming if I were a buyer. Now it's so nice! You can sit on the patio in the evening, hear the water trickle over the rocks and admire the many healthy BIG goldfish. When I add some plants it'll be even nicer. The new filtration system is brainlessly low-maintenance, and comes with Pond Guy's phone number just in case. He gave me some cheap and inspired ideas on how to dress it up to make it look really natural and not like what it is, a hard-shell plastic preformed pond with a bunch of 19 cent Petsmart goldfish and their descendants (they do aspire to be koi). Now that my beloved but very hard on the landscaping granddog is living elsewhere, I can invest some time and money in a few plants and such to make the pond area really special and inviting. And I will stand over Dudley when he visits. I love you granddog, but after I bust my ass fixing up this yard, you dig, you will be sorry.

And I'm working on CAP's 100 things to do before I die list challenge. I came up with 70 so far. I have to keep reminding myself that this list is things to do before I die, not things to do in 2008, because with each item I start thinking, "Okay, if I just sleep 3 hours at night...." But that's not the point. It's a wish list, an idea list, a dream list. NOT a writ in stone TO DO LIST. Must keep my Type-A-ness in line. I am not going to share the entire list because it is personal, but I am amused at how some of the items on it are really "shallow" and girly. It is a mix of professional, social, and personal goals, and also has light things, like take time for bubble baths and facials and keep my nails in good shape level shallow. It's an interesting exercise in focusing on the things that you would like to have in your life. What can I say - if you live my life, shallow is a shining goal to shoot for.

Happy Winter Solstice

2007-12-22T17:50:00.000-05:00

Isn't this gorgeous? Must bookmark the site.

Grandma Is Babysitting.

2007-12-21T19:57:00.001-05:00

On weekends, Girlchild works an 8 hour shift on Friday evening then goes back at noon on Saturday for a 12. She's off Sunday. Add commute time, etc., and she's gone for 24 out of 36 hours. She doesn't want to impose on her roommate to babysit, she also works long hours, so Unemployed Grandma has Dudley until Sunday afternoon, when Mommy will come use the free washer-dryer (the girls are going to buy them, but need a kitchen table, etc., first). So I have him for 2 nights. Next Friday night I do have plans, so we'll have to see how that works out - of course he can stay here as long as we secure all the chew-able flip-flops.

Oprah's latest.

2007-12-21T19:07:00.000-05:00

Chelle mentioned this magazine, and I picked it up the other day, mostly for the article on how not to dress old. I hadn't looked at it until today, but Chelle reminded me that I did want to read it. I was particularly interested in the how not to dress old article, because I do have to get my almost 50 year old ass out on job interviews AGAIN. While I am diligently working on losing my extra pounds, I spent the last few years in a casual office, I haven't put on a skirt since my father's funeral, and I do not own anything downtown-ready. It occurred to me this week that I will actually have to go buy clothes to interview, I don't have anything suitable. I am not sure I even know how to dress downtown-ready in 2008 - the last time I worked downtown I was 15 years younger and about 25 pounds lighter than I am now. I shall get rid of the 25 pounds, but the 15 years aren't going anywhere, and I want to look "age appropriate" as they say, but still hip. So I was most interested in this article.

Okay, I read the article about how not to dress old. I already knew all that, thanks, but I have just one burning question - why does this woman have an issue with nude hose? I can certainly understand banning hose with reinforced toes and open-toed shoes, duh, or those dreaded white stockings that women were wearing for a while there, so bizarre, but "nuke the nude hose - it's the most aging thing you can do?" Compared to, say, showing up at the office wearing a vest decorated with snowmen and Santas? Compared to 20 year old sandals with shiny support hose - the kind with the armor-plated toes? Compared to baggy t-shirts and elastic waist pants? Or my personal favorite, the shirt jacket-shell combo in bright shades of polyester, the office attire that officially says, "I have batwings and back fat." There are more creative ways to hide figure flaws than cliched matronly things like that. I can think of so many worse "old lady clothes" crimes than nude hose.

Where was I when this "nude hose is a fashion crime" edict was issued? I know I've been working in a casual environment (until the layoff) and spent all of my time in slacks or jeans and mostly sandals (but cute ones, with heels) for the last few years, so nude hose hasn't touched my own personal legs in years - but not because they are "the most aging thing you can do." Is she nuts? WHO, besides this chick pushing her book, decided that an innocent pair of nude colored stockings is a crime against fashion? Sorry, if I'm in an office in a light colored skirt in the near future I am not going to use the disgusting spray on color she suggests - it doesn't keep the goosebumps of air conditioning off, for one thing. That was some of the craziest advice offered - most of it was "well, duh," - yes, please, burn those tacky Christmas sweaters, quit wearing your glasses on a little chain around your neck and buy a bra that fits, and so forth. Nothing new there. But the random attack on innocent stockings struck me as someone who personally hates them for her own weird reasons dictating to everybody.

This same person advises wearing "bike shorts" shapewear (what mom called a girdle) - oh, right, like that doesn't scream "My ass has fallen and it can't get up!"?? And isn't hot, binding and uncomfortable when you sit at a desk all day? Nothing says fresh and youthful like a woman in "bike shorts shapewear" trying to stand up after it cuts off circulation below the thighs.

Dear Oprah's Fashion ~~Dictator~~ Expert: If I promise not to wear thick, shiny support hose with reinforced toes with sandals purchased in 1984, may I please keep my nude hose? Because I'm not about to put spray-on shit on my legs and then put said makeup coated legs into a skirt that probably cost around a hundred bucks and must be dry cleaned. And my goosebumps in the air conditioning? While not technically aging, definitely more of a fashion don't than nude hose.

Silly-ass article. Unless you are wearing a sweater with rhinestone reindeer on it, then, please, buy and study. I think I'll stick to consulting my fashionista 24 year old daughter - "Would I look stupid in this?"

The Gauntlet Has Been Thrown Down, plus the Traditional "Parental Emergency" Arranges to Appear on Cue.

2007-12-20T17:54:00.000-05:00

Crazy Aunt Purl shared the list of Big Things she wrote in 2003. I share her addiction to lists (I heart my Franklin Covey Planner like it is a living thing) but somehow I've never been moved to make a list like this. I think this would be a good end of year project. Considering that basically my entire previous existence is being systematically stripped away from me by forces out of my control, and all that.
So she has inspired me. I'm gonna start working on The List. Now, while I have a lot of time to think about it.

I called my former boss today, he sounded so happy to hear from me, and we vowed to get together soon. He said he had wanted to call but didn't want to use his "Bugging Catherine," chips too early, in case he needed them later (he's on the Left Behind team). I told him to call anytime, and I'd even be glad to stop by and offer assistance in person for an hour or two, I just didn't want to get stuck sitting there all day, every day, until we were no longer needed. I've done that before and it fucking sucks, and my year has sucked enough - no wait, my DECADE has sucked enough already. I am not going to revisit stressful things I did in the 90s, not when the new century is so ready to hit me with fresh, shiny new crises.

Speaking of Crisis Alerts, longtime readers (the few, the very bored) of this blog and its predecessor may remember that my parents have a long-standing tradition of a Holiday Crisis - God Forbid Catherine gets from Thanksgiving through New Years without a parental panic, a medical emergency, faux or genuine, a hospitalization, actual or just threatened, etc.

Last night we had the 2007 event, and it was hilarious and not at all my mother's fault.

My mother has an answering machine at home, she gets a lot of sales calls, she also gets freaked out by randomly-dialed offers of cemetery plots or new mortgages. So Cousin C and I have patiently trained her to let the machine screen the calls. Don't pick up until you hear the voice and you know it's someone you want to talk to! She finally learned to do this. Problem solved.

Yesterday I called my mother at 3 in the afternoon to tell her that I planned to visit today. She didn't pick up, I didn't worry, I thought she was at the store or taking a nap or whatever. I tried again at 4, then 5, 6, and 7. Okay, this is totally not right - my mother does not fail to return a phone call - she usually calls back all breathless, like you are Ed McMahon driving away with her $10,000,000 check. By 7:30 I was genuinely concerned, and called Cousin C to ask if she'd talked to my mother today. She hadn't. So I looked for my mother's neighbor's number, she's unlisted and I thought I had it but it wasn't in the Holy Planner of St. Franklin Covey. Shit. So, feeling somewhat like an idiot but mostly concerned, I called her county sheriff's office - the non-emergency number, of course, and asked if a deputy could do a drive-by to see if she was okay. My mother is, after all, 81 years old, about 4'9" and fragile, and still crazily inclined to do things like clean out closets and move furniture when the mood strikes her.

About 40 minutes later I got a call back from my mother, who was bemused by the whole incident - the deputy was very nice, and told her to call her daughter. I explained that I had been trying to reach her for hours and I knew she wasn't out hitting the bars, so I got concerned and couldn't find her neighbor's number.

To make a long Seinfeldian conversation short, her answering machine was not picking up right, and was cutting off the caller's voice. So my mother was sitting there happily watching a Law and Order marathon, and cursing the damn phone that kept ringing, and "they" kept hanging up. Damn telemarketers! I was of course the they, and I was leaving increasingly concerned messages, including one saying, "You're going to get a knock on the door from the sheriff's office, so if you were just taking a nap, don't freak out."

So today I went over to her house (sounds easy, but it involved about 4 hours of drive time) and checked out the answering machine, got it to reset, tested it, and I think we're good again.

Meanwhile, one of my co-workers (the one who took my place on the left behind team) forwarded an email from a friend I'd been thinking of lately, and was about to email to say Hi.

The Fantabulous D was the best litigation legal secretary the Lawyer Formerly Known as Boss and I had ever had, for a brief, shining time until our employer decided we didn't really need to have her. She is smart, strong, confident, and highly skilled. She could relentlessly pursue opposing counsel or a judicial assistant until we had the depositions scheduled or a hearing time, and she did it with class, charm, and not a hint of pushy-ness. She is unflappable and takes no shit from anyone. She is also unemployed, and emailed me to ask if I knew of anyone that is hiring.

Um, honey, let me fill you in.

Moving back to MD is looking far more likely every day.

New Neighbor.

2007-12-19T17:05:00.000-05:00

I apologize for the crappy photo, I took it with my phone. I'll have to start carrying a real camera on walkies, because this was amazing - this hawk sat calmly observing me, I stood directly below it and the bird was completely unruffled when I started snapping pictures. The picture is really deceptive - I was standing almost directly below the bird, and could see every detail of every feather.

Candle Shopping.

2007-12-18T15:50:00.000-05:00

"Yankee Candle" is to candles what Starbucks is to coffee - you can hate it, but you can't escape it. The difference is you can actually get tasty overpriced coffee at Starbucks, while Yankee Candles are mostly disgusting. Not all of them, but most of them. Their Christmas collection is a case in point - there are no pure, simple Christmas scents among them. There's a pine scent that will clear your sinuses, like huffing Pine Sol. There are various blends of scents that smelled gross. There are various sweet, cloying odors that smell like Santa's elves got loaded on powerful eggnog and rich desserts and then barfed into the candle molds. They do not have a simple bayberry candle, let alone a simple taper - if you can't sell it by the vat and preferably add on the butt-ugly painted ceramic holders and lids and such, there ain't enough profit, I guess.

While Murphy was at the groomer's, I walked the mall. Yankee Candle has squeezed out every other candle brand, except for those no-name things from China with asbestos in the wicks, the ones that will turn the ceiling and your lungs black. Murphy was done by the time I had thrown in the towel. I came home and let my fingers do the walking on The Google, and found real hand-dipped bayberry tapers at Southern Lights in St. Augustine. And I somehow resisted the urge to get in the car and go pick them up in person. (Boy, that was hard because I adore St. Augustine, but it is two hours each way and it was already noon.) Instead I called the shop and asked if she could still ship to get them to me in time for Christmas Eve if I ordered today. And she said that she's shipping the out of state orders today and she will ship her in-state orders tomorrow, so I ordered my bayberry tapers. St. Augustine is an overnight mail delivery from here, so even allowing for the Christmas rush I should have them by Friday. And I will take a weekend trip up there with Cousin C soon, and stop in to shop in person. I can't believe I've never visited her shop, candle-holic that I am. I will correct that mistake shortly.

I've been out of work less than a week and I'm already losing my mind. I am not well-suited to this life of leisure. Tomorrow I have the pond repair guy coming to assess the fix to my pond - I know it needs a UV filter, and he has worked on L's pond and she was very pleased. So as part of the house fix-up, I am going to finally get the pond worked on by professionals. He takes credit cards. Then I'm meeting L for a beer, to exchange Christmas gifts. We're so touchingly cute and girly that way, we will do our gift exchange over beer and wings.

Unemployment and weight loss, or rather stress and weight loss- despite mostly sitting on my ass and feeling sorry for myself for the last week, I've lost a pound and a half. Yesterday and today I finally started dragging the Murphinator for his much-bitched-for Walkies. He's learning the truth of "be careful what you wish for," because his mother has morphed into a ruthless Yorkie walker. His freshly groomed self is now snoring.

Oh, and the other upside of Dudley moving out - Murphy got groomed today and was not promptly rolled in the dirt and licked all over to put the familiar smells back. I can let his coat grow out, too, into a more traditional Yorkie look, instead of sheared chubby sheep. And if we keep up this walking habit, he'll lose the chubbiness fast, and get his formerly trim self back. (Me too.)

He does wander the house now and then and look at me all confused, I think he has figured out that Dudley should have come home by now but didn't. Girl reports that Dudley is learning his new neighborhood and adjusting nicely, though he still has to work out the pecking order with the big dog. Hopefully without getting his ass kicked. Worrying grandma would of course overprotect him, so I'm keeping my distance as he learns that he isn't the big dog anymore.

Black Monday

2007-12-18T06:40:00.000-05:00

So, yesterday I faced the inevitable - Girlchild was off work, so I relocated her dog to her house. Dudley moved out. I managed to get through it and drive home and take Murphy for a nice long walk before I hit the pinot grigio and cried until I fell asleep on the couch. I was just going to take a nap for an hour, and slept until midnight, before relocating to my now strangely roomy bed. Murphy was funny - he has never liked to sleep on my bed because he can't get on and off without assistance but last night he woofed to be put on the bed, and stayed there all night, keeping me company.

Dudley now lives in his mommy's house, with an exciting new roommate. Girl's roommate also has a dog - a big young Lab mix, female, who is a big sweetie. She is fascinated with her new roommate, and the worst danger is that she will hurt him with her big gallumphing puppy affection, so their play will be supervised until they get used to each other. Both dogs have already commenced shedding all over Girl's lovely new sofa, so the place will feel like home in no time. Dudley will adjust. I will adjust. Murphy has already adjusted - he loved his long walk with his very quiet mommy, and his attitude is "Dudley Who?" He's happy to be an only dog again.

Today I will drop Murphy at the groomer's and go off in search of bayberry candles before I come home and continue the cleaning of closets and the transfer of odds and ends to Goodwill. How did I forget how much I love bayberry? Debi put the idea in my head. And I think I used to know that legend too, but I forgot about it over the years. If any household needs good luck, health, and wealth in the coming year, this one does, so bayberry candles will be burning on Christmas Eve.

Well, yeah...

2007-12-14T20:22:00.000-05:00

You Were An Angel This Year

You Were 15% Naughty, 85% Nice

You know you've been a super good girl this year
So good, that you may have missed out a little...
Don't worry, Santa will make it up to you!

Were You a Naughty Girl or Nice Girl this Year?

If you spend 3 months of the year recovering from brain surgery and the balance in crazy work stress, it's hard to be anything BUT an angel. I am going to aim for far more coal in my stocking next year.

The Unemployed Life

2007-12-14T16:53:00.000-05:00

So far, so good. I know I said that I would wake up at 5 and plunge right in to working on the house. I reconsidered that plan - I am working on the house, but I am also decompressing from the stress of the last month or so. I have given myself four days to Putter, then on Monday the real work can commence.
So, the first thing I did was my nails:

My pedicure is holding up perfectly, but my fingernails grow really damn fast, and a manicure only lasts a week at the most. Another reason I am reluctant to spend money on things like that. I did, at Caroline's suggestion, buy Opi in Bubble Bath, yes this is a much more corporate neutral color than the one done at the day spa. Though right now I can do my nails in any damn color I please, I do like this color. And I'm very impressed with Opi polish, it really does last forever.

After my nails dried I called the lawyer I'd worked with, he was our outside counsel and we talked almost daily. He offered to write me a glowing letter of recommendation, and said I was the smartest paralegal he ever worked with, and I said, "Promise you'll put that in writing!" He will. It is a sign of the market that he was hinting around to see if I'd come to work for him a year or so ago, and now they are also laying off legal staff. No refuge there.

I spent hours on the phone yesterday, including a long conversation with yet another cousin that I haven't talked to since I was in the hospital in February. She's also in MD, and is very supportive of the idea of my moving up there.

I've been cleaning out the hall bathroom, preparing to paint. Girlchild still has personal residue in both the back bedrooms, so this weekend she will spend some time reviewing same, and either taking or trashing the rest of her stuff. Sunday night is garbage night, there will be a mountain of trash at the curb. Every garbage day from now on will be larger than usual. I hate like hell to throw things away, I'm passionate about recycling and donating, but there are things that aren't qualified for either. Next week I will break out the paint and beautify both bathrooms. I also need to call a pond guy and an bug guy for a pre-emptive termite inspection. The week after, the day after Christmas, exterior paint commences. That is also the week that I will arrange for new carpet in the master bedroom, and start tagging stuff for the Bigass January Garage Sale. I'll also update my resume and send it to a couple of local legal agencies, because after the first of the year I will make myself available for temporary work.

For the remainder of this week, we are conserving our energy:

I'm knitting away on the Minimalist Cardigan, and I'm so glad I downsized it, the larger size would have been too big. Of course, it's in the 80s and humid this week so it's hard to work up enthusiasm for knitting, but they do promise a dip into chilly weather next week. And next week I think I'll have to make some time to make these:Holiday Biscotti with Cranberries and Pistachios They sound IN-credible.

It's official.

2007-12-12T17:39:00.001-05:00

I was laid off today, along with everybody else. I was actually asked (begged a little) to remain on with a tiny executive team to help wind-down on a week to week basis, and I thought about it for a nanosecond. Been there, did that at another company in the 90s, when I had a husband's backup income. I decided that this time would be far more useful getting the house ready to put on the market. They understood. I took my package, hugged my goodbyes and that was it.

So tomorrow I will be up at 5 as always, because I have a whole new mission, one that benefits ME. I will be working on the house every day from now until the end of the year. On January 2 I will make myself available for temp/contract work at various agencies, and that should stretch the severance package dollars enough to carry me a while. If a great job comes along here I'll take it, God knows it'd be a hell of a lot easier than moving to MD, but that's not likely in this market.

2007 started with a crazy boss and endless office Drama, and then a ruptured brain aneurysm that nearly killed me, followed by a craniotomy and 2.5 months on FMLA. You'd think that would be enough for one year, wouldn't you, but I am nothing if not a Type A type, so I had to wrap it up with getting laid off. To kick off 2008 I will have to sell two houses in a shitty market, relocate myself and my nutty little mother, find a new job, and maybe, just maybe, have a little fun. Bring it on.

Edited to add: My horoscope this morning.

My daily work horoscope for today: “A problem has been bubbling under the surface, and you are relieved when it explodes from out of the depths with full-blown clarity. Now you can figure out what to do. Move ahead fearlessly, Captain.”

On the roller coaster.

2007-12-09T18:13:00.000-05:00

Two things happened today - actually many more than two things actually happened, including progress on the back of the Minimalist Cardigan - but two things of non-knitting significance.

Thing One: I ran into my friend L's boyfriend M while shopping, and he told me L has been laid off from her job at fancy big multi-office silk stocking
law firm. This upset me even more than my own job issue, because retreating to a "fancy big silk stocking downtown law firm" was my safety net. Well, shit, scratch that.

So, while I'm still reeling from Thing One, I talked to Cousin C, who had talked to my mother, and then I talked to my mother and had another fairly positive conversation with her - I had to talk her out of her usual reaction - "It's so terrible, I don't know what to do, what will we do, might as well all kill ourselves now" - the last part isn't explictly stated but is the only conclusion one would draw from the first 45 minutes. By the end of the discussion I had my mother hyped to get on the bus - I don't know what is going to happen next, I know I'm dumping my house in the next three months, if this job hangs on I'll ride it out and look for something elsewhere. And I told my mother again that this is how it is, and that I may be moving back to MD in a few months if I'm lucky, and if she wants to come along she needs to start thinking about a cold weather wardrobe. And my mother squealed, " I still have winter clothes! I have a winter coat!" So she's on board.

Oh, and the thing that happened last week but I didn't mention. I'm sitting in the salon waiting for my haircut last Sunday, and thumbing through Orlando Magazine - they still have their November issue up on the website so don't bother Googling yet - did a thing on "best doctors in town" as picked by other doctors, and who is in there as the definitive brain guy? My hero, the guy who took a power saw to my skull in February. "Internationally known" he is, with an awesome CV. How 'bout that? Something kept me conscious enough to ask for him - sheer stubbornness, I guess. Honestly, my vision went black, my knees buckled, and as I was falling to the floor this is an exact transcript of my thoughts:"Oh shit, something really bad just happened in my brain. Must get Dr. SL to fix it." I remember that part so clearly. And I kept asking for him, I know, I have enough memory of the weird in and out of consciousness time to remember that. And I never really had any doubt that he could fix it - sure, other things could go wrong and that's why I was worried about dying in surgery and such, shit does happen, but as for the actual brain thing, I had no doubt it would be put right. And it was.

And tomorrow will be a most interesting day, I think.

Irksome Commercial

2007-12-09T17:43:00.000-05:00

Earthlink's extremely annoying ad for its high speed Internet: "...what you need to zip." Zip? Who the hell calls using the Internet "zipping"? But the annoyance really ratchets up when perky wife says this "all you need to zip" crap, and smug husband chimes in with "But of course, I do most of the zipping." Wifey says all cutely indignant: "Hey, I'm a really good zipper too!" He smugly says, "You'll learn."

Apparently Earthlink did extensive market research and chose as its target tiresome dipshits who call navigating the Internet "zipping" and think women are cutely inferior. I'm really not sure that this is a target market I'd be shooting for if I wanted to stay in business.

So very, very tired.

2007-12-08T18:47:00.000-05:00

Some people eat when they're stressed, some people drink, some people shop. I clean. I went on a bender today. It started innocently enough - I needed to move some living room furniture so Girl's moving team could get her stuff out of her room. Boy, there was a lot of cat hair under the chair - so of course I started vacuuming furiously. Then I started thinking about how much cat hair is under the rest of the furniture. So I moved all of the furniture and cleaned under everything. Then the little vacuum wasn't up to the job, so I brought in Big Momma Shop Vac, and I took all the cushions off and cleaned under them, and flipped the battered sofa cushions around so it doesn't look quite so battered.

Then I cleaned the pond filter, changed sheets, did laundry. I'm tired. I'll sleep well tonight.

The move was accomplished with two pickup trucks and three cars - my Baby was pressed into service in a complicated vehicular relay. And one appliance dolly - we are an experienced bunch of movers and always rent a big dolly to move large pieces of furniture, like Girl's enormous chest of drawers. M's boyfriend helped move the heavy stuff and the chest was a challenge for him. I marveled again that Boy moved it single-handedly 2.5 years ago when Girl came back from Tallahassee. Boy is on the short and skinny side, but as his sister says, "Freakishly strong."

So Girlchild is enjoying her first night in her new home, and she and her roommate M were so excited they were giddy. They have a new sofa and are painting the entire place - Girl gets more and more like her mother all the time, first she started carrying a big purse, now she enjoys Home Depot.

Dudley is still here with me, he'd have to be in his crate while they are painting and that makes no sense. After it's all done and the place is really unpacked and settled she'll collect him, or I'll deliver him next weekend.

Girlchild took all of her beauty products with her, so tomorrow I will have to replace a couple of hair care things that I now can't live without, and the big vanity in my bathroom looks so weirdly empty. Both the back bedrooms still have residue of Girlchild in them, she'll be back tomorrow or Monday to gather up odds and ends. Then it will be bathroom painting time again, and replacing of the medicine cabinet time, and painting of my bathroom and the trim and bedroom carpet, and then we will be ready to put this place on the market and see what happens. I'm ordering St. Joseph. I'm gonna need him.

The dogs are so exhausted. They had to supervise all of the work that went on here today, you know. Since I took this picture Dudley has melted even further, he is now snoring with his head hanging at a 90 degree angle and his nose on the seat. Murphy prefers to sleep on the hearth, even though it was in the 80s today I think he's dreaming of a fire.

And though I said I wasn't going to do a tree, Target had a teeny Charlie Brownish tree for ten bucks, and I already had lights and garland. No ornaments - there really isn't room, and this is a Boris-proof tree. If his fat ass knocks it off the table while I'm at work no harm done, I can put it back and fluff the garland into place. That wittle twee and candles - that's my decor this year. (The "tree skirt" is one of Girl's old pillowcases hiding the insanely cheap plastic stand. I may upgrade that if I can scavenge something else.)

It's the weekend, thank GOD.

2007-12-08T06:45:00.000-05:00

And I'm up at the crack of dawn as usual. Girlchild is moving out today, yay for her. I really am not upset about this, she's 24 and had lived on her own for 4 years before moving in with me, so she's really ready to have her own living room and her own stuff. I'm a bit sad about Dudley moving out, but I'll get over it. For one thing, I know he'll be back for visits until she has cable and a washer-dryer at the new house, and for another, my backyard still looks like a friggin' borrow pit so I am going to get to fill in all of his excavations and put down mulch that will stay in place and pretty it all up for sale.

I am not getting good vibes at work. I want to be wrong, I really do, but the vibes, they are not encouraging, and I expect to be unemployed shortly. So I'm trimming the budget - you know, my winter ski vacations and all those trips to the Keys I make every year? Oh, wait. Never mind. I'll have to cut some other things then - like the lawn treatment service and the gym membership. Walking and Pilates have to do it from here on.

Girlchild's departure takes my last excuse to procrastinate about selling the house and moving on. From now on it's job one. Realistically with everything else going on I won't get the house listed until the end of January - unless, of course, I am suddenly unemployed and have more free time to get ready. And though I hate garage sales, there will be a big one when the house is listed.

The stress of this situation is not doing my diet any good at all. I am a nervous nibbler - if I'm really under stress I can't eat, but a situation like this brings out my urge to snack - a cookie here, a few pretzels there. That has got to stop. The solution is more knitting in the evenings - keep my hands busy.

This situation still feels slightly surreal - I knew it was a possibility of course, the company had a couple of earlier layoffs, but this week's turn of events was dramatic and extreme.

I am very ready for 2007 to be over.

So, really...?

2007-12-07T18:13:00.000-05:00

This is great. I found it on KR, and it led me to a rare (these days) political post.

I love Barack Obama. He's smart as hell, articulate to die for, and just a smart, capable guy we could all get behind as a leader. We will be digging out of the mess we are in for many years, and the next president will have a totally thankless task. Of all of the candidates, I think this guy (and probably Bill Richardson) are used to just rolling up their sleeves and not expecting to be loved for it. And I adore his wife, damn, did you read this article about Michelle Obama? God I love the two of them.

The quotes in the article made my day - the audience identified, the quotes are so encouraging - the Iowa audience sees the Obamas as their kind of people.

But really, are we there yet? Are voters color blind enough yet? Is a country that elected Dubya TWICE, may our grandchildren's kids forgive us, really going to vote for Obama? I hope they will. I want to think they will. But I just don't know. I really don't see or hear racism, overt or subtle, in the world in which I live, when I am among white people and people of other races are the topic. In my own small orbit I really do think that people think of other things and race is, if not a total non-issue, just a descriptive detail. It's not like those creepy mommies who scold their kids for describing a classmate as "the black kid," because They Don't SEE COLOR AT ALL! Not at ALL! REALLY! In the world in which I live, race or ethnicity is a thing that just is. It is not a focus that carries a lot of weight anymore in my world. But I don't have any confidence that this translates nationally. I really, really hope it does, but I don't know.

Interesting Times, One Bad Sequel Too Many.

2007-12-05T19:56:00.000-05:00

Today was awful - the penultimate reduction in force, those who remain will either come out the other end of this to rebuild or we'll be the ones turning out the lights. The group is now small enough that we could hold a party in my house (and my house is small). I was not part of the layoff. I have decidedly mixed emotions about this - I am beyond ready to be done with this, it's so draining, but what the hell, this is an adventure. A shitty one, but I'm used to shitty adventures, right? I am there until this ride comes to a complete stop, or until I am asked to disembark. Or my house sells and a new plan opens before me. Or I win the lottery. Or any combination of the foregoing.

After the terrible, horrible, very bad day, a bunch of us went out to get drunk and laugh, people who were part of the cut and those who survived it, and the president of the company who had to make these decisions, and he was not at all presidential and was loud and bawdy and sloshed. He needs to know that we still love and respect him, because his job fucking sucks too.

We planned our futures - turning tricks, opening a pole dancing academy, chasing tourists up the beach offering to braid their hair, and of course, your standard bartending on the beach. It got tasteless and loud. It was healing.

Girlchild is moving out this weekend. Dudley is staying with me for the time being, until they are unpacked and settled, because she rightly concluded that a strange house full of empty would be too disorienting for him. After there is furniture and all is settled, in a week or so, she will take him to his new house and be able to spend time with him, so it feels like home.

Then I will kick getting the house ready to sell into overdrive. Because the stress I live with all day plus my crazy mother plus just living isn't enough, I need to kick it up a notch and move, too.

Interesting Times, Part Deux

2007-12-03T19:08:00.000-05:00

Radio silence must continue for now, but perhaps not for long. My, this is an exciting time to work in my industry. Ever been in a bad car wreck? It's that sort of exciting- you see the car run the red light and come right at you, and all you can do is hold on for the impact. Exciting!

Meanwhile, my energy is quite a bit better, today was an interesting (oy!) but not too exhausting work day. I plan to drag out the mat and put in some Pilates time, and then settle down with "The Closer" and my knitting.

I need to finish a sweater, because we are promised a "major cooldown!" It was around 80 today, and the weatherbunnies are all bouncy and squeaking, because we are going to have a Major Cooldown! The weather map illustrates this with an encroaching mass of chilly blue color. The high might be...70! Or possibly even COLDER, like, 65! Those of you digging out of a foot or so of snow would not believe the EXCITEMENT with which a pleasant break from the endless heat is reported - it could get into the 40s at night (at 4 a.m., and it lasts until the sun comes up) We're ALL GONNA DIE!!! AIIEEEEEEE! Please pray for us.

Just Not that Kind of Girl

2007-12-02T17:02:00.000-05:00

I'd like to be a regular manicure and pedicure kind of girl, but I just don't think I have it in me. To me it's like sitting through a dental cleaning, with the added twist of picking a paint color. I just don't find it relaxing or enjoyable. I do concede that it is considered necessary to pull off that Polished and Professional and Well Kept Look in my world, so I'll probably keep up with it while interviewing for my next job, because I am way too lazy to do it for myself. I do admit that it looks nice when done, and I feel more "finished" with my extremities all smoothed and painted, but I can say the same about getting my teeth cleaned. High end chi-chi-poo-poo spa or walk-in Vietnamese shop, doesn't matter, I just can't see the mani-pedi stuff as something I'd get into regularly. And to top it all off, they screwed up the booking and didn't put me down for the aromatherapy or paraffin, not that I really cared while I was sitting there because Sweet Jesus how long would it have taken if they HAD? The standard treatment pushed my patience envelope. My inner brat was rolling on the floor screaming to go home by the time it was all over, I wasn't about to ask for anything that would prolong it. So I'll get a credit on my account for that, no big deal.

I did laugh when I got outside and realized that the toenail polish color I selected is the same red as my Subaru, right down to the pearl finish. I do like it, it's fine. I match my car. The finger color was meant to be a beige-y neutral, and in the shop light it did look that way, but in daylight it is like "flesh" Crayola. You remember that color, the color unlike any human flesh on the planet? Not what I was going for. Didn't know this was how it would look until the sun hit it. Indoors it's not so bad. But still, this was not cheap and I'd like to have something better than "not so bad" to show for it.

French manicures only for me. I am not girly enough to be competent at nail color selection.

December Horoscope

2007-12-01T18:15:00.000-05:00

Cancer

I'm not so thrilled with that horoscope, yes it's all positive and upbeat but it's all about great things happening at work, and at this point the best thing that could happen to me would be a layoff with a madly generous severance package. That won't be happening so it's hard to get too jazzed about a happy work horoscope.

I went to Ikea for the first time today. It's quite something - picture two Home Depots stacked on top of each other, all full of furniture and home decor stuff. I got lost. I didn't buy anything because I don't need anything, but I did sit on and fondle furniture. It's definitely meant for a younger demographic than I, Girlchild and her housemate M will go apeshit there, but I definitely got into it.

I love the Ektorp sofa and chair, I think that may just be my next living room furniture. I still love my living room furniture, beat-up as it is, but it is truly not going to move with me. The pieces are too large. My living room is the 80s "great room" concept - it's large and with a cathedral ceiling, and in order to make it not look like a big tile floored warehouse we opted for oversized and overstuffed furniture. I love my furniture even after all this time, it's a credit to our original choice that I've never had the urge to redecorate. It has been napped upon, knit upon, football-watched upon, many other things upon, and also puked upon (thanks Boris) and generally used and abused for almost 12 years, but it needs re-upholestering by now. The problem is that the pieces themselves are too big for just about anywhere else. I am scaling down in all ways, including my furniture.

So I didn't buy anything in Ikea, but I did go to Williams-Sonoma to buy the peppermint bark. I also bought Girlchild her first housewarming gift - 4 W-S dish towels. Yes, I know $16 for four dishtowels sounds outrageous, but I own around a dozen of them bought at various times, and I've had mine for TEN years. TEN YEARS of heavy use. One of the green striped ones developed a wee hole in it recently but it's still in service. They are well worth the money. So are the W-S oven mitts. Mine get demoted to grill mitts every few years when they get too tired looking, and put in another couple of years of valiant service on yard duty.

So peppermint bark and dishtowels were my morning. I'm glad I made the trek to the mall, though I have been really dragging ass for the last few days. I have learned that don't dare say out loud that I have my energy back or it goes away on me. The last 48 hours were rough, and I did run out of steam again today.

The post-aneruysm fatigue isn't over yet. I thought it was, but it isn't. I don't know if it ever really will be over. It's so hard to deal with, because I look and sound and act so normal, I don't think people really believe it when I try to describe the way I just have to shut down to recharge periodically. I think I am suspected of malingering, or something. It's a kind of fatigue I've never felt before, it's like I just can't DO anything until it passes. I am still not used to getting so tired I can't hoist my ass from the couch.

So tomorrow I'm going to use the gift certificate Girlchild gave me for my birthday - the manicure/pedicure at the chi-chi-poo-poo spa. My nails are short and stubby, but I'm in it for the aromatherapy and parrafin soak. No, it won't be a magical cure for my fatigue, but as long as I'm not good for much else I may as well have pretty toes.

See, I told you so!

2007-11-30T20:10:00.001-05:00

You're Very Fit

Congratulations, you're totally fit and doing everything right.
Keep it up. You're doing great things for your health and probably inspiring others.
Be sure to keep challenging yourself so you don't get in a fitness rut!

Are You a Fit Girl?

See, the reason I hadn't been losing weight is just that I've been eating too damn much healthy food! And yeahhh, I do care about that part, and I'm totally sick of this "Oh, it's so INDECENT to admit that you care about how your ass looks, it has to be entirely about HEALTH!" business. I don't want to have to go around saying, "Okay, so my butt looks wide, let me tell you about my blood pressure!" Because blood pressure is not cocktail party chit-chat outside the retirement home.

I'd say I'm pretty healthy, all things considering. I'm not on any medications, I am not being monitored by any doctors other than the casual "come back next year" from Dr. SL and the eye guys addressing my vision damage, but I'm not "totally fit" (maybe possibly for my age) and I know there is room for improvement, because when I climb those flights of stairs I get only mildly out of breath but my knees scream about the extra pounds they are still toting. My knees expected to be totin' a Sally Field sized person and want to know when I plan to put down the sacks of potatoes I must be carrying with me. Otherwise, yeah, I'm fit. See, it's not that I'm vain and shallow and meeting cute men who are skinny fit runner types and don't want to look like a couch potato by comparison, heaven forbid. It's that my knees have sent me a petition asking me to evict my extra ass pounds. It's not vanity at all, because my knees can totally take me out if I don't listen.

(Do you think that will get me past the middle-aged fat patrol? Those women were Angry and Scary.)

Thanks to Cursing Mama.

Peppermint Bark

2007-11-30T18:01:00.000-05:00

Damn that Williams- Sonoma catalog. I'm totally craving peppermint bark right now. May have to go to Millenia tomorrow and bring some home with me. And brave the mob at Ikea to see what's up with that. Girlchild and her high school friend M have found a funky little place to rent in a fun part of town, she is moving out and the place will need major decorating. She knows she's getting a fistful of gift cards for Christmas. She's working on Christmas so we will celebrate early, there are no surprises under the tree this year. Or even a tree, for that matter. I'll light a Christmas-y scented candle and call it a day.

December starts tomorrow? November flew by all high speed crazy, insane job stress and such, but I do have a few small accomplishments to show for it.

Number of trips to the gym: Um, ZERO. Yeah, I know, but I did walk the dogs and drag out the exercise mat in front of the tee-vee.

Not eating like a truck driver is going much better - after losing a pound or three on my own I realized that this was going unnecessarily slowly and I wasn't doing a good job of monitoring my portions, so about a week into November I joined Weight Watchers Online. Total pounds lost since around the week before Halloween = 8. That's 3 on my own plus 5 on WW. I'm pleased. I think I am finally Mature Enough to really function on WW - I appreciate the simplicity of the system. Yes, I can have Peppermint Bark as long as it is accounted for in the overall intake. Makes sense to me.

I'm very big on intake denial - I think most people who have put on weight are. I got into a fascinating (in a multi-car pileup sort of way) discussion of weight issues on Ravelry, and among the things I took away from it is that a lot of fat people eat healthy diets and exercise - I have come to believe that the usual suspects of fast food and the crappy American processed food diet are not as big a factor as the insidious lack of a grip on portion size, or rather, the ignoring of same. I know that I am guilty of this. I rarely eat junk, eat fast food maybe 3x a year - my downfall is ignoring the reality that even "healthy food" can make you weigh too much if you don't pay attention to portions. So that's where the accountability of WW is helping me - I'm actually thinking about (but not obsessively measuring) portions. I was so frustrated - going to the gym and really working out 3 to 5 times a week, really putting in the effort, not just standing around chatting, and yet the pounds weren't coming off. It couldn't be my fault, it must be my middle-aged metabolism and all that crap.

Yet I am vain, and not willing to throw in the towel and admit that nobody over 40 can ever be considered attractive so why bother (an actual position taken in the debate - it truly shocked me damn near speechless) so early this month I decided to give Weight Watchers a shot. I know I'll never make it to meetings regularly, who am I kidding, so I am using the online tools. I started looking at the quantity I was eating and hey, guess what? It really WAS my fault I wasn't losing weight. When I look at how much I was eating in terms of WW points, it's a miracle I am not much, much heavier. I can't fault my metabolism, it has been working away trying to keep up with the intake.

And now the scale is moving, and it is not hard to do, and I'm very pleased with the results. And tomorrow I will buy a small tin of peppermint bark and eat a wee bit of it each day as a treat, and count it as part of my points, and walk the dogs and drag out the Pilates mat. And it's easy, and it's working. Even if I haven't made it to the gym.

But after Girlchild and my Granddog leave for their cute new home, I will make Murphy very happy by resuming our old tradition of Dawn Patrol Dog Walks, and an evening walk too. I don't have time in the morning to walk both dogs, not if I am going to consume my daily requirement of morning coffee so I don't drown in the shower - but I can manage one dog. He'll be fine with being an Only Dog again, and I'll adjust. Though as I type this my granddog is on the couch next to me, and I know I'm gonna cry when he leaves. But I'll adjust, and plan my own escape to a cute little place that will cost me half what this house costs to operate, and a different job that isn't going to kill me, and new clothes, and maybe a little FUN in 2008. Because 2001-2007 haven't been much fun.

I can't say it was all that bleak. I know it's hard to imagine that I did have fun when you look at the list of The Shit that Happened to Catherine, but I did have fun. The fun was a nice little break from the Shit Avalanche. I'd like the fun to become a bit more routine in 2008.

May You Live in Interesting Times.

2007-11-28T20:05:00.000-05:00

I'm living in some damn interesting times right now, none of them blogworthy, hence the radio silence on my ever-so-fascinating so-called life.

So I'll propose a size issue instead. I cast on the Minimalist Cardigan (Interweave Knits Fall '07) and I'm using the Debbie Bliss Rialto I bought for a different Debbie Bliss sweater, which totally did not want to be that sweater, that sweater must be a cotton or cotton blend or it goes all flopsy on you, even in the first few inches of the pattern I could see that this was not the effect I wanted. Rip. I cast on the Minimalist Cardigan in the Rialto and LOVE the stuff in this pattern, it's springy and soft as buttah and a joy to knit with even if you have carpal tunnel and such. Just a sensual yarny pleasure. I have no beefs about the yarn.

But I'm only a few inches into the back and I'm having second thoughts - I cast on the 43.5 inch size, because the sweater is supposed to hang and not cling to the bustal region and even when skinny I am busty, but I'm now realizing that when finished it's going to swim around, rather than hang around, the bustal region. So though I am about 4 inches into it which represents a significant investment of free knitting hours in my so-called life, I'm going to rip it back again, and start over in the 39.5 size. I think that will be enough ease and I should do it while the ripping is easy, rather than when I hold it up a week or so from now and wonder WTF I was thinking?

The Big Purple Sweater has no such issue, it's Big and meant to be worn outdoors, and like the DB Diagonal Jacket the Rialto was purchased to be, I do love big comfy baggy sweaters. They make me feel all snuggly inside. But for an office/happy hour/cute casual sweater with 3/4 sleeves I would rather not look like I'm wrapped in an afghan, so I'm going to trust in God and my diet and assume that by the time I finish the 39.5 size, my bust will be appropriately and proportionately minimalized. So far, so good in that department.

Girlchild's first move out option fell out on them and it is all good, because the new option is much better, I think. Which is good, because I need to get this house on the market and priced to haul ass. I'll be lucky to escape the previous decade of my life with said ass intact, and I remind myself of this every day. Just to recap how the millenium has treated me:

June 2001: Husband diagnosed with terminal cancer
June 2001-July 2003: More shit than you would ever believe, resulting in nearly a year of PTSD dreams after he died in July '03 and left me exhausted and in debt to my earlobes.
2004: House hit by 4 hurricanes. New roof, much unexpected new debt. Debt now reaches eyeballs. Manage to find new job that pays more. Nose still above debt water, thanks to padding hard.
2005-2006: lots of work stress and drama and such, father died, crazy mother issues.
Surviving okay, even getting nose comfortably above debt water and occasionally turning on back to backstroke gracefully. I love the backstroke, I could do it for miles. The sky is looking a bit more blue.
Late 2006: bottom falls out of industry that employs me, and the freefall continues.
Early 2007: Collapse with ruptured brain aneurysm, brain surgery, no paycheck for two months. By the grace of God and a great surgeon, I live to go back to the place where I collapsed and pick up the oar again, because I had no choice.
Late 2007: Industry implosion continues.

I am past thinking about bailing out with a comfy next egg. I'm just thinking about getting out without losing everything my husband and I busted our asses for all our lives. Then I think hell, if I could just quit dog-paddling so hard to keep my nose above water, that would feel like a vacation. I'm going to calculate my break-even, debt free and with only the tiniest pot to piss in number and call that the bottom line. I'll go rent a window to throw it out.

When I started this new and improved blog in January of this year, the future was wide open - weird and insecure already, but wide open, and I chose the blog name with tongue firmly in cheek, thinking about how I really deserved an easier and more secure and maybe even a little crazy life. I got the crazy, without the easier and more secure.

I need a new blog. Or maybe I'll go back to the old one, as the Bossy Little Dog and I will have to saddle up to ride off into the vast unknown in 2008. I'll give this one a full year, then give it up - the title was intended as snarky Sweet Potato Queen humor, and turned out to be just ironic.

New blog name suggestion box is now open.

Merle Hazard

2007-11-25T17:49:00.000-05:00

Most of the knitting world already knows the hilarious guy behind these videos is the spouse of one half of the illustrious Mason-Dixon Knitting. This is some seriously funny shit if you are enough of a geek to get the sly references, and just kinda amusing if you aren't. Either way, it's really good.

Now, if I were one of the cool bloggers...

2007-11-24T18:23:00.000-05:00

I'd have a shot of my big purple sweater in progress at the ready, to tie it into the purple quiz answer below, and wouldn't that be cool? I could make a whole purple theme post, with the second pair of Maine Morning Mitts in purple, and the big purple sweater, and the purple (okay, lavender) tint to my blog, and the quiz answer was not cheated, it really did come out that way, and isn't it all too precious and purple? Let's pretend I tied it all together into a fabulously themed and photo-intensive and edited post, and move on, because it ain't happening, not today.

Because I have been up since 3:30 this morning. The holiday had a bad effect on the Wee Murphster, his tummy grew so rumbly around 3:30 this morning it woke ME up. I asked him if he needed to go outside and he was at the door like a jackrabbit. I took this as a yes. He came in, settled down, and there were more vocalizations from his digestive tract. (I swear he didn't have anything high fat, certainly no turkey skin or even dark meat, and barely ate any of it at all - Old Iron Gut ate his own share and Murphy's too with no ill effect.) So we were up and out again. Dudley went along just to be a good sport, he had no upsets from anything, and he thinks gravy is the Nectar of the Gods. I don't think he had gravy before, and clearly he feels we have been holding out on him. Mashed potatoes and gravy - dog heaven.

At 4:15 I surrendered the hope that Murphy's tummy was finally through with its performance and turned on the coffee, and curled up on the couch, waiting for the next trip to the door. Murphy went to his crate and went back to sleep. Dudley curled up on the couch. So only one of us has been awake since 3:30.

We did go walkie, he seemed perfectly chipper though a bit indisposed, and one of us also cleaned the pond filter, did housework, etc. Oh, and fixed Baby's annoying rattling noise. I was going crazy - I had this rattling sound that stopped and started, it would go away, then suddenly come back. Today I had one of those "Doh!" headslap moments as I was unloading groceries - the Carmax license plate holder is flappy plastic thing, and as it aged in the hot Florida sun it became more...supple. It flapped randomly. It has been removed. Problem solved.

Murphy was eager for dinner and is now sleeping quietly, with no disturbing symphony performing in his gut. He is back on low fat dry Science Diet and plain white meat chicken. Poor Murphy - he loves almost all people foods, but only plain white chicken breast loves him back.

Tomorrow I will write about actual knitting stuff and have pictures of same, including maybe of the big purple sweater, even though I have blown all coolness points by not having the energy to post it now. I did actual knitting this weekend. I've started a new sweater, but not the one I'd planned to start with the intended yarn, because when I started the intended sweater in the intended yarn, the effect was not at all as I'd intended. Funny how that works. So the Debbie Bliss Rialto is now going to be the IK Minimalist Cardigan, and it is very happy with that pattern. It did not want to be the Debbie Bliss Diagonal Jacket for which it was intended. No, not at all. But all's well, I wanted that Minimalist Cardigan for the office, and this dark blue and oh so soft merino will be perfect for the office.

The office. Shit, tomorrow is my last day off.

Purple Passion

2007-11-24T13:26:00.000-05:00

Your Passion is Purple!

You've got a ton of passion, but you don't always wear it on your sleeve.
If something truly excites you, you let your inner intensity shine through.
But otherwise, your passion tends to morph into energy ... which you never lack.
You're a balanced woman, knowing when to turn on the fire in your heart.

What Type of Passionate Woman Are You?

Found via The Queen.

Turkey Day Wrap-Up

2007-11-22T20:34:00.000-05:00

It was very nice, my mother was in a great mood. At the very last minute as we were walking out the door this morning Girlchild had a weak moment and asked if we could bring the dogs. I wasn’t going to because if they are there it is ALL about the dogs, like having a hyperactive two year old and a persnickety second grader, it becomes all about them, but Dudley was in his crate in the living room looking so sad it melted both of us, and Murphy saw me loading the car and was dancing around being a pain in the ass because he was determined to not be left behind. They wore us down, they blinded us with cuteness.

When I went to the garage and got his carseat (if he can look out the window he doesn't get nauseated and throw up on the upholstery) Murphy got so excited he bolted out the front door without his leash, something he never, ever does. He stood beside the car and waited for me to put the seat in. I think he was determined to go, don't you? Then I was taking too long buckling it in and he decided to go pee on the street sign across the street (thank GOD we live on such a quiet little street) and I had to go stand in the road and tell him that if he didn’t come back right now he wasn’t going, and he came running to me all excited, he was not going to be left behind.

Dudley is a very nervous car rider and he was unable to relax all the way over there, he rode on his Mommy's lap in the front seat, he would have nothing to do with the back seat. He believes all cars are terrifying death traps and thinks Murphy is insane for loving a car trip. He stood to watch oncoming traffic, turned to look out the window - the dog was on constant vigil, because he doesn't quite trust Grandma's ability to maneuver a rolling death trap through the dangers of West Central Florida. So Girlchild is now bruised with sharp pointy dog feet all over her body, and her lovely new top is coated in dog hair. I reminded her that this was her idea.

I am so glad we brought them, I think it made my mother very happy, she loves animals and fussed over them and was bubbly and fun through the entire visit, and Dudley was a perfect little gentleman – I was a little concerned that because he can be so rowdy at times he might knock into her or jump on her and hurt her, she's very tiny and has osteoporosis and pinched nerves, but he was very gentle and kept his paws to himself and got petted and was just a total angel. We were impressed that he instinctively had perfect little old lady manners. Murphy is always good like that so I didn’t worry about him.

Murphy picked up some sandspurs on his walkie and my 81 year old mother bent from the waist to reach the small dog on the floor to pick the sandspurs off as thoughtlessly and effortlessly as a 30 year old yogini, stayed bent from the waist until the job was done and came back up just as gracefully. Okay, so the floor is not that far away when you're 4'10, but she'll be 82 in March and it was still damn impressive. I didn't say anything, but I will take her moans about aches and pains with a margarita rim of salt henceforth. I know 40 year olds who couldn't hold that downward pose that long and come up out of it without a crane.

I had picked up the pre-cooked meal at Fresh Market, but of course it all had to be heated up so it’s not like NO cooking at all, but it was much easier than from scratch and very, very good and we brought home a ton of leftovers. I have declared myself done with eating for today. Both dogs are now passed out exhausted, it was an exciting day for them. Girlchild is passed out on the couch. It wasn't all that exciting for me but it was 4 hours of driving and a lot of coma-causing food, I'm exhausted too, and tomorrow is Black Friday. I may shop, I may not, depends on my mood. I will be in bed at 9. I'm recording Grey's Anatomy.

Happy Thanksgiving!

2007-11-21T20:37:00.000-05:00

Adorable image found on this site.

I am thankful for many big things, but mostly I'm thankful to be alive and healthy. I feel very thankful and blessed, though if you hear me bitching on any given day you'd never think so. But even when I'm bitching I'm aware that being here to bitch is wonderful.

Happy Thanksgiving, American readers! May your stuffing be perfectly seasoned, your turkey or tofurkey, as the case may be, be moist and delicious, and the mashed potatoes as creamy or as lumpy as you like them. But if you eat that nasty gelatinous cranberry sauce from a can don't tell me, I don't want to know.

Annie Dent.

2007-11-19T19:36:00.000-05:00

I have an Annie Dent. That's what they call it on the Brain Aneurysm Foundation's message board. (see link in my sidebar, if you are so inclined) I don't post there, but I do read it every once in a blue moon. Someone described the dent in his/her (I don't remember) temple, and others chimed in - they call it an Annie Dent. I have a pronounced one - as my head healed it got more pronounced. I am glad to be female, it's easy to disguise it with bangs. But damn, it is impressive - if I had a matching one on the other side I could play a Star Trek-type alien every Halloween.

And I don't mind it at all. I kind of like having a visual, daily reminder of how lucky I am to be alive. Because it's easy to forget, when the bullshit of life starts getting you down, that being alive and healthy is a fan-damn-tastic thing and not to be taken for granted. We all take it for granted, life is so full of things that are impossible to appreciate, when standing knee-deep in the overflowing toilets of everyday life it takes a conscious effort to just be glad to be alive and fully functional.

I'm feeling much more like my old self lately, the fatigue is easing up and even the short term memory issues aren't as pronounced. So I'm actually sort of glad to have the Annie Dent, because it reminds me that a real life Dr. McDreamy used a real saw to cut a real piece out of my real skull to fix what was busted in there, and he did an outstanding job and I must treat myself well and take care of myself, because his excellent handiwork should not be wasted on someone who doesn't appreciate how freaking amazing it was. As time passes the whole world turning dark/legs folding up/collapsing on the floor/helicopter ride/surgery/falling on my ass because my legs didn't work/being unable to see US magazine when my kids brought me magazines/swirly colors when I closed my eyes/crazy hospital things followed by coming home to weeks of needing 4 naps a day and being too weak to stir a pan of Rice Krispie Treats, the details of the whole thing are starting to fade into a dream: "Did that really happen?" and then I look in the mirror at the Annie Dent at my left temple. Yes, it really did.

Whenever I get the urge to whine about all of the things that are definitely whine-worthy, the housing market, my job instability, my nutty mother, and the whole crazy tapestry of the last 6 years of my life, which have had more unsolicited drama than most people can ever imagine, I look in the mirror. Damn, I'm so lucky.

Maine Morning Mitts

2007-11-19T07:09:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I dealt with the stress of a very exciting Redskins-Cowboys game by making the Maine Morning Mitts from A Knitter's Book of Yarn, pattern by the Queen Bee herself. One skein of Kureyon, and I used size 6 needles (pattern calls for 7s) because I am a known Loose Woman. What a quick, fun project, all done in one football-watching afternoon, and they fit so nicely!

If you are inclined to Christmas Knitting (and I am not) and still need a quickie project for someone, these would be most excellent. Although it seems funny to make "Maine Morning Mitts" in Florida, they will be very nice on those chilly evening dog walks, and my fingers will be free to fiddle with my iPod or phone. Perfect.

I am being pestered by a short dog.

2007-11-18T07:41:00.000-05:00

He has come to expect - no, DEMAND - his walks. He's so glad the weather is cooler. Yesterday we took a long walk, and he was just so perky and energized, trotting along in the sunshine, I promised him that the next place we live will have more brisk, chilly walking weather, because it is good for both of us.

I had the most amazingly positive conversation with my mother yesterday, and once again it came out of telling her exactly how things are for me, and how my life is on a month to month basis and I can't look down the road and have any confidence that I will still have a job, I have to get the house on the market because it could take forever to sell, and so forth. And she listened. And once again Cousin C is helping enormously - she's going to MD next month and will be up there for six weeks, and plans to check out a couple of retirement apartment places. And I said, "Maybe she should put your name on the waiting list too," and my mother agreed.

My mother did say, with a laugh, "Because I know you don't want me living with you," and I just said, "Yeah, I don't think that would work out. You can't be stuck sitting around all day waiting for me to get home from work, and you don't want to be driving on busy, unfamiliar roads to get to the bank, etc., so you need to be someplace with services and transportation and such." And she laughed and AGREED. Honestly, I am floored - and I think I owe Cousin C once again for this miraculous change in attitude, because if C is planning to live in a community like that in a few years, my mother is losing her resistance to the idea for herself. This is HUGE, and so important, because my mother is having some pain in her legs and we may be getting closer to the point where she should give up driving, housework, and the like. I do have to laugh at her, because she's complaining bitterly about her physical limitations - it sucks to be almost 82 and unable to climb a ladder like she used to as a mere child of 75.

This is huge, but it doesn't overcome all of the other issues I'm dealing with, like an insecure employment situation and the "challenge" of selling a house in a market that is in the toilet, and all the rest. But it is one big step in the right direction.

And I laid it on the line for my mother - that I have no future here and I am sick of this place and I want out, and she's in a much easier position to move than I am (her house is paid off, she can keep it as a rental property or list it and move and it'll sell when it sells). I do not have that option, I have to sell this place before I can move on, I cannot afford to support it and support myself somewhere else for however long it takes to sell. That is simply not an option, I am stuck here until a buyer comes along (Calling St. Joseph!) I told her I had no intention of leaving her behind in FL, but when the time comes that I have to move, I am prepared to stuff her ass in a crate and move her like a yowling cat if necessary, that is how it will be if she resists, and that struck her as funny and she hooted with laughter.

So, it's time to pick up the pace on this relocation and once again it has been Cousin C to the rescue, helping my mother adjust her attitude and get real.

Almost no knitting has been done this week. I am very close to finishing the Argosy Scarf, and should just sit down and do it later. And I'm itching to start something else. I think I found the right felted bag for the Manos - scroll down a bit: Mezza Luna. And Clara pointed me to the perfect handles. Because that is what stopped me from making this bag until now - I wasn't that crazy about the felted handles - but wouldn't it be too cool with nice leather handles? I'll have to think about how to attach it to the rings, I know that cutting the felt will weaken it. But I guess if I cut it on the back edge of the loop and sew it firmly, it'll work.

Just thinking out loud here.

Today's missions include grilling chicken, a trip to drop off stuff at Goodwill, and a big load of trash at the curb. Time to get my move on.

Irritable

2007-11-16T19:30:00.000-05:00

Sometimes it's hard to blog, because so many things aren't blog-safe. Work is rife with great stories, but I'm afraid they are too identifiable. So I'll have to save those for my memoirs, the ones I'll write when I have enough money to retire, which, if those online retirement calculators are correct, will happen somewhere around the age of 256.

So instead I will offer a book review. A two book review. I had a discount coupon for Borders and it was burning a hole in my wallet - actually about to expire. So I spent it on this book and its sequel. Because I was in the mood for funny, and she gets RAVE reviews on Amazon - reviews I have concluded must have been planted by the publisher. Because this ain't no David Sedaris. It's not the Sweet Potato Queens, it's not Dave Barry, and the comparisons to the sainted Erma Bombeck are truly wildly inappropriate.

Maybe it's my fault for buying both books and reading them back to back. Perhaps you need a breather in between, and this was just overload. I will admit there are a few chuckles, she does get off a few sharp, witty lines, but at this point (almost halfway through book two) she has become that annoying bitch who shows up at happy hour and drones on about herself and thinks she's funny, when she's really just irritating. I am at the point where if she mentions her goddamn boob job again, I'm going to throw the book across the room and aim for the fireplace. It wasn't all that funny or well-told the first time, and by now I am snorting in disgust every time "they" are resurrected for another tired round of discussion of life with fake hooters. Put them away, please!

She interviews David Sedaris in the second book, and makes the entire encounter about HER. It's hard to imagine writing about an interview with David Sedaris that says almost nothing about him and is not funny either, but she pulls it off.

And then we're back to the fucking boob job. Oh and being middle-aged is sooo awful, and her body is falling apart and men ignore her, and on and on. Yep, the whiney co-worker - the one you cross your fingers and hope can't make it to happy hour.

Do not get suckered in by those Amazon stars - I think she bought those too.

Cover me, I'm going to the office.

2007-11-15T17:44:00.001-05:00

I started to write this earlier and finally was able to get into my building, so I'll start over.

My office is located maybe 4 miles from my house, in what was always a decently safe area. I know no place is totally safe, stuff happens everywhere, blah-blah, but by this I mean I never really worried about broad daylight armed robbery and cops exchanging gunfire with perps in my little world. Yes, there are "bad parts of town" where this happens at times, but we didn't used to be one of them. Last week we had the shootout between my house and Target, in broad daylight on a busy road I travel daily, that tied up rush hour traffic for hours during the investigation, and this morning I was unable to get to my office for hours because of the euphemistically described "police activity" - another armed robbery, another exchange of gunfire in broad daylight on a busy road I travel daily, and whenever a cop shoots somebody the world has to stop for hours while they investigate and document every gum wrapper for a three block radius.

Sometimes I do wonder if I'm being reckless and crazy when I talk about putting the house on the market during this very bad, crazy time, and I think I should just ride it out until things settle down. But at this point that may not be until sometime in 2009, and I'd rather sell the house now than worry about being unable to find a job that can cover the mortgage if this one goes away (so far no rumblings of that, but my industry is hurting BAD, and you just don't know what the next six months will bring). So though I am a little scared to spend the money in these Uncertain Times, I have to shell out the $ to get the house painted, which will seriously deplete my tiny savings account, already wounded by the months of FMLA. But the house really does need paint before I can put it on the market. The yard, the yard the HOA was on my ass about two months ago, is now lush and green all over and is looking mighty curb-appeal-ly. Additional cleaning and cleanup and throwing outage, fire up the pressure washer on the walkways and driveway and patio, dump fresh mulch, and the last biggies, new master bedroom carpet and paint the bathrooms, and I think we are ready to launch. Not perfect, but certainly damn nice. I was waffling a bit, thinking maybe now is not the time to get out of here and I should bloom where I am planted, etc. etc., but honestly, when the Universe responds with two daylight gunfights between me and my job and me and Target, I have to take this as a nudge that I am not meant to get too comfy here. The gunfire between me and Target, that's a Sign.

Look What I Have!!

2007-11-11T17:44:00.000-05:00

For you young'uns and Regular Readers, this is the Coach City Bag. Back when I got my wee profit-sharing check (because profits are wee these days) I wanted to splurge on a good bag, and bemoaned the deterioration of Coach, which I remember fondly from decades past as my favorite bag ever. So I did not buy a new purse.

And the story of how I got this bag is definitely an "It was meant to be." Cousin C signed up for a club bus trip to the factory outlet malls in Orlando a while back, and wasn't sure she really wanted to go, because she's done with her Christmas shopping(bitch). So she went "just for the hell of it." Anyway, she wandered into the Coach Outlet Store. Like me, she's not a fan of the New Coach, and the tacky-blingy fabrics and such. But on a table near the back of the store was a collection of classic bags - and the price of this bag was $99.99, with an additional THIRTY PERCENT off on top, which took it down to seventy bucks for a bag that goes for close to $200 retail, when you can still find them. She has one in tan as her everyday bag and loves it, so she bought it in black, and called to tell me about her score and told me that I Must Go, Go Quickly, Before They Are Gone. She was there on Thursday, and if I hurry I could still snag one.

I ran my ass off on other errands yesterday, including the vet and such, and didn't have it in me to brave an outlet mall in the Tourist Zone. Today I had to hit Petsmart for Science Diet for cats with intestinal issues, and that is in the general direction of I-4. I followed my impulse and went down to what is now called the Prime Outlets. I remember it when it was Belz Factory Outlet Mall, a tacky flea market kinda place.

Oh, it is so cool now, they knocked down all the old buildings and have opened a very pretty and not at all stressful open-air place. They have an Ann Taylor outlet to DIE for, and I am so going back after I hit my goal weight, to restock my entire closet. It's still under construction so getting to the stores is a bit challenging, a few detours and such, but I made my way through it and found the store, and the bags were still there, so I bought one too, and there were only three left in black. I almost went nuts and bought a second bag just like it in red, but decided to pop for a pretty salmon pink leather wallet. The method to my madness is simple - my old wallet worked in my giant leather bag that is starting to hurt my shoulder lately but it is too bulky for this bag, and a pink wallet will show up nicely in a black bag, even in low light. A bag AND a wallet for less than I was prepared to spend on the bag. I am so pleased.

I did not knit a stitch this weekend. I did clean, shop, sleep, walk, and lose 2 pounds. Not a bad weekend.

Weekend Update

2007-11-10T18:44:00.000-05:00

Note to self: Do not put the day of the week in the title of a post, because by today anyone who wandered in here thought, "Tuesday? WTF?"

It was a helluva week. Enough said about that. On the plus side, the weather has been fabulous, low 70s, cloudless skies, and the dogs and I have been walking a lot. Which is good, because I took Murphy to the vet today, and he is in perfect health and adorable and they loved him, but he's even fatter than he was a year ago. Middle-aged weight gain - it's not just for humans anymore. Murphy is 7.5, which means he is, in dog years, just about exactly my age. I feel your pain, my little one. We will fight this battle together.

I am a firm believe in the adage that "If your dog is fat you aren't getting enough exercise," and now that the weather has changed I've been hauling the Porky Yorkie around daily. The vet wasn't concerned about his weight, she is glad we are walking and suggested low fat treats (He's already on low fat food, but Dudley introduced him to treats, and his competitive nature led him to eat them.)

Friday, no, Tuesday.

2007-11-06T19:09:00.000-05:00

This week is already beyond exhausting, and it's only...Tuesday? Seriously? Tonight I actually left work at 5, because I needed to get home before hard dark to tend to yard things and still didn't get home until after dark, because "police activity" caused a traffic mess the likes of which I have never seen in my part of town. Apparently some asshole with a gun took a couple of shots at a cop, who shot back and nailed him, asshole is safely in custody, nobody else was harmed, and the ensuing investigation caused them to shut down the road and create miles of chaos at rush hour.

It does not make me happy to think that roadblock-requiring "police activity" has entered my little comfort zone where this stuff never happens. I'm thinking more and more that waiting tables in Asheville would be better than this. Oh, and Dudley ate one of my almost new flip-flops because Girl didn't crate him OR turn on lights before she left for work, her first work day since the clocks changed, and I got home after dark, and who knew that one of the casualties of a guy with a gun would be a pair of Target flip-flops? Yeah, I'll still miss him a bunch. But he's so predictable - dark, nobody's home, dog panics, looks for something belonging to a loved one to chew for comfort. She owes me the nice thick Target flip flops, brown, size 7, and she should be grateful he didn't go for one of my brand new Saucony running shoes.

And as long as I'm talking about Target shopping - that mattress pad? I've slept through the night since I bought it. Worth the money to me. My insomnia issues have gone on for a couple of decades by now and my sleeplessness has survived many pillows and a couple of mattresses, and this appears to be helping a lot. A decent night's sleep is priceless.

Another thing that is worth the $ to me: this L'Occitane grape stuff. I can't say that it has a dramatic effect on water retention, or any effect I can notice, but my skin has never felt softer, it's not greasy, and I love the scent. I Love It. It does not smell like a grape popsicle, like Bath and Body Works fruity stuff, it smells light and clean and fresh, not at all perfumey. I love it so much I just bought more, and the shower oil too. I never would buy a product called "shower oil" before, but L'Occitane oil isn't greasy, seal your pores and make the tub hazardously slippery oil, it doesn't behave like oil at all, other than the good, moisturizing behavior.

And I may as well focus on knitting and nice smelling body lotions, because the rest of life is a Stress Fest. My working life is insane, I am constantly called upon to do things I've never done before and figure it out on the fly, and with shitloads of money at stake. And if I were getting paid the kind of money that people who handle things like this usually do it would be worth it, but I'm not. I keep thinking about how my doctors wanted me to reduce stress, and all I can do is laugh semi-hysterically. And I don't know what to do about any of this - the industry in which I toil is seriously hurting, and the ripple effect is rippling. The downturn in the housing industry is even more scary than the news reports. Really Big law firms and Really Big Banks are having layoffs. So I am not sure I can sell my house, and I'm not sure how long I'll have a job, or what the job market will be like when I venture back into it. Other than that, everything is just swell! Life's an adventure!

On the brighter side, the weather has turned absolutely delightful and unnaturally cool, and this makes me irrationally cheerful and energized after 6 plus months of hideously hot, mostly way over 90 degree weather and high humidity. Tomorrow we should only hit a high of 70, which is really cold for us. Yesterday I nearly choked on my morning coffee laughing at one of the weather bunnies - he earnestly told us that on Wednesday it would be so cool "You'll need that jacket all day!" The predicted high was 72. Good thing I'm a knitter! Better go work on that warm, woolly jacket! Though in reality I'm kicking myself because I have not focused on an afghan pattern yet, after talking about it for eternity. I need to browse Ravelry for crocheted square inspiration, because while needing a jacket when it's 72 is a coffee-snorter, the predicted 40s tonight does justify an afghan. Of course, by the time I figure out a pattern it'll probably be 72 at night again. I dream of a chilly winter.

So, the day has come...

2007-11-04T18:10:00.000-05:00

the one I've been expecting and half dreading. Girlchild just got a raise, yay for her, and her bonus, she really enjoys her job and plans to work there another year at least while taking the microbiology-and-such classes she needs to enter the crash BSN program. So she has filled out an application to rent a townhouse nearby, and she's out right now conferring with her future roommates about the logistics. Which means Dudley is leaving soon. And yes, I will cry. I will try not to, but I will.

I am going to miss him like crazy. He's a pain in the ass at times, he ate my favorite Rockport sandals and a throw rug, he sheds, he farts, but I love him to pieces. I have already volunteered to take him whenever she goes out of town, and she's going to be about five minutes away so she can drop him here whenever she needs a sitter. Even if I have plans he and Murphy will keep each other company. Murphy is going to miss him too, but we suspect that as soon as he figures out that he has his Mommy all to himself and is king of his house again, he won't be too crushed. But I'll still be here to babysit my granddog.

Until I sell the house, of course. And that's the other thing - their departure removes my last excuse to not pick up the pace on getting the house ready to list. I can paint the hall bathroom, clean the carpet, make that end of the house look all clean and tidy, and then just vacuum it periodically. The exterior paint should be done this month. Then it's time for bedroom carpet. Then (gulp) list the place and see what happens.

And that leads to the Big, Big Question - after it sells, then what? I know I want to leave FL, but I really don't have anywhere to go. I can't even start looking for a job until I have a contract on this place, because in this market that could take anywhere from two weeks to six months, with six months far more likely. In reality, I think I'll have to sell this house, move into an apartment nearby and then start the Exit Plan in earnest. Breaking a lease if I have to will be a hell of a lot easier than selling a house. I want to go to Asheville, I SHOULD go to Baltimore, because I haven't won the lottery yet and Baltimore has jobs. I still have to deal with the Mother Issue, and for her B'more would be the better option because there's a lot of nice over 60 housing options in Anne Arundel Co. (I know because Cousin C is checking it out.)

Knitting-wise, Cousin C's scarf is still not done. I pulled out the big purple Barbizon Jacket and was pleasantly surprised to find I was further along on it than I'd thought - my brain remembered getting halfway through the first of the front panels, but I've actually finished both and I'm halfway up the back. It's made in one piece, sort of, so after the back is even with the front you do a three-needle bind-off on the shoulders, pick up stitches for the sleeves and start knitting down, then pick up stitches around the whole damn thing for the front band and collar, and it's done. So I'd say I'm 70% done at this point. It's always nice when my memory gaps result in pleasant surprises.

Meanwhile, I spent money today - I bought one of those fancy-pants mattress toppers, the memory foam kind. It was Girlchild's idea, she wants one but is holding off until she's in her new place (with Dudley...sniff.) Anything that makes me comfortable and may improve my erratic sleep is worth the bucks. Lately I have had a bad thing going on - I fall asleep pretty easily, but it's a light sleep, I don't get into a good, deep, dreamy, restful sleep until about 20 minutes before the alarm goes off. This thing is really, really comfy, you sink into it and don't want to move. Tomorrow will be rough, because the time change is never kind to me. I was up at 4 today, because Murphy's bladder said it was still 5. I'll be in bed at 9, which will really be 10. I'll catch up with the rest of you in a week. Don't wait for me.

Can't...lift...arms.

2007-11-03T16:44:00.001-04:00

Today was gorgeous, just breathtakingly perfect, a Florida Autumn Day - upper 70s, not a cloud in the sky, cool breeze, open windows. The kind of day that makes tourists who only visit during this time of year go back to Ohio or wherever and start packing to move to Paradise, where they spend the next 20 years bitching about May, June, July, August, September and October.

It put me into a cleaning mode, and I tackled the big front windows that face north. Did you know that if you neglect a window that faces north long enough, and enough rain falls, actual lichens will begin to grow on the window frame? Ask me how I discovered this.

Because yes, it's true, I hadn't washed the windows in a very long time. I had thought about it many times, of course, every time I looked at them I was consumed by guilt about my lazy housekeeping ways, closely followed by ennui, closely followed by closing the blinds and pouring a glass of chardonnay. It helps to not be home much during daylight hours.

But today's low humidity and bright sunshine inspired me, and I spent a good hour cleaning those big windows, AFTER taking each of the dogs for a long, brisk walk. We have been walking in the evenings, but on the weekends we can make this a morning and evening thing. I walk them individually, so this morning I walked for a good hour - Murphy's pace is leisurely, but Dudley likes to go flat out. I have tried various methods to teach him leash manners and finally accepted that no training is effective until he has tired himself out and is sick of hanging himself by pulling so hard. After he has relaxed a bit we work on manners, like quit jerking my arm out of the socket. In every other way his walking manners are naturally perfect - he is politely curious about other dogs but keeps a distance, he watches the ducks without trying to go after them, once he figures out that he can get where he's going without strangling himself he'll be a pleasure to walk. On the plus side, right now walking him is a full body workout. Between that and washing the windows my arms feel like jelly right now. The windows are sparkling, the dogs are tired, and a tired dog is a good dog. Later we will repeat the process but on a shorter route. I'm going to hurt like hell tomorrow, I know it. But it was a lovely and productive day, and it's so nice to have the windows open after so many months of round the clock AC.

I have rejoined Audible. I had canceled my membership, but woman does not live by downloaded music alone. I'm currently listening to John Dean's Conservatives Without Conscience. It's a great book, especially in audio form. Many of the recent political books are so dry, even when the topic is interesting, I just can't get through them, but this is very, very readable/listenable, fascinating, and amusing in a crazy-making way. I hadn't read any of his other books but now I think I will. I have to confess to the Internets that I have a crush on John Dean that goes all the way back to his Watergate testimony, but that doesn't mean that I could get through a boring political treatise, no matter how I was fascinated by the author when I was a 14 year old political geek. I'm enjoying this so much I could hardly bear to turn off my iPod to go run errands after the windows were done, and I'll probably go back to it in a while, as I finish Cousin C's scarf.

And I must do my Internet Confession - I bought yarn. WEBS was having a sale on a yarn I wanted to try - Valley Yarns Amherst. And the Olive Branch Yoga Hoodie pattern had caught my eye. And I've only bought yarn three or four times this year, vs. every six weeks whether I needed it or not, so I truly feel I've broken the Stashing Habit. I also truly feel that I need to get my ~~ass~~ needles in gear and start making/finishing sweaters. The big purple sweater has been languishing for weeks, and I will have to figure out where I left off in the front decreases because I am not smart enough to take notes. I should know myself better by now, and assume that any project is in danger of being abandoned at a moment's notice. The problem is the lack of pressure to finish a sweater - yes, it's cooler, but it's 75 degrees, not cool enough for wool yet. It's only cool after 6 months of 90. Sigh....

November.

2007-11-01T18:11:00.000-04:00

How the hell did this happen? How did it get to be November already, when I haven't made any progress toward my ~~September~~ October goals? I have a lot of things I want to do in the next two months, I have end-of-the-year goals, but I'll only post a couple of them in the sidebar.

I've been out of sorts this week. I haven't been to the gym in a month, I'm feeling extraordinarily fat, my job is still insane, and to top it all, I came down with some sort of thing that leaves you feeling tired, headachy and punky. Girlchild had it, it's going around the office, it's everywhere in my world. I'm on day two.

But on a positive note, I finished something. I had an urge to felt, I had leftover Kureyon and Cascade 220 in the stash, and I had a need for a lunch bag for work.

The Vintage Bubble Bag from Pursonalities.

Pre-felting. I love the colors, it worked just the way I imagined it would.

See how roomy? It can hold lots of fruit and veggies. I'm very, very pleased with this one. The specs - 2 skeins of Kureyon in colorway 159, two purple Cascade 220, I don't know what color number. Size 10.5 and 15 circulars. Lots of quality TV time knitting.

Other things about today.

2007-10-29T19:53:00.000-04:00

And yesterday, too. My haircut yesterday was a milestone - we retired the hair flap/comb-over that covered the Swath of Surgery. This cut pulled it together into an actual normal style - a bit shorter and more structured than ideal, but give it three weeks and I'm at ideal. The wildly raggedy side hair that grew in (and hair is funny, you'd think it would all grow in at about the same rate but it totally doesn't, every follicle is on its own timetable, and it grows in looking really mangey). The bangs are almost there, the under-layer is one cut from being part of the bangs team, which is good because that's where the dent in my temple and the screws in my forehead are located and that growing-in patch has an important job to do - to keep my forehead screws and temple dent discreet - not a secret, but not something that is just on display. It's not gross or too obvious unless you know what happened, but one of my co-workers just had to touch the screw heads today and pronounced them "Wild!"

I agree, it is. I do not have the nerve to pierce my bellybutton but now I don't have to, because I have titanium screws in my head! It's like a pierced navel, in that I can share it at will, but I was totally unconscious when it was put in. There isn't enough tequila in the world for me to pierce anything. I have pierced ears and considered a second set of holes, but unless I can get a designated driver, forget it. I was 14 and highly motivated the first time.

My friend L, who has both a pierced navel and tattoos, has sworn she will be my designated driver for a 50th birthday tattoo. I fully expect to chicken out.

So Sorry!

2007-10-29T13:14:00.000-04:00

I felt like one of the last people on earth allowed into Ravelry, and didn't think of those who are still on the wait list. The Celtic Tote is in the forthcoming Winter IK: Interweave Knits Winter '07.

The Vintage Bubble Bag, I suggest a Google. Or you can use your very vivid imagination and picture it from this:

I said use your imagination, right? It's a rounded bucket with two handles, not too large, not too small. I'd show a photo of the other one I made but it's on a CD somewhere else.

It's coming along nicely, I'll have finished photos before Friday.

Girlchild has taken a few days off, and I came home from work and opened the front door to the loveliest smell on earth (or at least around this dump) Cleaning Products! Yes, she is cleaning on her days off. Practically perfect in every way, she is. At least at the moment, when I am high on Tilex.

Knitting Content

2007-10-28T09:02:00.000-04:00

And the giant time suck that is Ravelry. Don't get me wrong, it's so informative and useful it's amazing, but there is so much content already (hard to believe it's still in beta) one can easily spend hours browsing. Easily. And one, at least this one, must stop this and actually get things done around here.

So, I am thinking about that Doctor's Bag from Knit2Together, and the Manos I bought in Asheville. I don't think the yarn is right for that bag - the vivid colors will "eat" the herringbone stitch, especially since it's used doubled. It's too vivid, that herringbone pattern needs something more subtle and tweedy.

And so I'm wandering Ravelry and I saw this amazing bag.

I love it in so many ways. I do not love the yarn in the specs, at least not for felting. Brown Sheep Lamb's Pride has too much fuzz for me. But this needs a solid color too, or the lovely knotwork would be lost. So I'm still in search of the right felted bag for the Manos, because it wants to be felted.

I also have leftover Kureyon and a bit of Cascade 220 in the stash, and I think it yearns to be a Vintage Bubble Bag. This would be a good bag for carrying all of my healthy diet snacks to the office. I made one in soft, misty colors a while back and I may have given it away, I can't find it among my stuff, but I'm in the mood to make one in vivid colors. I may have to go dig that out right now, because I'm in a felting mood today. I should be in a floor mopping mood, but I'm in a felting mood instead.

It's Finally Friday.

2007-10-26T18:39:00.000-04:00

Time does not fly between 8 and 5. This weekend, however, will pass in a heartbeat.

I have things to do this weekend. The dog and I will both get haircuts, though not at the same salon. He now goes to the salon that, back in the day, when I was a naive new Yorkie Mama, I thought was Outrageously Expensive. And I tried, um, 4 or 5 other shops, with wildly erratic results. (My favorite was the place that brushed him out and sprayed him with dry bath product and pretended they'd actually groomed him.)

This place was on the ball enough to fire the groomer who gave the Murph a razor burn in a very personal place before I even complained to them about it, and the girls are nice and remember him and greet him with hugs. Dog groomers are just like human hair salons, you have to shop around and usually end up spending more than you'd thought you'd ever spend at a place that you'd thought was too hoity-toity, which turns out to be not hoity-toity at all and you get what you pay for.

So then I'm back to the chi-chi spa for my own haircut. My Hair God is about to flee Florida, so I consider it critical that he continue the shaping of my growing-in patch, before I have to turn my head over to someone else if his house sells before mine. He has worked wonders with an impossible hair challenge, seriously. When I went to him post-op, I had an eighth of an inch of baby fuzz over a wide swath - to understand this, draw an imaginary line that goes up from the inner corner of your left eye, and imagine yourself bald in a patch that extends from that point over your eye at the front of your hairline, back 2 or 3 inches, curving around your head to end with a naked swath behind the left ear. Everything to the front of that imaginary line is gone, and there is an interesting red scar running the length of the back edge of the bald spot. (Somehow my beloved surgeon managed to put the incision on the back third of the shaved strip, so now that the hair is growing back you can't see it unless my hair is wet, and then I'd have to point it out. And he did that thoughtful thing while worrying about death, blindness, paralysis and such, serious things, not my future hairstyling needs, but he's that kind of thoughtful.*) *Edited: I give the credit for the minimalist head shaving to those who prepped me for surgery, but the elegant planning and the placement of the incision to minimize future annoyance was his. I am well aware that there was a whole team of amazingly considerate people in that OR. And though immediately post-op, when I was sweaty and nasty from the meds and had a knot in my hair at the back of my head the size of a fist and thought I'd have been better off if they'd shaved it all, because damn that was nasty, I now applaud them for knowing best. Because it's 8 months and I have a normal, office-ready style I don't have to think about anymore.

That is what I presented to the Hair God, and he turned it into a functional hairstyle, creating what I called the hair flap, a layer that covered the bald patch. It wasn't a style I'd have picked voluntarily, but under the circumstances it was freaking amazing and fabulous, and let me go out in public without a scarf. Not that I was really self-conscious over it, I mean, hell, it's just hair, it grows, but I was conscious of not wanting to make people uncomfortable by flashing the scar. That bothered me a bit. And now the naked patch has grown in with a comically irregular-length crop of hair, and some of it is actually long enough to be groomed into the neighborhood, especially the wild bits in front of my left ear. Two more haircuts and my bangs won't have that funky-short underlayer. So Hair God's house cannot sell before February. Then I wish him Godspeed as he flees Florida.

My drop-dead list the house date is now January. I am resigned to taking a big hit on the price, but I'll still at least make a profit of some sort. That's kind of nice after 11 years and pouring a ton of money and sweat equity into it. If I stop to think about how much we put into this place over the years I may cry. There is no way that I will "come out ahead" after calculating all of the repairs and improvements. And no, we didn't improve anything beyond the values in the neighborhood, because I actually know this business. Which is why I say this: Anyone who tells you that a home is a great investment is a fucking liar. It's a place to live, it's nice that it is yours and you can do what you want with it if the HOA will let you, but as an investment, you might as well put your cash in Jimmy Choos and Botox. Just my tired, bitter, have owned and sold four houses opinion.

Rather than go off on a tangent that would sound very jealous and unattractive, I'll go work on Cousin C's scarf, and count my many blessings. Happy Friday!

True Story About My Nutty Mother

2007-10-25T20:01:00.001-04:00

I know I shared the pre-vacation Drama. So, in the interim she saw a doctor she Likes. This is a big thing, and I don't expect it to last until I finish typing this post, but this isn't about that. The doctor is a pain management doctor, and very good, and put my mother through a thorough exam to correctly identify and treat her leg pain (mentioned in a previous post). So my mother had to have a lengthy MRI, and the pain management clinic has a sound system and gave her headphones while she relaxed in the MRI gizmo, and my mother listened to Old Standards. And afterward asked the technician/PA/I'm not sure and neither is she: "Was that Rod Stewart?" My mother was gleeful about the delighted reaction from her new doctor. Yes, it was Rod Stewart, and the clinic has a couple of his CDs. I can imagine how they chuckled over this tiny 81 year old woman identifying Rod Stewart's voice. Her daughter raised her right. ;-)

Because yes, my 81 year old mother knows Rod Stewart, though she wasn't aware that he had recorded the albums of old standards in recent years, and she's way excited about this. And she's devoted to Keith Olbermann, and when she can stay awake, Jon Stewart and The Daily Show. But I can't even stay awake for that, and God Bless the DV-R.

So I just ordered her all of Rod Stewart's Great American Songbook collection from Amazon. Because though she does drive me batshit crazy with her crazy moments, these good moments deserve reward and encouragement. Yes, Mom, there is a lot of fun out there in this world, and you are not too old to enjoy.

I'll deliver them personally after they arrive, but I won't visit this weekend, because I have a backlog of things to do. I dared to take A Whole Week Off. Still paying off the tab.

What was that I said?

2007-10-23T21:25:00.000-04:00

Some happy crap about how I would go back to work with a bright, shiny attitude?

By 10 a.m. yesterday, my right eye was twitching. As expected, nothing happened while I was gone. Everything froze for a week, because I wasn't there. Meetings were rescheduled, because I wasn't there. Things didn't move forward, because I wasn't there. No, I can't do this. This doesn't make me feel needed, or invaluable, it just makes me feel tired, and burdened, and like these people couldn't take a shit without my input. I am prunes. Or toilet paper. Whatever I am, it's a shitty job. And the biggest joke of all, to me, is that I am tired and memory-impaired and my already short attention span is now like a gnat with ADD, and They Rely on Me. It's scary as hell, isn't it?

Another thing I can't do anymore - Pilates. Oh. My. God. I wanted to mix up my exercise (which in this case means do something besides sit and bitch, because I haven't been to the gym in two weeks). So I pulled out my favorite Pilates DVD this evening, the Gaiam one, the intro to Pilates with Ana Caban. And I have done it many times, and it took me about 30 seconds to realize that the changes in my body aren't my imagination. I ain't got no core no more. I cannot find it. I did see a beach ball sitting around my belly button, I think that is where my core used to be, no more than a year and a half ago. This menopause thing is a bitch. It's like my body is inflating and melting at the same time. Oh, and I can't make a leg circle, my legs now do this weird spasmodic thing that is so not a circle. But I will persevere, because I am not a quitter, except of shitty stupid jobs. I will keep up with the Pilates, and update the resume.

Oh, and my war with the HOA continues, I will share that when I have time to organize my hostility.

The yarn I ordered for the Debbie Bliss Diagonal Jacket finally arrived - as I'd guessed, it had to be ordered, because nobody has that much of a single dye lot in stock. After I finish Cousin C's scarf and Boy's socks I'll allow myself to cast on. It was 92 today, there ain't no rush. Damn.

Back to the Real World. (bleh)

2007-10-21T08:20:00.000-04:00

I've spent the last two days recovering from the week. Friday all of my tiredness hit me at once, and I was good for nothing much all day. Yesterday was a bit better. Today I think I'm back to normal, which is good because tomorrow I'm back to the office. Bleh.

So, what have I been doing this weekend, besides laundry and groceries and such? I started the scarf for Cousin C. It's a gray weekend so I apologize for the extreme mediocrity of the photo:

The pattern is the Argosy Scarf from Knitty. I started and ripped three different patterns before settling on this one. My first thought was to do something lacy, but the lace was lost in the bright, busy colors. So it came down to a narrow Clapotis or this scarf, and this struck me as a little more unusual. It's a fun pattern to make, and I love this yarn so much I may have to buy more for a narrow Clapotis. I will have to put that in my Ravelry queue, because I'll forget about it by the time I finish all of the other things stimulating my imagination right now.

I'm somewhat over-stimulated because on Wednesday in Asheville I bought
Clara's Book. Wow. It's a rare knitting book that has more than one or two things I really must make - this book is full of Must Makes. It took me a couple of days of cogitation to figure out what it reminds me of - the background information on yarn, how it comes to be, how it behaves, the meaning of all of those exotic words like "two-ply" - this book is the knitting equivalent of watching Alton Brown's "Good Eats." It's the science of knitting, the chemistry of how yarn behaves, presented in an easy, clear and informative way (and not gimmicky-cute as AB can be). And the patterns are great, and I'm jazzed that many of them were contributed by actual human beings I know (and who read this little blog). All in all, it is extremely cool and a very worthwhile addition to a knitter's library.

Hey Dudley, what do you think of The Book?
Smells great!

Murphy needs a haircut. The good news is that the camera flash doesn't bother his eyes right now.

So I am back in the real world (bleh) and I am really and truly seriously going to try to adjust my attitude about it. Instead of focusing on the (bleh) things I don't like about the present, I am going to do my best to make the best of it. Focus on projects that will build toward the future, and continue to throw out and give away and clean up and fix up, but as with the French Blue Bedroom Walls, I will do things that I can enjoy now, instead of thinking of the future buyer's happiness. Because I've been living my life for the future, instead of living in the present - and I, of all people, really ought to know better.

Home again, home again....

2007-10-18T17:22:00.000-04:00

Today was gray and rainy as I left Asheville, and it rained until I was well east of Columbia, SC. Then the sun came out and it was hot. Hot hot hot. Still in the 90s here. It was a very easy drive, I was home in a little over 8 hours. Yes, I do drive a wee bit fast. Not crazy-reckless fast, but I don't think of the interstate highway system as something to linger over.

I have decidedly mixed emotions about coming home. I am glad to have my bed back, 4 nights on an air mattress were enough, thank you. I am glad to have my bathroom back, and my great water pressure and all of my grooming stuff. I plan to take a very long shower later, using half a bottle of L'Occitane Almond Shower Oil and my expensive shampoo. I missed the dogs and my stuff. Unfortunately, all of those critters and things are marooned in Orlando for the foreseeable future, until there is a sign of life in the housing market. So I have vowed to quit bitching and bloom where I am planted, and any other cutesy kitchen magnet wisdom that may apply.

It was a lovely vacation. I've decided that four nights away is probably my maximum tolerance, by last night I found myself getting quieter and more irritable, and for the first time had a little trouble falling asleep. I was ready for my own house again. We Cancerians are a pain in the ass that way.

Yesterday was a lovely, if very tiring, day. Boy and I went in search of waterfalls - actually, I drove, he navigated, he has already seen these waterfalls. I am enchanted by waterfalls, I could easily sit on a rock and look and listen to a waterfall for an entire afternoon and never feel restless. I think it's the negative ions. We went all the way to Transylvania (yes, it's true) County, and Jackson County, and even briefly into SC, on the waterfall tour.

Our first stop was Whitewater Falls, in Jackson County. It's a small park, with a paved path to the falls, definitely worth a detour (but it's quite a detour) if you are in the area. Boy remarked that the lack of rainfall was quite obvious, but it was beautiful. (Do click photos for full effect.)

Our next stop was a roadside pull-off on a highway I can't remember on the way to Cashiers. You have to have a "waterfall map" for some of these things. I left the map with its owner, so I can't tell you the name of the falls:

This is a very charming little spot, and I'll have to ask Boy to give me details so I can add them later. You pull off a winding mountain road onto a postage stamp of gravel, and follow a path into the woods about a hundred or so yards, not a long distance, not a hard walk, and it opens into this lovely little waterfall and swimming hole. Boy has been swimming here when he and his friends were out for a drive. I can't imagine getting into that cold water, but it really is the loveliest little swimming spot. If you are young, hardy, and it is very, very hot.

We debated hitting a few other spots, but by then it was way past lunch and we were hungry, so we made our way to Cashiers and searched for food. Cashiers, NC, is the "hot" retirement spot for rich Floridians - the parking lot at the shopping center where we eventually found a sandwich was full of Caddies and Lexus-es (Lexi?) all with FL tags, and we were surrounded by the Over 65 With Money crowd. For the life of me I can't see the appeal. Cashiers is out in the Middle of Effing Nowhere, there's nothing but big, fancy houses and golf courses and country clubs. I guess this is where you go if you are too rich to need to stalk Early Bird Specials and too old to stay up past 9. They can keep it.

Me, I want to "retire" to West Asheville. It's a hoot, it's the eccentric and artsy side of town, but they are unpretentious enough to mock themselves for it. Boy drove me by one of the houses I'd dreamed about buying - someone else bought it, obviously. Yeah, I could live there.

Last night Boy, his GF and I went to dinner at Chorizo, in the Grove Arcade, lah-di-dah, in downtown Asheville, and enjoyed it immensely. I left my leftovers in his fridge with a heavy heart, and ordered him to eat them for dinner today. The food was great, interesting ingredients and they aren't afraid of spice (I spotted and pushed aside the half of a habanero pepper I found lurking among the veggies) the portions were huge, and by the time we had the fresh, made tableside guacamole, the entree was twice as much food as I could tolerate. We sat outside, and it was actually a tad chilly. It was 64 when I left Boy's house this morning. I'm back in 92 degrees and humid. Party's over.

Tomorrow, photos of yarn. And I think I will wind and cast on a scarf for Cousin C with that amazing Regal Silk. And go to the gym, and do laundry, and have a gentle re-entry to real life.

A Drive in the Clouds

2007-10-17T08:28:00.000-04:00

Yesterday afternoon we went to Mt. Mitchell. The observation tower is closed for remodeling, so we had to settle for photos from the parking area. Not that it mattered, because the view looked like this:

It was, as predicted, a partly cloudy day, but most of the clouds were hanging around the mountains. It was a lovely and relaxing drive nonetheless, and I'll never outgrow the silly little thrill I get from driving into clouds as they hang low over the road, then back into sunshine, then around the bend of the mountain and whoops, into another cloud. It was funny and a little frustrating from a photographic angle, because for much of the drive we could see sunshine and beautiful views along stretches of the road where no stopping was allowed, and whenever we stopped for photos, the wind blew clouds directly over us. But even on a Partly Cloudy day, it is insanely lovely.

Later in the afternoon the clouds dissipated a bit, and the sun peeked out.

In the evening we dined and drank great margaritas sitting on the porch of a little place in West Asheville, then Boy and his gf dropped me back at the house to go out a little while longer - Mom was tired and can't hang with the young'uns all night.

You aren't going to believe this, but I didn't bring enough knitting on this trip. The only project I brought was boy's sock. I also brought the fall IK, figuring I'd find the right yarn for the Minimalist Cardigan and cast on while I'm here. Despite my best efforts to spend a fortune at Yarn Paradise, I didn't find anything that was the right gauge, or in a color that called to me. So I am dutifully toiling away on the sock and nothing else this week.

I am considering driving home a day early. The odds of rain and thunderstorms are higher over the next two days. I'll think about it later today. Today's itinerary is The Search for Waterfalls.

I bought yarn today.

2007-10-15T17:29:00.000-04:00

I bought some spectacular yarn:
Artyarns Regal Silk in colorway 111 This is, I believe, the most expensive yarn I've ever bought, and so, so worth it. It's sooo soft, and has a lovely sheen. I am going to make a lovely scarf for Cousin C. Hey, I think that means I have Christmas knitting to do! I never do Christmas knitting.

I also bought yarn that I think is for the Doctor's Bag in Knit2Together: Manos del Uruguay in colorway 106 Autumn. I say I think it is for that Doctor's Bag, because though I adore the colors I'm not sure that the herringbone stitch will show up very well. But the colors are delicious - and here's the thing about shopping in person vs. online. This is not a colorway I'd have thought of if I saw it on my monitor, but in the store it was fantastic.

I also felt, but did not buy, South West Trading Company Bamboo. It's the yarn used for one of the kimonos I covet in Knit Kimono. Yeah, that is the yarn I want to use. It's so soft, so lustrous, and it would be just right for the kimono.

And here's a teaser photo: After wandering and shopping and walking, I hopped on the Blue Ridge Parkway and took a couple of photos - nothing special, just random things, like this view of the French Broad River. Tomorrow morning I will clean my bug-splattered windshield thoroughly before we depart for a longer drive, to take real pictures.

It's so weird. I'm here a couple of weeks later than I was last year, and this year the trees are only starting to change. But it's still gorgeous. As I was heading back to my campground, I passed a gray haired lady driving a red convertible, cruising with the top down, silver hair flying in the breeze. She had her head tilted slightly to catch the late afternoon sun. It was like one of those investment firm commercials brought to life - she has retired well. Me, I have to go back to work next week, but I can dream.

Hello from Asheville

2007-10-15T07:51:00.000-04:00

I'm sitting in my son's living room enjoying his fast wireless connection, drinking coffee and planning my day. He is working today, so today is my solo wandering day, I love downtown AVL and can keep myself amused.

The drive up was gorgeous, after I got off the cursed 95 (eternally under construction) and headed west on I-26. I realize that I have become a true flatlander when the rolling hills are enough to amuse me. Then you get west of Spartanburg to the NC state line, and there are mountains! Pretty, pretty mountains. Not a cloud in the sky, temps in the mid-70s. Gorgeous.

Last year I made this drive in the Altima, and the Green River Gorge nearly killed it - I thought I was going to have to labor up the grade with my hazard lights on, like the truckers. But Baby scoffs at mountains, we zipped through there so easily I barely noticed it. And Baby was loaded to the gills - when Boy saw it he asked, "Are you sure you aren't moving in?" Most of it was surplus computer stuff, including my mother's unused PC, which will be souped up and given to one of his friends' daughters.

I am sleeping on an air mattress in the spare room, there is little room for my stuff and this is definitely roughing it, but I slept very well, over 9 hours last night. I never sleep that much. By the middle of the night I was glad I brought the down throw I stuffed into my bag to use as a blanket.

We did indeed eat at Ed Boudreaux's last night, it was as good as I had remembered. Today I will walk it off. And pick up some protein bars. I don't know how to turn on my son's TV - seriously, it's some sort of weird setup with multiple remotes and I couldn't figure out which one activated the cable - but I don't think I'll ask, because there are books to read and an iPod to listen to.

Oh, and random aside to Al Gore: The revolution is over baby, and you won - not just the Nobel Prize, but the hearts and minds of the regular folks. Because yesterday on I-26 I was driving along near a shiny pearly white new Prius, and when I pulled along side, it was being driven by a 60 year old good ol' boy in a farmer's cap. That weathered face belonged behind the wheel of a Chevy Silverado or an F-150. I'm thinking that the media meme that it's only effete latte drinkin' liberals who believe in that energy conservation and climate change foolishness may come to an end soon. Because I saw my first good ol' boy in a Prius.

Mostly Ready

2007-10-13T19:21:00.001-04:00

So, Baby is loaded with stuff I'm taking to Boy. Provisions have been purchased for Girl and the Critters. Cash has been obtained, gas tank is full, CDs have been burned and pond filter cleaned. Camera batteries are charged and I have packed both the chargers and the connection cable (THIS time). All I have to do is tidy the kitchen, run the vacuum, finish laundry and get some sleep. Tomorrow morning I will throw the rest of the stuff into Baby and hit the road. Not a brutally early start - Boy called, he suggests I get on the road around 9 and don't rush, he is working tomorrow and figures he will get there around the same time I do. So for me that's like the middle of the morning, and I have no need to rush leaving the house. I know where I want to go for dinner.

I bought an armload of magazines at B&N today, because I seldom really sit down to read a magazine. I bought something Mac related, IK's Holiday Knits, Oprah (because yes, though she annoys me at times I still love The Oprah, especially her magazine, which is so content-rich compared to most chick magazines). I looked for Clara's book, but it wasn't on the shelf yet. Weirdly enough, Crazy Aunt Purl's Drunk, Divorced and Covered in Cat Hair was shelved with the knitting books. Yes, it has some knitting patterns in it, at the back of the book, but it's not a knitting book. Knitting plays a supporting role. Don't they even glance at the books before shelving them?

The incredibly fabulous weather forecast has faltered a bit, it now looks like 30% chance of rain and cloudy most days. Oh well, clouds are okay, anything short of heavy rain will be fine by me. The bummer is that Boy is working on Monday, and that looks like the day with the best weather for hiking. Please think sunny thoughts for me.

Proof that Murphy is getting old....

2007-10-13T08:57:00.000-04:00

Here he is, after our first walk of the walking season (which begins when we "cool off" to about 85 degrees). Note tongue hanging out.

I am officially on vacation.

2007-10-12T18:07:00.001-04:00

As we left tonight I rode the elevator with boss R, and when we hit the first floor, I announced, "I now officially stop caring!" and exited. He laughed.

We ran through the script again today: "My nightmare is that you're not coming back." "Mine is that I have to come back." All this preparation and I'm only going for a WEEK, for Godssake! I know he's traumatized because the last time I left it was for months, but that wasn't a vacation, it was on a stretcher and mostly not conscious - and, may I say, they still survived. I do not take this stuff seriously.

I am officially in vacation mode. I am drinking beer and relaxing. But tomorrow I must leap out of bed and fly into action, speed clean the house, pack, pick up pet food and daughter food (microwaveable things, a 55 hour work week and classes and homework do not allow time for housework, cooking, or anything but throwing food in the pets' dishes and letting the dogs out and in again as she zooms by).

WE INTERRUPT THIS POST

for a true call from my mother, as I was writing this.

Me: "Hello."

She: "Cath? Are you coming over? I know you're busy getting ready to go out of town but I was just wondering. My homeowners insurance...." voice trails off in despair.

Me, thinking, OhWhattheFuckNOW responding with somewhat raised, animated voice: "Mom, I'm getting ready to leave on Sunday. I'm not coming over tomorrow, it will take me all day to get the house clean and the pond filter cleaned and buy pet food and pack and such." (And you live 2 hours away by choice, remember?) Didn't say that, did think it.

She: Insert a lot of rambling and whiny apology here.

Me: I'm sorry if I yelled, but honestly I told you just the other night that I'm leaving on Sunday! I can't come over, I have an insane pile of stuff to do before I leave! What's the problem with your homeowners' insurance?

She: Oh, there's no problem. I got the refund check from the other company.

Me: Head Explodes (figuratively, not literally, but you can see why it was literally in February): You got the refund check? That's a good thing! Why did you call me with this tone of the world coming to an end and start begging me to come over?

She: Oh, I didn't realize I sounded that way. Nothing's wrong. (She didn't realize it? Bullshit.)

So, after that we had a pleasant enough conversation, and I started telling her stories of my work week, the unfuckingbelievably stupid problems, the high level of crazy and insanely stupid people I deal with, the meetings from hell, and she stopped focusing on herself and realized that I really did have other things going on in my life. And I asked her why she never calls me with happy news.

She: This was happy news, I got the check.

Me: You didn't mention the check. You started out asking when I could come over, in that "The world is ending" tone. You didn't say, "Hey, I got the refund check!"

She: I thought I mentioned it. I must be getting senile.

Me: You are so damn far from senile. You are sharper than anybody I deal with at work. I should get you a job at my company fixing all the reports that are fucked up beyond redemption. Don't even try to pretend you are senile, nobody will believe it.

She: Laughs. And agrees that she needs to stop sounding so damn negative.

So, once again an aggressive response to Needy Mother snapped her out of it, for now. But it takes a lot out of me, because OhMyGAWD this was a hellish week.

I've opened another beer, and I'm going to spend the evening burning CDs for the road. Is it slightly shameful that I'm 49 and love Pink and Maroon 5 and Matchbox Twenty? But there will be Bon Jovi, for old times' sake. High energy stuff, because I need all the energy I can get to survive my crazy life.

God, how I need this week off.

OMG, it's so exciting!!!

2007-10-11T06:55:00.000-04:00

Clara's Book will be out on the 16th, and it sounds fabulous and has patterns by more people I know are real, like Bess and Amie and Sheila and Jennifer, and all of them are real and are fabulously fun to know. So, you three or four people who read this blog who
don't read KR, go check out Clara's book. She's not a fluffy-wuffy-jump-on-the-bandwagon-and-write-a-book knitter, and neither are her contributors. They just knit. For real.

Did you ever look around and suddenly realize that everything is magically falling into place for you? Me neither. For me everything good takes hard work - even getting ready to go on vacation for a few days has required a big push at work, organizing, updating, shoving various projects forward, leaving notes and a trail of ~~breadcrumbs~~ chocolate for the new paralegal, who is stalwart and brave and aggressive enough to survive on her own, thank GOD. I have faith that they will survive without me, and I will take a Whole Week Off with a clear conscience.

This week was one stupid meeting after another, and reassuring R that I really will come back (because I still have to sell the house). I know most of my tasks won't go anywhere while I'm gone, so a similar push will be necessary when I get back. I was gone for almost 3 months after the brain thang and when I came back it was like a return to Brigafrickin'doon - almost 3 months and it was as if I'd never been gone. Yes, there were some cast changes in the ongoing drama, we're kinda like Law and Order that way, but the job didn't improve much. We must get better writers, and definitely need a new casting director.

Fixing up the house - hard work. Getting fit again - hard work. Enjoyable work, but hard work. Work - hard work. Not very enjoyable work, just hard work. But if I'm looking, if I'm focused on my goals, I see the pieces of my life moving around, and outside influences lining up to help me focus on my goals. That has been happening a lot lately. It makes it worth the slog of keeping on.

Yes, I still knit.

2007-10-10T19:24:00.000-04:00

But not that much, and I am too lazy to take pictures at the moment. But in addition to the two Red Scarf scarves I have to remember to mail before I leave, I turned the heel and am heading down the home stretch of a very plain ribbed sock for Boy, in lovely springy Cherry Tree Hill, in muted blue and red stripes and flecks of tweedy cream that look like an error in the dye process but work in a sock. This would be great if I bought this yarn for socks, but I bought it for a shawl. Caveat eBay. Love the texture of the yarn. Still not totally sure about this two circs thing, and once again, fearing that this sock will be too wide for Boy's foot. I will finish one (or almost finish it) and bring it with me to get a test fit, I swear I made him a pair with this pattern and needle size before and they fit nicely, so maybe I'm just imagining that they look like they are made for a fatter foot.

I cannot believe it is only Wednesday, this week is so full of crazy every day is two days long. There is no stress like working in an industry that it currently on thin ice. I feel like a fraud among them because I have a diverse resume, and could jump ship, and will when the moment comes. It's a lot scarier if your entire work history is tied to the industry.

So, we're a smaller, "leaner" machine, designed to "ride out this tough time," which means that we are all doing multiple jobs, but it didn't make the not so smart people any brighter, so the ones with brains have to carry even more work and more people on their backs all day. My brain and my back are both aching, and I can't wait to get away, even for a week. And I know I have it easy compared to my boss, who is carrying a load that would cause me to run away screaming.

Meanwhile, back in existing home sales world, the house like mine up the street just had another price cut and is getting down into Why Should I Bother? territory. I may just have to hunker down and ride this market out through the next year. I am not looking to get rich off real estate, I am smart enough to know that is bullshit, but I do have to walk away with a decent start-over check and the race to the bottom isn't over yet. After 11 years and a lot of money spent on this house I really would like to have something to show for it, since the house is the biggest investment I have left after all I've been through. Depressing.

It's really depressing because my area is not affected much by the subprime market, adjustable rate mortgage disaster. I live in an area that is built out, upper middle class, great school district, with lower than average house turnover. Foreclosures are low in my county. Yet houses aren't selling, and prices have dropped like a rock. Listing in November is now turning into Listing in January, maybe. We'll see how things go, with my job, with the market, with everything.

Enough of that. My son called as I was writing this, his job situation is as "fluid" as mine, being with a start-up company and all that jazz, and he's just hanging in to see if the talk of transfer and such comes to pass. Yeah, the economy is just great ! Problems, what problems? Says President Alfred E Newman. What a load of crap. But I digress.

The good news is that he should have several days off during my visit, so we can go hiking. I am superstitious/sensible enough not to go hiking alone, because I really don't want to collapse on the trail and get eaten by bears. Not that I don't love bears, but not enough to be a protein source.

There will be many pictures. I am making a detailed packing list, which includes things like DON'T FORGET THE CAMERA CABLE! in all caps, because I forgot it when I went to MDS&W. I will have the MacBook, two cameras, the small foldable Ott Light (his house doesn't have knitting-quality lighting) the phone charger, the Bluetooth headset charger, and a blow dryer. I'll give him cash to cover the spike in the electric bill. When he isn't dragging Olde Mom up and down mountains I will wander and shop and sit at outdoor bars with a book and a margarita. I shall knit, and get my nails done. I will sleep soundly at night, and not think of work at all. Sounds like heaven, doesn't it?

Vacation Countdown.

2007-10-07T18:33:00.000-04:00

This time next week I will be at my son's house in Asheville, trying to decide what to do about dinner. I need to start the vacation preparations early, so I am not a frantic mess on Saturday, as I try to remember to get cash for drive through on the road, fill Baby with gas, etc., and leave sufficient pet supplies for Girl, who will be working her usual long hours and going to classes 4x a week and can't run around buying things I might forget. I must be sure I have sufficient clean clothes and all the electrical cables to charge all the devices that I will be bringing, because, yes, it's sad, I must have them. I need to pack my own sheets and pillows, because Boy's house is not lavishly appointed (to put it mildly). I am also bringing random surplus computers and parts, so he and his friends can either strip 'em down or soup 'em up for use by various friends' kids.

I need a shopping list for yarn, too, because while I'm there I will of course end up at two of the three shops I visited last year. Earth Guild and Yarn Paradise are definitely on the hit list. I will indulge in a manicure and pedicure, and I will bring, and buy, books.

Time to read and knit, without the nagging distractions of a house that needs cleaning and laundry to do and needy dogs, and food to be purchased and cooked - yeah, I'm getting old, reading, knitting, hiking, and a pedicure - that's a delightful vacation.

But I did not win the lottery last night, so I will not be asking a realtor to find my new home. I would still move there if I could figure out that whole working for a living thing, but that's stumping me.

Boy will be on his way elsewhere in a few months, on his first Corporate Relocation. He is ambivalent, he's not crazy about the destination but it's a good line for the resume and a good opportunity.

Meanwhile, because my life is never whole without a dose of Mother Crazy, the latest is that she has been having alot of pain in her leg, and had an MRI last week, with a tentative diagnosis of radiculitis. Which is a catch-all diagnosis, but I'm pretty sure she didn't get it from playing touch football, so it looks like this is going to be the latest chapter in the Ongoing Drama. Because she's 81 and still surprised by every aspect of this aging thing, and being happy to be alive and in her own home at 81 honestly hasn't occurred to her. I don't mean to sound flippant, but plenty of people half her age have this and get up and go to work every day - I remind her of this when the Drama gets too deep.

How did I miss this?

2007-10-06T09:39:00.000-04:00

I just discovered Jezebel.com, and this story about the photoshopping of Faith Hill, with before-and-after comparison.

I'm so comforted to see that Faith Hill looks like a normal 39 year old mom, she has laugh lines, and just a hint of back fat peeking out of that dress, and she is very, very pretty in a normal, healthy way. Isn't it bizarre that Redbook, a magazine that is aimed at women around Faith Hill's age, chose to turn her into a Cosmo Girl for their cover?

Further Proof, If Any More Is Needed

2007-10-06T09:05:00.000-04:00

that I am not a Real Knitter(TM): Kaffe Fassett and Brandon Mobley will be at Yarn Paradise in Asheville on October 15th. And I will be in Asheville on October 15th. And I have no particular desire to go join the mob scene to see them or get their autographs. I like them both just fine, but not enough to want to go, even though Yarn Paradise is about 5 minutes from my son's house. I will visit YP while I'm in town, because I love that shop, but I think I'll avoid the Fassett-Mobley riot.

And now that I am "in" the Ravelry club, I am not sure how much I'll use it. I spent a little time setting up, adding a project or two, but it looks like it could become a time-eating monster. It DID motivate me to finally set up a Flickr account, which I will get around to adding to my sidebar.

A little late

2007-10-06T08:04:00.000-04:00

Susan Miller's October horoscope for Cancer. Nothing in it jumped out at me, but it sounds like a good time to get ready to make the changes in my life that need to be made. Waiting for Mercury to go direct again, of course.

For Cursing Mama, and anyone curious

2007-10-05T20:07:00.000-04:00

a snapshot of what's wrong with FL: let the third-worldization of Florida continue. As long as the rich keep getting their tax cuts, let the budget deficits be damned. Protect the rich, screw everything and everybody else. Yeah. The only thing remarkable in this "Well, duh!" article is that it got published with the observations about those who benefit from this intact.

Ruminations.

2007-10-04T18:22:00.000-04:00

Apparently there was a shitstorm over at Yarnstorm, when somebody wrote a snarky/bitchy and wildly off-base article about Jane's new book. And of course a fair sized chunk of the Internets rushed to Jane's defense. And I thought I'd throw in my two cents.

I adore that blog. It is one of my must reads. I also admire Martha Stewart and thought she got screwed when she got sent to jail for something that would have earned a man a slap on the wrist if anyone noticed at all. I am your basic working woman, I never wanted to stay home (except now, when I'm tired of working and dammit, if I'd gone into the feds I'd be able to retire by now like my cousin did). But that does not mean I have any ill will, contempt, or anything else for anyone who gets to revel in cooking and quilting and canning things. I may not have time to do many of those things but I still love them, and I do them when I can, and Jane's photography blows me away. And honestly, until I read that bitchy article, I had never really thought about whether she had a day job or not. It never even occurred to me to wonder. In the year or so I've been reading her blog I never saw her hold forth on the virtues of not working vs. working, let alone hold herself out as someone to be admired because she "sacrificed" herself to have this fabulous life baking and crafting and growing things. She shares lovely images and ideas, and keeps herself out of it to a remarkable degree. And I certainly never felt that I was somehow "not as good" because I don't can my own preserves, or actually hate gardening and can't keep a tomato plant alive.

The article is a manufactured catfight, based on the false premise that every woman feels pressured to quilt, bake, make preserves, knit, whatever, and is burdened by guilt because she can't find time. Bullshit. We can't all make a book out of it, but a whole lot of us still squeeze these things in around the day job. We do these things because we love them. We can do these things and love these things and also be doctors and lawyers and nurses and teachers and accountants and whatevers. We do not have to forsake everything domestic to have careers too. It is not an either/or, pick a side, you're either with us or agin us controversy. In trying to sound all ballsy and feministy and knock the book, the author falls back on the anti-feminist position that a woman who has a job can't do anything else, and we should hate books like this and people like Martha Stewart, for making us feel "inadequate." What a slick, backhanded way of telling us how we are supposed to feel - in trying to blame Jane Brocket for making women feel inadequate, the writer is telling readers that they are supposed to feel inadequate, that this is the evil underhanded motive of a book about nice things. Me, I like being reminded of the pleasure of baking and the like, it helps motivate me to make time for it, and it makes me happy.

So I love Yarnstorm. Take that, whiny faux-feminist writer person.

You are The Wheel of Fortune

Good fortune and happiness but sometimes a species of
intoxication with success

The Wheel of Fortune is all about big things, luck, change, fortune. Almost always good fortune. You are lucky in all things that you do and happy with the things that come to you. Be careful that success does not go to your head however. Sometimes luck can change.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

Found via Chelle

And you know, I think it's accurate. I've had a lot of bad things, really bad things, happen in my life, and yet I'm still rolling along. Not much danger of "success going to [my] head" though - all I have to do is wash my face and feel the screw heads under the skin to remember that I have used up a whole lotta luck lately.
I do not take any of my good fortune for granted.

Knitting Week.

2007-10-03T20:28:00.000-04:00

I got my Ravelry Invite (have barely poked my nose in so far) and got Crazy Aunt Purl's book. Finally. Both of them, finally. I feel like I've been standing behind the velvet ropes of Ravelry until my platform sandals are cutting into my feet. (Why am I having a club flashback when I was With the Band? I never actually stood in a line anywhere I can recall.) Anyway, I'm in, and I am AuntMaisie on Ravelry. She was adorable. CatherineM was taken, so if you meet CatherineM there, she is an impostor. Unless she's a talented and prolific knitter, and then she's me. Naah, that won't fool anybody.

I may take Laurie's book to Asheville with me, so I can savor it with a cup of coffee while soaking up ambiance and fresh air and funky downtown Ashevilleness in a coffee shop. I will laugh and sob appropriately in public, delicately dabbing at my eyes and holding the book so everyone can see the title, no charge to Laurie. (If I got out more I'd rent myself out for this service.) I'll be visiting bookstores while I'm there, and I will look for her book and Sue's book and Clara's book, and am I missing anybody who has gotten published lately? Let me know, and I will take surreptitious pictures with my camera phone, and try not to think about how all I write are work related emails and memos, and grocery lists. Oh, I do keep a journal, but that's not very creative either. Unless by "creative" we mean "Kinda pathetic, because damn, that woman has no life."

Because, yes, my work life is sucking the life out of me, and I don't want that to become more than a figure of speech again. This is the job I left on a stretcher. It has not gotten easier - I can't go into the details for obvious reasons, but here is a snapshot: The other day in a meeting someone in another department said she'd been sorting out what we had to do on a thing, and had been in communication with the local municipality about this thing, and she'd email me the stuff. So after a few days I didn't get the stuff, so I emailed her and asked her if she'd received it yet. And she sent me an email from the city guy. Again, without getting into particulars, the city guy didn't understand the issue and his answer did not fit the facts. So I replied to our girl who forwarded the email, and explained in two sentences of plain English how that fix wouldn't work in this situation. Thinking perhaps maybe she'd like to understand, and that if I told her this she'd somehow, I don't know, take some sort of initiative to move this along. And she emailed me back the equivalent of hands clapped over her ears, la-la-la - obviously this was a Legal Thing that Required Thinking, and therefore it is not her job, it is my job. She'll help if she can, just let her know. The buck, and every manner of shit from mouse to elephant, lands in our department, and mostly on my desk. I would throw this back to her, but I know that she is right, she can't do it. And the executive team is flying at 30,000 feet over Mental Munchkinland, and doesn't understand why our dept takes so long to get anything done. I am tired, I want to focus my life elsewhere, and I can't wait to get out of this place.

Girlchild needs a new car. She needed it six months ago, but the Brave Little Sentra she inherited from her father has lived a hard life, has been hit twice, has slogged its way around the Southeast, and it deserves a dignified farewell. She deserves something younger and more trustworthy. So please join us in visualizing a new(er) vehicle for her, and a more pleasant job that pays better, so she can make a car payment. Because she works a very hard and very responsible job, a "you can go to jail if you fuck up" kind of job, and yet she isn't paid enough to afford rent AND a car payment, and she'd like to move out of her mother's house and afford a modest used Saturn. Welcome to Florida. Please leave your wallet, we don't make any money here.

Can you BELIEVE October starts tomorrow?

2007-09-30T17:34:00.000-04:00

September was both very long (while at the office) and very short (while trying to get anything else done). My September goals were only partially met. I did unload, or find a home for, well over 100 pounds of Stuff from this house, but that was cheating because my friend L is going to take my elliptical trainer. I did get to the gym at least 3x a week, but I think there was only 1 week that I hit 5x. I did not lose 10 pounds. My daughter says I look smaller, so I will tell myself that I replaced fat with muscle and though the scale didn't move, my work slacks are sagging in the butt. I've heard from more than one person that it took about two months of solid gym attendance before the scale really moved, including my own daughter, who is now so tiny it's crazy, all through exercise and watching her diet. She was working yesterday and asked if I could wash her jeans for her while doing other laundry. As I was folding them I marveled at how long and narrow they are. So I am neither disappointed nor discouraged, but I am going to pay closer attention to my eating habits, because I know those could be better.

I went to the gym today, and did a solid hour on the elliptical trainer. An hour. Me. 49 year old brain aneurysm survivor me. Now, I didn't do 20 miles, but I watched an entire episode of L&O Criminal Intent while maintaining at least a steady 3.8-4 mph, with bursts of faster time during commercials, which is not bad for someone who really ought to be dead. You really notice how many commercials there are when you use them for your high intensity time. The first time I got back on an elliptical machine last spring, I got dizzy in 2 minutes and had to lurch the two feet to my bed to lie down, wondering if I'd have to somehow reach my cell phone and call 911 - THAT kind of dizzy. Now I can do an hour. Whoo! Hiking in the mountains is going to be SO much easier this time.

I skipped the weights today. I need to balance the weights with yoga, because I have been bad about stretching and between the weights and sitting at a desk being tense all day, my arms and shoulders are so tight it's awful. I used to be flexible, but around a year of neglecting yoga left me as inflexible as a board. I'm thinking daily yoga and then a couple of serious weight training sessions a week will be a better balance.

I have an estimate on painting the house, and it came in exactly to the penny what I expected/guesstimated, so I think that's a go, as soon as love bug season is over. I didn't even think about love bug season, but fortunately the painters did. For the uninitiated, Love Bugs are black bugs that live for a brief period of time in the spring and the fall. They are called love bugs because all the do for their brief existence is screw. In midair. And they are attracted to the smell of car exhaust, so they end up splattered all over the front of your vehicle, where their horny little bug juices eat the paint off your car. A good swarm will make it impossible to see through your windshield. At this time of year, school fundraiser car washes feature kids at the side of the road holding up signs, We Clean Off Love Bugs! Which is not an easy thing to do, because once these little buggers get baked on, it takes some serious muscle to get 'em off. They (the bugs, not the kids, but maybe the kids too) are also attracted to the smell of fresh paint, and will stick themselves to it if you paint outdoors at this time of year. So the painting is scheduled for later in October, after the love bugs have boinked themselves to death once again.

This month is Asheville! Whoo! As of today, I plan to drive up on the 14th and return that Friday, the, whatever it is, 19th? That way I have Saturday to get ready to hit the road, and the weekend to recover, and I think 5 nights on an air mattress is probably all I'm really good for anyway. I do believe in the adage that houseguests and fish stink after 3 days, so I will try to be as unobtrusive and un-annoying as I can be. I know the cat will be pissed, he hissed at me every damn morning last time, right after purring and asking me to put food in his dish. Plaintive meow for food. After food hits dish, eyes of hate and a hiss, because I am a stranger, even though I do have those convenient opposable thumbs. Use the thumbs, woman, then fuck off. It was quite funny.

My son would of course give me his room as he did last year, but I think it's more convenient if I stay downstairs because I wake up much earlier than anyone else and I'd like to be able to putter around, drink coffee and get on the computer without being a disturbance. I will talk to him this week and we shall firm up plans - he will not be off work for my entire visit, probably only a couple of days of it, but I am able to amuse myself. I am thinking a day spa visit would be nice, nails and such, and of course I will have my camera. It dawned on me that I will be bringing more electrical devices than clothing, and the number of power cords borders on insane.

MacBook and its power cord. And the iPod and its cable and such. Two cameras and their cables and battery chargers - wee purse camera and Big Momma. Phone and charger, of course. Then regular stuff like a blow dryer. It will take me a day to prep and remember all the cables I need before I get on the road, and about 10 minutes to pack my wardrobe of jeans and running shoes and boots, including remembering socks and makeup.

I am counting down the days!

Scarily Accurate, Ain't It?

2007-09-28T14:22:00.000-04:00

You Are 87% Burned Out

You are extremely burned out.
You work too hard, and you're not getting the results you deserve.
It's time for a life change, as soon as you can manage it.
You're giving away most of your energy to something you don't even enjoy.

Are You Burned Out?

I knew it would say I'm burned out, because DUH, but the description of the situation is downright uncanny. That's exactly it: I'm giving away most of my energy to something I don't even enjoy. Not even a little. And I feel just like that picture.
Stolen as usual from Cursing Mama

Just met with the painters recommended by my friend L. She's right, they are just lovely people, and can fix the wood damage caused by a young chewing Boston Terrier (yes, he gnawed on the house) and put up new gutters too. If the price is right, I have more fix-up work for them and I let them know it, so fingers are crossed that dangling future work before them will keep the price down. It works for our subs, and if they really are reasonable I'm happy to put them to work making this place market-ready - I've done a lot, but the finishing touches are theirs if we work a deal. I'd love to just be able to say "Do it."

And in an example of the Universe responding when you ask, today I happened to be here when my new yard guy K stopped by. I should not have been here and this is not his normal day, so it was totally serendipitous. He bought the business from my Beloved Yard Guy P, who had health problems and had to get out of the lawn maintenance biz. K's a good guy too, and I had a chance to ask him to give me a proposal for sprucing up the Planting Beds of Great HOA Offense. (Just in case I'm sounding rich here, my lawn guy is just a mower man, he rides a wee John Deere around the grass once a week. I pay a flat rate that is more than my MD cousin's condo fee, just to keep the grass under control because I can't do it myself on a weekly basis and live to tell about it. I don't have a real Yard Man who plants flowers and pulls weeds for me.) But K is eager to please and willing to take on extra work so I asked him to give me a proposal, because if he can haul a pickup-truckload of mulch to my house and put it down in an afternoon, it beats the hell out of me hauling bags home from Home Despot and doing it a few bags at a time, and the cost break on mulch bought in bulk vs. by the bag retail will at least partially offset paying him to do it if his price is reasonable.

So the next step is to pick paint colors and submit them to the HOA architectural review process. And yes, a variation on my letter of a couple of days ago will be included in the package. I'll take out a few bits of snark, but not many.

Oh, and the funniest of all - as the painters were leaving, one of them remarked that my lawn was so lush and springy and beautiful she wanted to roll on it like a little kid. The same lawn that got the shit-o-gram from the management company a few weeks ago for not being up to snuff and having dead patches. Yep. Same lawn. Just so you know it's not me when I say that I'm dealing with the HOA Nazi. The big dead patches in the common areas are still there, a couple of rainy days and mine are gone. It's kinda Biblical, isn't it? Worrying about the small dead spot on the individual lawn and not seeing the huge chunks of dead sod in her own ~~eye~~ area of
responsibility? It's The Parable of the HOA.

This isn't to say that I am totally anti-HOA. I've lived in neighborhoods without them and I do know that they are necessary, lest you end up living with people who think it's perfectly okay to bring the dump truck home on the weekend and park it in the front yard. (No, seriously, this happened in my old neighborhood after we had moved out.) And I don't even mind submitting my color scheme to the HOA for approval, if doing that prevents someone from painting their house entirely pumpkin orange, every inch of the exterior the same, as L's house was when she bought it. I saw it before she had it painted. It was pumpkin orange. It made your eyes hurt. The previous owner had obviously bought paint on sale and just spray painted the whole damn thing. She had it painted as soon as she could afford it, and it's now a lovely soft sage green with contrasting trim and looks like a showplace, and that's how she hooked me up with these painters. So I am not entirely anti-HOA, they do serve a purpose, and the things I was cited for are things I already had calendared to fix.

It's the level of anal-retentive detail here, and the barrage of letters and reminders that I can be fined, when frankly, the common areas I'm payin'for with my dues ain't looking all that special. Remove the dead sod from thine own eye, bitch.
If Ms. Anal-Retentive Bimbo put this much energy into policing the contractors we're paying for, I would not have this much of an attitude about being bugged about my landscaping.

But I shouldn't complain, the letters invigorated me. I am moving up my schedule, getting my ass in gear, and pushing to get this place in shape to sell. I had been discouraged about the slow market, but this was a reminder that slow market or not, this has to be done.

Misc. Un-House-Related Stuff.

2007-09-26T20:02:00.000-04:00

True exchange with my boss, as we were driving back from a meeting today:

He: "I have a recurring nightmare that you are going to go to North Carolina next month and not come back."

Me: "I have a recurring DREAM that I will do that."

And because he is a truly sweet, sensitive guy and a friend, and not a jerk boss, he threw back his head and laughed.

I reassured him that my vanishing to NC was not likely. I'm flexible about my job choices and willing to take a hefty pay cut to get out of FL, but day-um, I really can't live and save money to retire on $30k a year there, and that's their paralegal salary range, so low it's like a time capsule from 1982. Boy says everybody he knows has two jobs- one to pay the rent, the other the one they care about. That's fine if you're under 30. I'll be 50 next year and I need things like sleep and health insurance.

I adore that area. I really do. Asheville felt like home the minute I got there, I saw myself sliding into a happy life there in a funky little West Asheville cottage, me and the Murphster, and surrendering to my long suppressed artsy-fartsy side after doing a reasonable 40 hours at a job that won't suck the life out of me. But that whole needing to eat and keeping a roof over my head and not eat cat food in my old age practical business gets in the way here. Lack of jobs that pay enough for even that funky old W. Asheville house - yes, that's a deal killer.

I held back the thought that going "home" (after 25 years) to MD is looking like a smarter choice. Lots of jobs, decent salaries, and cute condos with fees that aren't the GDP of a small African nation. Unlike here, where the condo fees are terrifying, because you can't get insurance on a condo for less than the GDP of a small African nation, even if it is many miles inland and not a highrise. I know exactly what my cousins are paying in MD and it's a far, far better deal, and their neighborhoods are lovely, and they have good jobs.

My shoes arrived from Zappos on Tuesday. Both pairs are perfect. I think the fact that size 7B hiking shoes are heavenly comfortable on my feet, while 7B office shoes are tight and make me miserable, there may be a message there. I will go hike around Asheville for a week next month. Please visualize a decent paying job. Or a condo in MD and a good job there. I'm flexible.

Must.Sell.House.

2007-09-26T19:02:00.000-04:00

Today's mail contained TWO shit-o-grams from my HOA, one regarding weeds in the flower beds and the other because the exterior needs paint. Both items are on my list of things to do before putting the house on the market, because I know they need to be done before selling, but someone driving down the street would not notice, unless their purpose for driving down the street is to send nasty letters to residents. I am wise in the ways of HOA management companies, the few, the proud, the beauty school dropouts and the flunked out of French Fry U, who make up the people who take personal satisfaction about stopping in front of your house and writing you up for flower beds that aren't impeccable.

I do not have peeling paint and cars on blocks in my yard. The grass that got me written up a few weeks ago is fine now, becuase it rained, just as I told the stupid bitch in my email. My house is okay - not a showplace, but certainly not an eyesore, and it is no worse than a half dozen other houses within sight of my front yard. I've spent a ton of money and called in favors to get the place looking nicer just in the past two years.

I agree that it's due for exterior paint, it was last painted in 2001, after we added a room and about two weeks before my husband was diagnosed with terminal cancer, and in FL that's a lifetime, top of the line paint gets 6 years, tops, in this climate. I already have the name of a reliable painting company in my planner, that was just waiting for the end of hurricane season.

I agree that the planting beds need weeding and fresh mulch, and I had already planned to be out there to start on this project as soon as it's light this Saturday, because I can't do this in the heat now, so I have only a few hours after it gets light and before the heat makes me dizzy. I also called in a favor from our favorite landscape company, and I'm getting work done on the sprinkler system and he's throwing in some new shrubs.

So it's not like I'm intentionally neglecting the house, you know? I really do think this deserves a personal letter to the HOA management company bimbo, don't you?

Dear Bimbo:

I was terribly distressed to read that the weeds in my planting beds and the condition of the exterior of my house are not up to the high standards set by the [Smugly Republican] HOA. I am so sorry that I haven't been able to keep up with these things, but it has been a busy year. I had purchased bags of mulch to redo those planting beds, and darn it, I had this nuisance of a near fatal ruptured brain aneurysm, followed by a craniotomy and almost 3 month recovery period.

Then it was back to work, at a job that takes a lot out of me and requires long hours, which are very hard for me because a brain aneurysm changes you in a lot of ways, if you live. Of course, I had no choice about going back to work, since I am still paying on the 2nd mortgage I had to take out to cover the debts incurred by my husband's slow terminal cancer.

I would have welcomed help from the neighbors in this lovely community while I am unable to do yard work in 96 degree heat after working 50+ hours a week, but none was offered, and you know, going over two months without a paycheck while on medical leave makes it hard to hire help.

I want to paint this house and fix up this yard even more than you want me to do it. I cannot wait to leave this "lovely place to live." I am sorry my yard fell into such disrepair, and my inconvenient life events are harming the property values. Yes, I'm sure it's the weeds in my garden! All my fault!!

I've lived here 11 years and never received a nasty letter from the HOA, and now I've had 3 in 2 months. I'm really feeling the love. It's truly a lovely place to live, as long as you are rich and healthy and have free time and discretionary income to keep everything looking like Disney World - sterile and perfect. No room for real life here, so I'm eager to take my messy, complicated, scary real life out of here as soon as I can.

I hereby request a 90 day grace period before you start fining me for not living up to your standards. I anticipate that this is the soonest I can scrape together the money to get the last things fixed up before I put this house on the market. Nobody wants out of this neighborhood more than I do, because the values of this neighborhood are not my values.

Sincerely (inviting you to kiss my ass),

Me.

I will always remember the experience of living among the upper middle class and almost exclusively Republican Good Christians, during the worst years of my life.
It's been just swell.

I should just shop online first and save the gas and aggravation.

2007-09-23T14:36:00.001-04:00

Today I did the usual swing through Target, bought the usual necessaries, and then decided to hit DSW Shoe Warehouse. I need new running shoes - my beloved Saucony shoes are no longer as supportive as they should be, they've gotten a little too relaxed and comfy, if you know what I mean. My feet have been a bit achy. It's time to demote them to yard shoes, just in time for the great yard work push that must begin when I return from Asheville.

I also wanted to get a basic pair of hiking shoes. I hiked in my Beloved Saucony Shoes last year and while I do not blame the shoes at all for my gasping, sorry-ass Little Middle Aged Engine That Couldn't performance, I did feel they weren't the best footwear for the trails. This year I am averaging a brisk 10-15 miles a week on an incline on the treadmill or on the elliptical at the gym, so there should be no pathetic gasping. My feet deserve "real" shoes, which would also be useful for days in the field at work.

DSW had not a single pair of hiking-type shoes at all, though they always had them in the past. I walked past rows of them for years when I didn't need them, but when I go looking for a pair - nada. And not a single pair of Saucony running shoes in a size 7. So I came home and hopped on Zappos and ordered what I wanted.

This is becoming the norm for me - whether it's pond filter parts or yarn or now shoes, I can't find it in the stores. Just as I have been cured of casual yarn shopping, the shopping gods have conspired to cure me of any casual shopping at all, by never having anything I need when I decide to go looking for it.

Attention Shopping Gods: I've purchased new running shoes and hiking shoes, you may put them back in the stores now. You guys are a riot. Really.

The Redskins are on at 4. I'll be watching. I'm finally watching football again. I'll alternate between working on the 2nd Red Scarf and bagging another bag of miscellaneous for Goodwill, and yelling at the television, because I do love football.

The Secret. And Yarn.

2007-09-22T19:19:00.000-04:00

Today I was feeling really wiped out and dragging, so I decided to sit my butt on the couch and knit. I watched "The Secret" on Movies on Demand. One of my many former bosses at this job swore I had to see it, so I decided I'd give it a go. Hmmm...

I am familiar with the Law of Attraction, and do believe it is true, though I violate it regularly. But the movie took a concept that could be explained in 15 minutes and stretched it past the breaking point. I found one part really uncomfortable/offensive, and that was the cheery lady who swears she was cured of breast cancer in 3 months because she willed herself to be well.

I totally believe in the mind-body connection, and that we can have an enormous impact on our own well being by our attitude and how we behave, and that a lot of medical woes need to be fought via a mental game. But this took it too far for me - so this lady was "cured"(we get no particulars) because she watched funny movies and kept a good attitude? There is no doubt that doing this is good for anyone going through an illness, it helps the body heal, for sure, and gives you the best chance to win. But "cure?" What does this say to all of the cancer patients who are doing all the right things and have incredibly brave and cheerful attitudes, who don't win? It's uncomfortably close to the Fundagelical Christian attitude of "God will heal you if you just have enough faith." It can be cruel and ugly in the wrong hands.

While I do believe that the mental game matters, I don't think it's entirely in our control. When my brain hemorrhaged and the blinding pain (literally blinding, my vision went dark like the lights went out) hit me and my knees buckled and my body folded up like a cheap lawn chair, I can honestly say that I was not afraid. Fear never occurred to me. I lost several days after that time, but that moment was very clear, and while my knees were folding on me and I was sliding to the floor, I remember thinking, "Something really bad just happened in my brain. Must tell them to get Dr. SL to fix it." And while everybody was freaking out around me, yelling "Call 911!" I was calm. I just waited. I joked with the helicopter flight crew. I have no idea where this calm and poise came from, I was making a conscious (okay, semi-conscious) effort, but I still don't know where it came from. I was on my mental game, certainly, but I can't take credit for it, because I don't know where it came from. I felt detached from the events, I felt no fear, I felt like it would be alright.

The entire experience was like that - I was concerned that I would die in surgery, because Shit Happens, but not scared of dying. I was just concerned for my kids, that they would be left with a pain in the ass to deal with because I didn't have a will. I wasn't terribly worried about dying, but still, I felt guilty for not leaving my affairs in order. My daughter says I was obsessed with trying to make lists of things for them to deal with, but I couldn't see and couldn't control the pen. I do have a vague memory of that, though in my messed-up timeline, I thought that was post surgery. I do remember telling Girl to cancel the dog's haircut appointment.

Afterward, though I was blind in one eye at first, I just knew to be patient and the vision would come back. When a nurse said I'd be going to a rehab facility, I thought, "No, I won't need that." I do not know why it all happened that way, and I do not take credit for it. It wasn't me doing this, I was just a receptor for whatever it was that was making it all happen. So for someone to say that if you just have the right positive attitude you can heal yourself from cancer, that's incredibly offensive to me - what about the people like my husband, who had the most incredible attitude possible, who lived through hell for two years and was matter-of-fact and positive throughout, who lost the battle anyway?

The only conclusion I can make here is that if you are somehow a receptor of whatever it is that makes that sort of healing possible, it's not a question of having faith. I didn't "have faith," I didn't pray to Jesus or anybody else, I just felt it. It was just there for me. I don't know why. I don't feel like "God felt I deserved it," or any other cheap platitude answer. It can happen, but we still don't know how that happens, and positive thinking and watching funny movies isn't the magical answer. "The Secret" has identified the phenomenon, but doesn't give you a magic bullet (or a Secret) to make it happen, and in the case of medical challenges, it goes for a cheap easy explanation the equivalent of "Believe in JAY-sus hard enough and you'll be healed!" I call this the Clap for Tinkerbell school of metaphysics.

So I guess that's a long winded way of saying that while I don't dispute the reality of The Law of Attraction, I also don't think it's something that we can will ourselves to do in every situation. All we can do is try to make it work. Sometimes it just happens, and sometimes it doesn't. Yes, there was absolutely something outside of me keeping it all together while my body was self-destructing, but I didn't do anything to bring it to me and I don't take credit for it. Something clicked in at that moment and I just used it.

The Law of Yarn Attraction is a different thing entirely. Today I bought yarn. I really want to make the Diagonal Jacket in Debbie Bliss "Home." I didn't want to make it in cotton, though cotton would be very practical for right now, it is too hard on my hands for a project that size. And I am visualizing a new home where wool would be more useful. So I ordered Debbie Bliss Rialto, a DK merino wool, in a deep blue. Because I need to wear more blue.

It's funny how my yarn buying habits have been cured by a less than a year long fast. I had to think for weeks before deciding what to buy. I am cured of impulse buying. I chose to buy this yarn online instead of waiting for Asheville because it's a roomy jacket and it needs a lot of yarn, and it would be asking a lot for even a big yarn shop to have that much of one dye lot in stock in a color I want when I walk in the door. Online, they can scare it up if they have to and ship it when they get it.

And though I felt tired and draggin-ass today, I fought through it and I went to the gym and did a nice fast 20 minutes on the elliptical trainer before the weights. I've figured out that the only way to deal with the fatigue is to NOT give in to it, to keep going as much as I can, and sleep well at night. Aretha Franklin is my new workout partner - though I love all of her music, "Chain of Fools" and "Freeway of Love" are two of my all-time favorite energy songs, and both make for a nice fast pace on the elliptical machine.

And how can you not love that Aretha Franklin's official homepage is called So Damn Happy? Isn't that a great title for an album, and a website? Or a philosophy of life?

Sigh...

2007-09-21T18:35:00.000-04:00

Chez Casuelle has moved to Gainesville. Carla, the Mother of Chez Cas, opted to join the march north and de-ass Florida when a job offer she couldn't refuse beckoned. (Of course, I'm doubting that they hunted her down with private detectives and found her in yarn shop in Leesburg. I'm thinking she was looking for a job and that's why the great job beckoned. But whoo-hoo for her!) Her shop is now in Gainesville, and while I'm sure these ladies will do an awesome job and it will be lovely, it's not on my regular working route. This is either a blessing or a tragedy, I can't quite decide which right now. I don't have to resist being led into temptation. Temptation moved to Gainesville.

If you are here looking for an update on the job saga, I don't have anything blogworthy. I have to watch and edit myself when I start to talk about the industry, so I'll just say that I'm going to do a lot of house fixing up tasks this weekend, and the sign is going in the yard as soon as Girlchild and her adorable little digging dog from hell have a new roof over their heads. After losing my husband in a slow, awful way, riding out three hurricanes, spending a ton of money and sweat on fixing up the house, changing jobs, and, yanno, almost dying and all that trivial stuff, I will probably end up lucky to get out of this house with a few bucks to put toward the cat food I'll be buying for dinner in my old age, assuming I can keep health insurance and get to old age, and that is by no means a sure thing. As the icing on the cake, you know. Yep, I'm livin' the American Dream! Get an education, work hard, become a contributing member of the middle class - I did it, my husband did it. It's not a contract that promises that things will work out for you. But that's what a lot of people tell themselves - do it right, you'll be fine, and people who can't keep up brought it on themselves - you did it all right, you'll be FINE. It's like wishing on stars, or not stepping on cracks. It's a childish fantasy made public policy.

Enough about that. I focus on doing what I can do to make things better for who I am now, and that is a multi-layered thing.

Dudley is so scared of thunderstorms, and last night was rough. The tornado that hit Eustis was national news - I'm miles from there, but Girl works near there, so I didn't sleep well until I heard her come in after midnight. And I get up at 5. Before that, I didn't sleep well because the weather radio sounded an alarm every half hour all night. Weather radios are truly a mixed blessing - when they save your life they are wonderful, when they wake you every 20 minutes to shriek about a storm system that is already northwest of you and moving northwest, they are annoying - or at least it annoyed me. I know it would have been a blessing if the storm in question had moved the other way, and it had warned me of the approach, so the dogs and I could go climb into the hall bathtub and cuddle up and wave bye-bye to the roof. But before all that happened I did make it to the gym, and did 2 miles on the treadmill and then weights. It was already raining steadily and thundering a bit when I left the house, and Dudley saw me getting ready for the gym and hid under my bed. He'd ride out the storm there, thank you. But I was home before the bad stuff hit, and we were not in the direct line of fire for the bad stuff. Girlchild was, and she had a tense night of emergency lanterns and weather radio and thinking of evacuation plans. We do work hard for our money in this family.

Edited to add:
Dear Catherine,
Here is your horoscope
for Friday, September 21:

Especially when you're on the job, you find that you have a hard time keeping up appearances. You may need to take a half-day, or find some new and clever way to show the public your best face.

Didn't take a half day. Did suck up and soldier on. Didn't read this horoscope until a few minutes ago. Spooky.

Career Counseling

2007-09-20T20:36:00.000-04:00

Your Career Type: Artistic

You are expressive, original, and independent.
Your talents lie in your artistic abilities: creative writing, drama, crafts, music, or art.

You would make an excellent:

Actor - Art Teacher - Book Editor
Clothes Designer - Comedian - Composer
Dancer - DJ - Graphic Designer
Illustrator - Musician - Sculptor

The worst career options for your are conventional careers, like bank teller or secretary.

What's Your Ideal Career?

Courtesy of Cursing Mama. Well, I can't say I have a conventional career, people with conventional careers unanimously have declared my working life "deranged," and newbies spend weeks just shaking their heads, wondering WTF. Yet, it's not creative or fun or remotely satisfying.

Just Say No to Stress.

2007-09-20T19:32:00.000-04:00

I need to quit my job, sooner rather than later. As soon as Girlchild has a new abode and I can finish the last sprucing-up of this joint, the sign goes in the yard and I am getting out of this insanity. Without going into too much detail, though my own boss understands I tire easily and doesn't expect me to put in overtime, I have been volunteered for various things that involve evening meetings an hour away, and I was not volunteered for this by my own boss.

And tonight as I was leaving the office I received an email (not from my boss) ordering me to attend a Mandatory! meeting that is over an hour away and starts after 7 p.m., on a mid-week evening. So I'd get home very late and have to get up at 5 the next day.

At first I was upset, and called my son and left him a ranting voicemail. Then I went to the gym and spent an hour working out while listening to high energy stuff like Aerosmith and Van Halen, and came home in a far better frame of mind.

I am not going to let this bother me. I am going to Just Say No. What are they going to do, fire me? Bring it. I truly, honestly, deeply do not care. Yes, it would be inconvenient to have to find some sort of temporary job until the house sells, but I could do it.

And this is the frustration of being me right now. I look like me, I sound like me, in some ways I think I am a better me, really. But I get tired in a different way now. My attention span and memory are different. My job is as crazy and complex and stressful as it ever was, but my energy for dealing with it is different. But because I do not look or sound "brain damaged," few people really understand that I am not making it up when I say I'm different and that I have to take care of myself and things aren't so easy for me now, AND I'm not willing to risk my health for this crap.

Because when you don't have the luxury of taking it easy and have to force yourself to do things that a lot of people wouldn't have to do, like go back to the job you were taken out of on a stretcher half-dead, you don't actually get much credit for working your ass off to cope. It's surprising, really, but I guess not. I think my collapsing in the office was an embarrassing and uncomfortable thing that they'd just as soon put behind them, as if I'd farted in a meeting. As far as they are concerned, I'm back, it's fine, it's all forgotten. Because I don't put my head down on my desk and cry with exhaustion and frustration, though I want to on a regular basis, I'm "back to normal," and again able to juggle a hundred complicated unrelated tasks and bail out the people who can't do their jobs, and show up for meetings that will get me home after 11 p.m.

I have news for them. I'm not doing it. Surviving a ruptured brain aneurysm, like rank, doth have its privileges - privileges I am calling for myself, because I don't want to die for this fucking job. I go to sleep at 9:30 if I have to get up and work the next day, and on weekends too unless I have something more fun to do. This is sacred. This is what I have to do to keep doing this crazy shit I have to do to pay the mortgage on the house I'm trying to get rid of. I cannot and will not push myself beyond my reasonable limits. I am resigning from these boards I was appointed to without my consent, and if that is an issue, I'm resigning, period. Their choice.

Counting down to vacation - I really can't wait. Still knitting Red Scarf Scarf #2. Not much time to knit. Still trying to decide on a sweater project. I'm thinking that I may go nuts and do that Reeds and Grasses kimono. Just because I feel like making a statement.

The Alumni Luncheon

2007-09-16T19:19:00.000-04:00

The alumni of The Big Developer Which Must Not Be Named had a great time today. It was so great to see Old Boss R (not that he's Old, but he's the former R, not to be confused with the current R, and how do I manage to get two Bosses with the same first name in such a short span of time?) and his hilarious wife V, and L and her adorable fella M. We ate, we laughed, we vowed not to let another three years go by before we do this again. Because yeah, it was 3 years since the last time R, V and I got together. And I realized that it has been 4 months since I've seen A, The Lawyer Formerly Known As Boss, our last wings and beer session was right before I went back to work, and this is how it starts, we all get sucked into different schedules and busy with our lives, and it's so damn hard to get together.

I really miss working with R and L, we had so much fun together. They reminded me of so many crazy stories that had fallen out of my brain, like the boss's secretary who got shitfaced at lunch on a regular basis when her boss was out, and the fight she had with the flamboyantly gay landscape architect when he dared Take a Roll of Scotch Tape from HER supply cabinet. (When the drunk secretary was fired, this middle aged man actually skipped down the hall singing, "Ding Dong, the Witch Is Dead.") And then there was the paralegal who cried big blubbery tears if anyone was mean to her, which basically meant not doing whatever she wanted, no matter how politely. And the paralegal who was always taking food "home to her grandchildren," as if they were urchins living hand to mouth. Her daughter, their mother, was, I believe, an accountant. We'd have an office meeting and there would be leftover trays of sandwiches and such, and before anyone could grab an extra for an afternoon snack, she'd take the ENTIRE tray to her car. A Lexus. (That was A BIG CLUE that I was seriously underpaid, don'tcha think?) We didn't even get to the stories about the paralegal who wore the black cocktail dress and the fuck me shoes whenever an important person visited from the home office. We knew when someone important was visiting when she broke out the call girl wear. L was R's and my assistant back then, she'd buzz me and whisper: "She's wearing the dress and the fuck me shoes. Who's here?"

You can't make up shit as crazy as we lived. V had her own memories, and we had L's fairly new fella M hooting with our stories, and that was just the highly condensed version. And they didn't make me sign a confidentiality agreement when I left, so they should be, not VERY afraid because my memory isn't so good now, but mildly nervous. I really should write this stuff down someday.

L's guy is a keeper, a warm, smart, witty guy without any visible issues. L deserves him, and he gives me hope that there may be one for me.

Speaking of (memory) issues, I think I need to think about getting myself a Crackberry. Because here is a true story about how my brain works now.

The offsite meeting in the post below was set up earlier last week. I remembered it all week, I knew where it was, I reminded others in our department about it the afternoon before it happened. And then, the day of the meeting, I forgot to show up, and went to the office instead. And the fact that the door was locked and there was nobody at the front desk didn't jog my memory. The only thing that saved me was that a couple of the guys were in the office early and driving over from there, and they took me with them. When they mentioned the meeting, I gave them a blank look - what meeting? When the told me I finally remembered. But that's how it is, and how these memory gaps are not like normal ones. Anyone can forget a morning meeting and follow their usual route to work, but when you get there and the door is locked, you (I) would pause to think why, and figure it out. That's what's missing here - I don't have that "Oh shit, that's right, I forgot!" function anymore. I have to be told what I forgot, and then I do remember it, but the self-triggering mechanism is busted. I need an easy calendar alarm system, and my current phone, cute as it is, isn't that great for that.

Knee injury, cleaning, yarn stash

2007-09-15T17:48:00.000-04:00

A very garbled weekend update that has very little to do with knitting, though yarn is mentioned.

Friday I attended an offsite meeting at a hotel that allegedly had been completely remodeled. I distinctly remember that it was shut down for a time, practically gutted, and reopened with fanfare. Except, somehow, they either skipped the restrooms near the conference rooms, or the guys who did the work should be hunted down and slapped.

I was wearing jeans (casual Friday is only one notch lower than Mon-Thurs for us) and my favorite sandals ever, with the three inch heels yet as insanely comfortable as slippers. And I went to the ladies room, and the stall doors were all swung shut. So I'm trying to discreetly determine (and not in a Larry Craig way) whether any of the stalls were occupied. So I'm focused on trying to identify an empty stall, and as I walked down the row of stalls I stepped into a floor drain that was clumsily chiseled out and a good inch, inch and a quarter, lower than the tile floor, and twisted my knee just a little bit. Not badly enough to complain, at least not at the time. By the time I went to the gym last night, I got on the treadmill and realized that yeah, my knee is hurtin'. Every step on the treadmill caused a twinge, so I used the bike instead, and then weights, because it's really not that sore, but it's sore enough to interfere with my usual routine. It's that kind of sore, not hideously sore, not go for an x-ray sore, just mildly sore, enough to make fast exercise walking on an incline treadmill a questionable idea. I soaked in the tub last night, that helped. I just twinged something a bit, and as of Sunday morning it's much better. All I could think was that if an elderly lady puts her foot in that drain as I did she could lose her balance and bust a hip.

Saturday a.m., bright and early, Murphy had a hair appt. I dropped him at the dot of 8, hit Target and then Petsmart and Publix, came home, unloaded the supplies purchased, then headed out again for Costco. I spent a crazy amount of money before noon, and by 12:30 I was done with all the running around and spending and ready to settle down for some cleaning and Stash Smashing.

Cleaning: Laurie is so damn inspirational. Her post on cleaning green was very useful and entertaining. She inspired me to attack my shower head. Because my shower head was unbelievably disgusting. Yet totally functional, and there were always so many other things screaming for my attention that the appearance of the shower head was not on my long to-do list, and like Laurie, I hate using products like CLR and such, because I always feel like I'm being poisoned. But, after reading her post, I put white vinegar (instead of lemon juice) in a plastic bag and wrapped a rubber band around the whole mess, holding it on the shower head. And a fascinating chemical reaction happened, and it started bubbling, and then pieces of hard-water mineral deposit crud started falling off into the bag. Seriously. It looks so much better - still looks 25 years old and cheap, of course, because it is, but much better.

Then it was time for Smash Your Stash. I purchased these nifty Space Bags Totes, intending to use them to store the winter coats, blankets and such that I rarely need to wear here, to make hugely spacious and decluttered closets for house sale staging. And it dawned on me that this would be a fine way to package yarn stash that is still valuable to me, and yet not likely to be used anytime soon.

It works, to a degree. I emptied a lot of plastic containers (note, not all yarn, but also sweaters and sweatpants and such). But the nifty flat stackable things on the Space Bags commercials were stacked by Space Bag Commercial Professionals, and I'm sure it took a lot of practice and swearing to make everything so precise and square. Yarn, it is a many splendored and really lumpy thing, and it is not possible to shrink it into a neat cube short of using a trash compactor. The stuff on cones wasn't suitable for Space Bagging at all, and the rest shrank into compacted yet lumpy blobs of compressed fiber. So, basically, I consolidated a lot of odds and ends into one Space Bag Tote, and left the stuff on cones in a Rubbermaid tote. It cut down on a lot of plastic bins, but wasn't the magical solution.

My closet still looks cluttered, because it is the storage facility for so many things that are not clothing. There are two antique lamps in the back, and a deep-fryer, a computer monitor, some old family pictures that need reframing, (also very low on my to-do list). I'll get to it all in the long run.

Because it appears that "in the long run" is the new time for moving. Listing in November isn't looking like a good idea. The housing market is dead. Dead, deader, deadest. I live in one of the most desirable and still affordable areas, with a great school system, convenient to everything, and my neighbors have had their very nice houses on the market at a reasonble price for months with no results. My neighbors have cut their asking prices by $15k in the last two weeks, and are now down in the "You've got to be kidding me, how can it not sell now?" price range. I am not going to list my own house until those two houses sell, because we do not need to have three very similar houses competing with each other, things are tough enough without that, though I will continue with the pre-sale fix-up as if all is well. The state of the housing market is really scary for me on lots of levels, not just the personal, I want to move level. Right now my job is stable, we are moving forward with bargain-hunting dirt as other developers who had too much land are unloading dirt, but the reports on the future of the market are not very encouraging. It's depressing and uncertain, to say the least. All I can do is keep on moving forward, with faith that it will all work out in the end.

Yesterday was the highly productive day. Today I'm having lunch with friends, fellow escapees from The Big Developer Which Must Not Be Named. Then I'll try the knee on the treadmill again, and continue my Training for Vacation.

Another reason to exercise.

2007-09-13T17:46:00.000-04:00

Today I stumbled across this article about
exercise and the brain.

Best of all, the region of the brain that grew the most was the hippocampus, the part most involved with memory and cognition. After only three months, those who exercised had brain volumes typical of people who were three years younger! Also, the new neurons tend to find their way to well-established existing connections and replace ones that are damaged or nonfunctioning.

So, going back to the gym post aneurysm was even better for me than I'd thought - how 'bout that?

And on that note, I'm off to the gym!*

*Or not. I was putting on my shoes when the wind picked up and thunder boomed, and a terrified Boston Terrier threw himself at me for protection and is still standing under my desk, pressed against my leg, just in case it comes back. It was quite a storm. This is sandy soil here, my area does not flood, period, but there was a couple of inches of standing water in the yard, it was coming down too fast for the dry sand to keep up. The thunder was boomy, the rain was tropical storm heavy. I did not go to the gym, I'd have drowned trying to travel 20 feet to Baby in the driveway. It's a pity, because I'm sure the gym must have been empty. I'd have had those machines to myself.

Which leads to a rant about couples at the gym. I used to be part of a couple at the gym, and this isn't sour grapes, it's just good manners. There are couples who behave as my husband and I did - we came in together and left together, but otherwise worked out as individuals, we were not joined at the hip, and this was at 6 a.m. when the place was fairly empty. Then there are the couples who monopolize machines during prime time when the place is hopping. He does a set, while she stands by adoringly. He rests, they chat. He does another brief set. They switch. She does a set, rests, chat, repeat. Then HE starts it all over again. On the same goddamn machine. They kept this up for a half hour. While I am trying to busy myself on other machines and waiting for that one, as I am sure others were. I watched this in irritation and disbelief the other night. Fortunately it's not common. Obnoxious freak behavior, actually. It's also evidence of how some people can spend 3 hours at the gym and never break a sweat.

But this is why I set a goal of 5x a week - if I get 4, that's good, it's better than 3 which is still good, which is better than 2, which is better than 1, which is better than the big fat 0 I used to get. Weather is going to interfere. Groceries must be bought. Laundry must be laundered, and happy hours with friends must be, period. This isn't about being perfect or obsessive, but just like I won't let the cat box go too long or the laundry pile up, the gym fits into the other things I just have to get done.

Boy called yesterday. Turns out he won't meet his goal of being a trainer after all. The CEO of the company has told him to plan to ship out, he'll be relocated to open a new facility somewhere in a city TBA as the manager. But he assured me that it's not going to happen next month, so my vacation in Asheville is safe. Whew. Let's hope he lands someplace vacation friendly.

I finished the first Red Scarf, it's basic Cascade 220 in mistake rib. The next is started, though I may rip and re-start on 7s instead of 8s, I'm not sure I like the texture. New scarf is Twin Rib (Barbara Walker Vol. II) which is similar, but not the same. Still thinking about buying yarn for a new sweater, but haven't had time to think about it much.

Joy! Hilarity!

2007-09-13T07:07:00.000-04:00

Miss Doxie is posting again!

More Random Things.

2007-09-11T19:42:00.000-04:00

Yesterday I came home tired and went to the gym anyway and did 3.2 miles on the treadmill. I wanted to do the weights but the place was packed and I had run out of patience and was hungry (it was almost 7) so I gave up.

The area is getting rain, my own personal neighborhood isn't. I'm waiting for our turn.

Today was spent in the field. I think the new paralegal is a keeper. She knows she has a lot to learn, asks questions, is funny, confident enough to offer opinions, and isn't intimidated. Let's hope she has the right attitude and sense of humor to stick it out, and not figure it's too crazy and leave. So far, so good.

I neglected to mention that on Sunday afternoon I finally blocked the Falling Water Scarf but didn't take pictures yet because I got distracted and basically didn't feel like bothering. I realized that my lack of desire for complicated lace is self-preservation, because I hate blocking. I don't mind blocking simple, sturdy sweater parts, but a long (longer than my queen sized bed) basic lacy scarf was a huge pain in the ass. Unblocked, it rolled on itself like a red Cashmerino burrito.

Blocked, it struggled with its body image, which is why I think I love it and think of it as really "me" - instead of a nice constant 6 in. width, it wanted to be 7 or 8 inches toward the end and 4.5 inches a quarter of the way in, then 6 inches for a while, and so on for the entire length. I patted and prodded and pinned and cursed for a long time, and finally got it to the point where it was almost even, and then said, and I quote, "Fuck it, it's going to be wrapped around my neck, nobody will see if the edges aren't perfect." Which was the right attitude, because when I finally unpinned it after it finally dried five minutes before I fell into bed to get up at 5 and go to work on Monday, it had pretty much decided that it would be sort of even and mostly rectangular, so that was good, but despite being viciously blocked into submission by a crabby, profane and impatient knitter, it tried to curl in on itself a little bit. Just a wee bit, so instead of being totally flat, it has a little pouf to it. So that is the way it shall be. And I love it anyway. Cashmerino is so soft, the scarf is so long and light, I can wrap it twice around my neck and let the ends hang down, and I will wear it in Asheville in mid-October, especially in the evening.

I promise I'll take a picture. When I finish the Red Scarf Scarf, which basically just needs binding off, I'll take a picture of the other scarf. I know you're all holding your breath here, because I pretty much killed all suspense, didn't I? Two red scarves. One badly blocked lacy effort. The other basic gender neutral mistake rib. I know it's overwhelming, please remember to breathe into a paper bag if you feel lightheaded.

My knitting is running on autopilot again. Work is crazy, life is crazy, I have ZERO desire to take on a lace shawl at the moment. I am slogging away on the big purple cardigan. But I need color, and variety, and I'm thinking I will buy yarn for either the Minimalist Cardigan in the new IK, or the Diagonal Jacket from Debbie Bliss Home. I may do this before Asheville. Or maybe not. I dunno.

Talked to Boy this evening. He's been on his new job I think a month, and he's now a supervisor/trainer, and has been told he's their golden boy. His personal goal is to become the official corporate trainer who works on hiring and training staff at new facilities, and this could work out very well for him. My son deserves a break. He's well educated and a bona fide geeneeus, which is as welcome in much of the South as a libbrul Democrat who don't watch NASCAR (he's also that). He appears to have hit a growing enterprise headed by a successful guy (who ain't from around here). It has the ability to go national and has national backing, and the head guy hired Boy because he sat down with him and decided he needed him in his organization. They like him, they really like him! Fingers and toes crossed that this will be a successful venture - it's a startup. It's not a two guys in a pizza parlor level startup, but, it's a startup. Please send good vibes and prayers if you're the praying type, that they all live long and prosper.

Demolition Dudley Strikes Again.

2007-09-09T07:22:00.001-04:00

I left a new, unopened package of toilet paper on the bed. I won't do that again.

Kitten Rescue 911

2007-09-08T21:45:00.000-04:00

Girl just called to report a kitten sighting - they are eating the canned cat food she brought with her like they never saw food before, and after she finishes her paperwork (because her shift is not over for a while) she is going to round them up and put them in the carrier and bring them here. I have a dog crate in the garage standing by, equipped with a towel and kitten-sized litter box (old baking pan) and water dish. So much for a restful weekend, but neither one of us can live with the idea of abandoned kittens getting eaten by alligators or by any of the other kitten-eatin'critters living near the facility.

If you are looking for knitting stuff on this blog, you are sorely out of luck lately.

Edited Sunday morning: No kittens to see here, move along. Girlchild was able to find new homes for them among the staff of the facility, so she didn't have to bring them home, and I didn't have to stand over a crate of kitten cuteness and say, No, No, They Cannot Stay. It's a win all the way around.

Fitness Report

2007-09-08T17:33:00.000-04:00

So, I have to do a public happy dance - today I did 2 miles on the treadmill at a 4 mph pace on a fairly steep incline, and then did the weight machines for a half hour. I know that's not all that impressive for a lot of people but it's the longest time I've been able to walk at that pace and on an incline in years, and it's more exciting because about 6.5 months ago I was being airlifted toward emergency brain surgery and the doctors weren't sure I'd make it. I am SO going to be in shape to hike in the mountains - this is just the end of week one of Vacation Training!

Then I came home and showered and went to get my hair cut and went to Petsmart, Target and Publix, and bought many things and heavy things, and hauled it all home and dragged it in and put it away. I'm tired. But it's a good tired.

The stubble on the side of my head has grown in nicely, and with this cut The Hair God was able to blend "the flap"- the section he disguised as a layer that hid the bald spot - into the rest of my hair. The stubble is still a lot shorter than the rest of my hair, of course, but it's long enough to blend, you can't see scalp when the wind blows now, so there's nothing much to hide. We're thinking by the next cut there will be enough in the grown-back spot to change my style if I want to. I'm still thinking of cutting it even shorter. That short layered cut Jody Foster has in The Brave One appeals to me, my hair tends to end up in that messy look by the middle of the day no matter how I try so I may as well adopt it as a style. Her hair appears to be about as fine as my own, that would work nicely as a "let it all catch up" cut and has a funky appeal. It would help the growing-in section catch up with the rest, and yet the layers are long enough to make growing the whole thing in easy when I tire of it. And it has bangs to hide my lumpy forehead.

I am on Kitten Watch right now - Girlchild called from her job last night to announce that two small, skinny stray kittens had attached themselves to her. She had no means to bring them home last night, but today she went to work with a carrier and some food. We are NOT keeping them, we will serve as a kitten halfway house until I can take them to the nice adoption lady who works Petsmart, but she said it appears that they were dumped - they are not feral, they are friendly and in fact were desperate to get inside a house, they tackled her when she was outside and kept begging at the door of the group home she was working in, but they couldn't be let in for many obvious reasons. She called from work an hour ago to say that she hasn't seen them today, maybe they found another neighbor who took them in, but she's ready to rescue if she sees them later.

Meanwhile, I have another Cat Issue. Boris had been losing weight and throwing up, and I took him to the vet months ago, and after $140 of fancy lab work and a thorough physical, the vet could find nothing wrong, and suggested a change of diet to see if that helped. Months passed, nothing really changed, the barfing stopped and started randomly. Then a few weeks ago Boris stopped pooping in the litterbox and began depositing runny poops on the garage floor (never in the house, thank GOD!). Some of them were tinged with blood. So I did a little internet research and found that in cats, the obvious bad thing that blood in stool can mean is unlikely to be the cause, and he probably has irritable bowel syndrome. So I put him on sensitive stomach Science Diet, and for over a week now that appeared to have done the trick - but tonight there was a runny poop and a bloody poop on the garage floor. So next week it is back to the vet to investigate further.

It's bad enough that I am going to have to rip out the carpet on the garage floor before I list the house (Yes, the garage is carpeted - indoor-outdoor carpet, it came that way, and after 11 years of hard living you can imagine how lovely it is now), but a cat with the runs has taken it from grubby to unbelievably disgusting, and of course I can't have a cat crapping randomly if I'm going to sell the house and move. So I devoutly hope the vet can find a definitive answer to the cause of this problem, because this is not something I can live with forever.

Other than this, Boris is as loving and happy and purry as ever, and his appetite is fine. The food just doesn't stay with him. I am hoping this is fixable, I'll pay for a prescription diet, whatever. But if it's something more serious and not fixable, I will be faced with the decision about putting down an otherwise cheerful cat who has some chronic problem we can't fix. So let's hope this is fixable.

Saturday this and that.

2007-09-08T07:02:00.000-04:00

This article caught my eye yesterday: Going Gray.

While I was out on leave post-brain surgery and the hair started to grow back, I went about 2 months without coloring the rest of my hair, and grew some impressive gray roots. And I toyed with the idea of keeping it, but decided against it, at this time in my life. So I was interested to read her experiences as a woman who chose to go gray and write about it - she found it was more of an issue in the workplace than in her personal life. That's what I had thought/expected too. I work with a lot of 35 and under people, and while one of the few "older women" lets her gray hair go natural (and looks stunning with it, because it sets off her young, rosy complexion) the rest of us kill the grays. If I lived in a different place or worked in a different business, where I didn't sit in late afternoon meetings under harsh florescent lighting with people who are almost all 10-15 years younger than I am, I think I'd be tempted to let the gray go natural. But now is not the time for me.

I did think it was interesting that after the author went gray she lost 15 pounds and bought better clothes. I think that's a huge factor in "how well one ages." It's possible to be gray and look utterly fabulous and sexy. Look at Jamie Lee Curtis. But she's not schlumping around in ill-fitting mom jeans in public, though she seems like the kind of gal who'd own a pair and wear them to wash the dog.

So, though I don't quite feel the urge to abandon the brown from a box just yet, I think the day is coming - and as it approaches I will prepare for it with working out, weight loss and the aforementioned closet purge.

In training for vacation.

2007-09-05T18:26:00.000-04:00

So far I'm on track for the 5x a week at the gym goal, though of course, now that I made an insane vow like that, my social life has kicked into overdrive. This has left me with zero days with nothing to do when I come home in the evening. This isn't a bad thing.

I am training for vacation in Asheville, NC, or as Caroline aptly calls it, the land to which all true Floridians wish to emigrate (and it appears that Caroline, too, has de-assed herself from South Florida, hmmm?) I am in training for vacation not just because my current fat jeans are threadbare and I'll be damned if I'll buy another pair in size 12, but also because I am thinking back to last year, and the day Boy took me hiking at Graveyard Fields, which really is an easy hike, six year olds in pink Barbie sneakers can do it, it's not seriously outdoorsy stuff, and between the altitude and the fact that I had been neglecting myself, it was harder than it should have been. Looking back, I was probably walking it with that little time bomb percolating in my brain. Not that it was the reason the walk was harder than it should have been, that was because I was out of shape - but what a thought, that a "bubble" in a blood vessel was probably there all along and getting weak enough to blow, and I'm puffing like the Pudgy Little Middle Aged Engine that Couldn't along the trail, with my blood pressure up to God Only Knows.

This time I am spending six weeks in training, walking wicked inclines on fancy treadmills, lifting weights, etc., and South Beach Dieting on the days that I don't have social events booked. (Last night I had wings and beer, and I do not feel guilty.) My legs will be stronger, my stamina will be much better, and I will not be gaspy and sweaty on moderate trails, and I plan to hike in size 10 jeans, if not 8s.

Which leads me to The Wisdom of the Girlchild. I don't remember if I mentioned this, but when I went back to the gym in the spring, post brain thang, Girl re-upped and went too. Not with me, because we live in the same house but in different time zones, but she went too, and watched her diet much better than I did. I'd lost 11 pounds in the hospital and somehow felt I'd been issued a License to Eat Peanut Butter Rice Krispie Treats, which I made on a semi-daily basis. Don't ask me why, but when I first came home from the hospital, I lived on them. (At first I was so weak I couldn't stir them and put them in the pan and had to yell for help.) So I've put back 3 of those pounds, even though I really intended to lose 20 more so I could Be a Skinny Bitch too. Because my daughter lost around 17 pounds, and she is now officially a Skinny Bitch. 5'9" and size 8s are loose on her. She looks fantastic, feels great, and is inspired to tone the few teensy bits of flab left to sheer perfection, so between her class and her job, she squeezes in the gym.

And in doing this, she learned something I used to know and had forgotten - after you lose weight via serious exercise and healthy diet, none of the thin clothes you had worn before will fit right. Because she owns clothes from the last time the scale said what it says now, and those clothes fit funny now, because yes, it really is about the exercise, and lifting weights, and that's what really changes your body. She has to start over with a whole new wardrobe, spending her hard-earned cash. A whole new, cute wardrobe of tiny things that look fabulous on her. (All together now: Awww, poor BABY! How AWFUL for you!)

And I am looking at my own large walk-in closet, which still looks very full, even though my actual, functional wardrobe consists of about five pairs of slacks and three skirts and two dresses and a couple of random jackets and four sweaters and maybe, um, a dozen tops, tops, that I actually wear, among the Ghosts of Clothing Past that hang near them. The rest of that stuff? Even if the Skinny Fairy whacked me with her wand in the night, I'm not sure that stuff would still fit right or be appropriate for my life now. Because I've changed since the last time my ass was in a size 8, and my style has changed, and my needs have changed. So I think I'm going to follow Girl's lead and purge the contents of my closet, all but that which fits now and I wear now. Thank God I didn't invest much money in the stuff in the closet now, it's a combination of cheap and functional and cheap impulses, nothing worth putting on consignment, most of it isn't even worthy of Goodwill.

And I'm getting to the point of tying this to knitting - because I went through something similar with my yarn stash. I purged that which no longer had any appeal to me, gave it away, donated to groups knitting for charity, and I realize that my stash is an extension of my wardrobe, in a weird way. It has to suit me, and suit who I am now. Being On Sale Is Not Enough. Being Useful Is Not Enough. Being Practical - hell, that's my worst failing, I am so damn good at Being Practical, I neglect Being Special and Being Worth It. And I think this, rather than any other motive, has broken my stash habit for good. I don't need to have a stash full of things that suited me five or more years ago, just things I can enjoy now.

September already!

2007-09-03T07:57:00.000-04:00

September horoscope.

Your confidence is about to climb as troubles of the past begin to melt away. Life is about to swing upward again, dear Cancer. It's been a long wait, but worth it! Wait and see! You Go, Astrology Lady! From your lips to God's ears!

It's so trite to say that the year is flying by, but damn, it is. It's already September, and though I am working toward getting the house on the market, the two houses up the street are well maintained and fairly priced, and they haven't sold. It's discouraging, to say the least.

Today is my last day off before it's back to the Despised Job. I slept so well last night, no work-related dreams, just deep, restful sleep. I want to sleep that way every night.

I am bored by my knitting. My obsession with Flat Things is running its course, and I think the next obsession will be sweaters for myself. But I have no appropriate yarn for these future sweaters, which means I will have to buy yarn, so I am taking my time making up my mind about them. Inspiration will strike, but it hasn't yet. I'm bored by everything I'm working on right now, and I am just plugging along to finish them. Blah. I may start another Flat Thing, like maybe the Flower Basket Shawl in that Misti Alpaca I bought in Asheville last year, just so I have a project that isn't acres of stockinette (the Big Purple Sweater) or ribbing (the Red Scarf scarf, which is almost done, and the Boy's socks).

If I am going to do the Flower Basket Shawl, that means I must fiddle around with the provisional cast-on, which I know is very easy but for some reason I can't explain tends to kick my ass. I think I'll practice it a few times before I cast on for real.

Speaking of Boy, or at least of Boy's socks, Boy's birthday is right around the corner - on 9/9 he turns 27 years old. How the hell did I get old enough to have a son that age? Granted, I was a young mother, but not "knocked up in high school" young.

Of course, being the kind of mother I am, I will ~~stay up all night knitting him a fabulous sweater and baking him cookies~~ send him a check. He has a decent job with good prospects for the future (at last - this was not easy to do in Asheville), but the boy is trying to put together cash for a downpayment on a car that was built in this century. He drives an ancient little Honda affectionately known as the Millenium Falcon ("She may not look like much, but she's got it where it counts, kid.") It runs fine, but it really looks like a POS, as in "Inspires fear that important parts will fall off on the highway." Last time we spoke he mentioned that he wants to get something newer, something that doesn't get an attitude about starting on chilly mornings, so I will do my part and make a contribution to the cause.

I made two trips to Goodwill this weekend, but none to the gym. I try to tell myself that cleaning out the closet is as good as 3 miles on the treadmill and lifting weights, but this is a lie. Today I will not shirk the gym. The theme for September: Move forward toward my goals. No shirking allowed.

So, Day 2 of 5.

2007-08-31T17:58:00.000-04:00

I leave the house today all hot to spend money. I planned to come home totin' a nice, professional lady new bag, and a MacBook like this one for Girl. (She's paying half, half is on me, I'm fronting it because the student deal will be over before she has her bonus check in hand.)

First bag that caught my eye - Ferragamo. Very nice. Very serviceable. Very $1250. I was floored - back in the day, in my first pass through college, I worked in a high-end department store in the DC area, so I know from Ferragamo. I was expecting three hundred bucks, maybe five hundred, tops, which is beyond my sanity limit, but Jesus, $1250? It was very nice. That's all. Obviously, I have been out of the Ferragamo Loop for decades now, and I had no idea that it had become one of Those Brands - for the more money than brains crowd.

I will drop upward of a couple of hundred bucks on a classic bag I'll own for years (I still have my favorite Coach bag from the 80s, though it is now a little too loved for that professional lady look) but there is no way in hell I'd ever spend that kind of money on a bag, even if I win Lotto. Ciao, Salvatore.

Went to Coach store. It breaks my heart to say this, but I hate Coach now. They used to be my favorite, but now it's all blingy and buckle-laden and in ugly colors and logo fabrics. What the hell happened? They only offer their "classic" (not ugly as sin) bags on their website, and how do I know they are just like the originals? Maybe they aren't the same "Can stuff with all your worldly goods and then drag behind a truck for miles," quality they once were. No Coach bag for me.

Onward, to the Apple Store. Where a nice young man explained the details of how you get the college student deal - if the college student doesn't want to order it online, she'll have to show up in the store in person. Even though it says parents can buy them, in reality, not so much. They need ID, lest the student use the discount for everybody in town. Okay, I can understand that, I should have read the details. We will try to do this Sunday or Monday, when she is off work, if that doesn't work, online it shall be. So I didn't tote a MacBook out of the mall either.

Thank God the Mall at Millenia has a L'Occitane
and a warm, bubbly saleswoman, and great stuff on sale. I am going to experiment with their new grape extract line. Anything that reduces tiredness in my legs at the end of the day, I'm in. It will at the very least make my skin soft. And of course, there are the soaps. I really went there for the soap. I love their soap - I've never seen soap last like this. I have had the same SMALL cake of soap in a dish at my kitchen sink for, I am not kidding, a year, and I know I use it at least 4x a day. And the lather, ooooh, it's so creamy it's like whipped cream, even in this lousy hard water. So, I bought 3 large cakes of soap, the grape extract leg soothing anti-water retention gel, and the bath stuff to match, which was only $5 more. I'll report on both - I do love the smell of the grape stuff, it's light and fresh and not perfumed. It makes me want to invest in pretty girly nightgowns instead of sleeping in yoga pants and a t-shirt.

So, that was Day 2 of 5. Relaxing, though not full of the accomplishments I'd envisioned.

Knitting; I'm having a fit of Start-itis, but I am resisting. I have the Big Purple Sweater, a Red Scarf scarf, and two pair of socks for Boy on needles. That's so restrained, isn't it? But they are all on deadline, so no matter how much my heart yearns, I will not start anything else until they are done. I am going to soothe my Startitis by going through my books and noting patterns and yarn needs for the things that are tempting me.

From Blogthings' lips to God's ears:

Your Theme Song is Back in Black by AC/DC

"Back in black, I hit the sack,
I've been too long, I'm glad to be back"

Things sometimes get really crazy for you, and sometimes you have to get away from all the chaos.
But each time you stage your comeback, it's even better than the last!

What's Your Theme Song?

Swiped (as usual) from Cursing Mama.

Day 1 of 5.

2007-08-30T18:15:00.001-04:00

The visit with my mother wasn't awful. I'm getting more adept at dealing with her quirks, like when we were sitting in the insurance agency's office (part of my visit was dedicated to her homeowner's coverage) and she started getting into a review of her property tax bill. I swear she was getting down into the millage rates for fire and rescue, it was that numbing. She did not have the bill in her hand, this was from memory. I interrupted with, "Your grandson is doing great, thanks for asking!" Because she had yet to ask about the well-being of either of her two grandchildren. The property tax bill is more interesting to her.

She started defending herself, saying she was just about to ask about him. I said, "Yeah, after we dissected the property tax bill and every negative thing you read in the newspaper in the last month." She didn't have much to say about that, so I changed the subject to Boychild.

And that is how I did it. I just kept pointing out when she was discussing minutiae instead of real life, and dragged the conversation back to living beings, or even stories about my late father. But Jesus, the property tax bill? It's not like she has trouble paying it, it is not an issue.

Regarding the non-taking of medication, we had this hilarious exchange:

She: I know those doctors, they will get together and decide to put me in a home. And I want you to look out for me, and tell them that I am fine.

Me: Enormous Guffaw and Unladylike Snorting.

She: Oh.

Me: The doctors can only look at what they see, which is an 81 year old woman who is not acting responsibly and taking her medication, and whose blood pressure went sky-high because of it. That is what happened, and how am I supposed to argue with that? "Oh, doctors, she's only faking this, though the stroke she may suffer will be very real...." Take the goddamn medication, if you have side effects discuss them with the doctor but don't stop the meds for two weeks before calling him. That behavior will land your ass in assisted living, where someone will hand you the pills and watch you swallow them, and I'm not going to argue with that.

She: I know. I want to live on my own.

And that was the last we said about that. Her insurance agent is very nice, we had a pleasant lunch, it wasn't a bad visit. But damn, a day with her is exhausting. I am drained.

But after the equivalent of a long, hard work day on my first day of my tiny vacation, I am home, and Knit Kimono is here! (Google it, once again we are having mysterious Amazon linkage failure.) I love Vicki Square, her Knitter's Companion is my knitting Amex Card, I don't leave home without it. I tend to go at least six months between Kitchener stitchings, so her beautifully clear directions are vital to my sock knitting skills. She's the Queen of Folk Patterns, and this book doesn't disappoint, it's so cool. I would not say that these are things you'd wear to the office, or the supermarket, unless you are Very Dramatic, but they would be incredibly cool for curling up with a cup of hot beverage (or wine) and watching the moon rise on a chilly evening, or for pulling off a dog patrol dawn walk with extreme style. This is not to say that they are "weird" at all, just that offices and restaurants and carrying a bag over your shoulder and sweeping sleeves are generally incompatible. Wearing one of these to the office would be like wearing a shawl while standing at the copier - you COULD do it, but why, when there are sleeker and smaller things that won't get in the way when it jams and everybody starts swearing and crawling on the floor, and you are treated to the sight of 3 managers, two of them chubby males, on the floor with their asses in the air looking like they are praying to the copier while trying to find the jam? Or is that just my office? I digress again....

But I love this book. I want to make Reeds and Grasses for myself. I love Komon, it is actually office friendly (and the one on the cover), and I could see Cousin C sweeping around MD in Haori with Crests. But, obviously, these are not small yardage projects, it's the equivalent of making an afghan for someone, so I think I'll be subtle about this and bring the book to her house next time I visit, let her thumb through it and see if she squeals over a particular design. If I say I'd like to make it for her she will of course insist she doesn't need it. Nobody needs a knitted kimono. That's not the point. But you do have to love the design, or that's a lot of yarn down the drain.

Nobody needs most of the things knitters knit. That's not why we do it.

It's My Friday!

2007-08-29T18:42:00.000-04:00

And I'll bitch if I want to. Knit Kimono-no. Here I am waiting for this book, excited by this book, and as far as I can tell, Amazon lost it. I received a ship notice, but can't find confirmation that the carrier picked up the package, and it is now overdue. I normally get Amazon orders days before the estimated delivery date. This is weird.

My job - Oh, I wish I could tell you details without getting dooced but, suffice to say the stupidity is breathtaking, and I am fed up. So I have 5 days off, in a row. Last night I actually had a pleasant and cheerful conversation with my mother, because I haven't had time to go over there for a month I'm going to go tomorrow. I figured we'd do lunch, whatever.

Then, the icing on the cake - midday today I get an email from Cousin C, who says my mother called her and didn't want to alarm me, but she went to the doctor and her blood pressure was 180something over whatever, and he said if she didn't bring it down in two weeks he was going to put her in the hospital.

Am I alarmed? No. I am fucking pissed, and I called my mother and told her so. Why is her BP up? Does she have a serious underlying medical condition? No. She is a tiny, not overweight, active little woman whose biggest gripe at 81 is that she can't climb ladders like she used to. She does have high blood pressure, I am pretty sure it's a side effect of being in a near-constant frenzy about every minor thing, but just as she will not take mood-improving meds, she randomly stops the BP meds. She takes it upon herself to stop taking her medication, and hasn't taken her BP meds in two weeks, and has been working herself into a batshit crazy frenzy of stress over her homeowners' insurance, the weather, you name it. This is intentional, self-inflicted drama, to get attention. If I took my BP right now I'm sure it's up, because I am mad as hell about this. Furious. And I told her so.

I called her from the office, and she immediately launched into her litany of complaints about all the day to day stuff we all deal with - her homeowners' insurance premium, her agent is suggesting switching to a new carrier and she's not sure, and on and on about that. Then I interrupted to tell her I'd heard about her BP, and she says in her fake quavery little old lady voice, "Oh, I didn't want to worry you...." (Yeah, that's why you called C and told her to tell me.)

"I'm not worried. I'm really fucking pissed. You stopped taking your medication." Yes, I did say "fucking pissed" to my mother.

I will draw a veil on the next 45 minutes of insane conversation, the bottom line is that she will stop taking prescribed medication on a whim - this time "her leg hurt." Before that, she had "a red spot on her arm." She reads those ever-so-helpful pamphlets with every possible side effect listed, and she gets ALL of them. This has happened over and over, I am sure her doctor is on to her and as sick of this shit as I am. And no, this is not Alzheimer's or forgetfulness or any of that. You should hear this woman talk politics, she should have an hour on MSNBC. She is sharp as a tack, analytical, very intelligent. We all should be that sharp and healthy at her age. This is pure manipulative narcissistic personality. I grew up with this, I am not sympathetic, I am just pissed. Pissed that I am stuck dealing with this, because my life, as you know, has been a goddamn bed of roses so far, and I have oodles of spare time to dance attendance on my nutty mother.

So, instead of a pleasant day with her, going to lunch, visiting, I'm going to spend a day of my meager 5 days off going over there to give her the talk. The one that goes like, "If you don't take your meds that is going to be interpreted as not being able to care for yourself, and you're going to end up in the hospital, and from there it will be into assisted living." Because she will never live with me, no way in hell. I am not going to be held hostage to her craziness, and I know that this is what she's angling for here. But this is easy - either she can shape up and show she can live on her own, including taking her meds, or other arrangements will have to be made. Or she can act like a nutcase and refuse help until she has a fucking stroke. Her choice. I honestly don't give a shit which she chooses, as long as I don't have to spend my very few vacation days running to deal with her.

Cousin C is my backup and my support, she is onto her and would be my witness at the hearing if I have to Baker Act her ass. And I'm prepared to do it if that will stop these fake "emergencies" that really do endanger her health, to get attention. Let's remember, this has been going on since I was in high school. I've earned a little peace and quiet.

I do marvel at my mother's radar - once again she crafted an "emergency" when I had a few days of pleasure to look forward to. But I've worked it so that I deal with her first, then I have four entire days to myself, to do what I want to do.

On Friday, I'm going to go shopping. I got a small bonus and instead of being Practical, I am going to blow it on a luxury item. I'm leaning toward a new Coach bag. I don't care for their new styles but they have brought back some of their "classics" from the 80s, and I had always wanted one of these back then. I blew a bonus 20 years ago on another of their 80s classic bags and loved that damn thing to death. I think it's still in my closet, but it's pretty much dead.

With the bucks left over, I shall go to L'Occitane. And there is an Apple Store at the mall, and Apple is running a discount promotion for college students which can be used by parents on their behalf, so I am going to buy the hardworkingest girl in Floriduh a MacBook like mine. She has no time for shopping, what with working over 40 hours a week caring for aggressive developmentally disabled residents at night while taking day classes to be a nurse. She's limping along on my old freebie Dell laptop, it is years past its life expectancy. She's going in halvsies on the new Mac, I'll front her the purchase and when she gets her next bonus check she'll kick half the cost back to me. I know I don't have to buy my 24 year old working on her 2nd degree a new computer, but I'm proud of her for deciding to go into nursing, so I'll kick in gladly.

And after all that, I'll still have THREE days! Whooo!!!

Crazy Mother P.S.: I have to share this because I'm still laughing. After I posted the above, my phone rang. My mother called to share that she had taken her BP meds and her BP is now 120 over 66. And she said, out loud, that she would have to apologize to her doctor for being a bad patient. And I told her that I was about to come over there and read her the riot act and threaten assisted living if she didn't take care of herself, and she said she knew, and she wants to live on her own, and she needs to stop being so negative and listen to her doctor. And this will last until the next time, but I just thought I'd share an example of how quickly Roller Coaster Mom can climb and drop, and rise again. I need a neck brace.

Gawwwwdddd....

2007-08-28T19:54:00.000-04:00

Today's visit to the Famous Eye Clinic named after a state in which I may or may not live was deja vu all over again.

23 years ago Girl was an infant and suffered from blocked tear ducts. Many attempts to clear them by non-surgical means had failed, and by the time she was a year old, she was a beautiful baby with runny eyes. It was gross, and our pediatrician sent us to this Famous Eye Clinic to see a surgeon. Silly me, I came with baby and a diaper bag with a couple of toys and a couple of diapers, because it was only 4 miles from our house.

OVER FOUR HOURS LATER we spent 10 minutes with the Great Doctor, who was I am sure well educated, but treated my baby like a piece of meat with blocked tear ducts. I took my exhausted and soggy-bottomed baby and my rage home, and informed my ped that he would have to refer us to someone else, because the McDonald's-like, theme park line, multiple waiting rooms like the rings of hell, move 'em in, move 'em out, cattle drive setup of the Famous Eye Clinic was not something I would ever endure again.

So, 23 years later, I think hey, that was 23 years ago, they have to be better now. So though I flinched when my eye dr. referred me to a specialist there, I said okay.

They are not better. I'll cut to the chase - after 2.5 hours, 5 different waiting rooms and two testing sessions with different techs, I was escorted into the room of the Great Doctor. He spent less than 10 minutes with me, pronounced me fine (I already expected this - I would have noticed visual field issues, I'm not senile) and sent me on my way. These doctors must all be multimillionaires, the shop is run by (pleasant, skilled) techs and such, which allows these guys to see at least 10 patients an hour. The building is not nice, it's not a dump but is hardly state of the art, so when I think about the volume of insurance payments pouring in per hour, a figure that I am sure would bring us to our knees, you'd expect a better ambiance, or at least softer toilet paper in the restrooms. After hour one, I had already sworn a blood oath that if I needed further treatment it would not be done by these clowns. I know they really are highly regarded and respected doctors, they are the big names, heavy hitters, and pleasant too, their staff is nice, but 2.5 hours to get 10 minutes with one is NOT worth it. Retina Guy is as high powered as neuro guy, but his office was efficient and pleasant, and I was in and out in half the time, and HE did the real testing himself, he didn't hand it off to techs. This Famous Eye Clinic just sucks. They put volume and dollars over all.

But the good news is I have no nerve damage and I never have to go there again. Yay!!

Amusements.

2007-08-27T18:50:00.000-04:00

reminiscient of Andrew Wyeth but with audible farts.

Damn you!

Evil Dog-Eating Chair!!

Don't nobody rite good no more?

I laughed out loud at this story, because in my ample spare time I am going to have to rewrite some presentations written by a Graduate of an Expensive Private College. I read them, R read them, and we shook our heads and agreed that they couldn't leave the building like this. It was a coin toss as to which one of us would do the ~~heavy editing~~ total rewrite, but he pointed out, fairly, that he's not as "wordy" as I am, he could do it and do a fine job, but it would take him longer. I'm experienced at rewriting bad shit from baby lawyers, I can spin cat turds into gold. And that's what's needed here. It's like reading a 10th grade English paper written by one of the guys who just wants to take his shop classes and tackle people and graduate with a Gentleman's C-, but this was written by an upper middle class female who went to a very expensive school. My opinion of that very expensive and highly regarded school has fallen significantly, because if they let this child graduate, they ain't all that.

The herbs arrived, and the cats are in the garage getting blissfully stoned. The yowling started when I brought the box into the house. This is some really good kitty crack.

I have tea and lavender soap. Also really good.

Knitted Kimono did not arrive. I'm hoping for tomorrow.

Time, it's so fluid.

2007-08-26T20:41:00.001-04:00

Like rain, or a flushing toilet.... I should be a poet.

Girlchild's move out timeline hasn't solidified, her future roommate has (sensibly) decided to wait until she has been on her job for a month before dropping bucks on deposits and such, and Girl is mildly annoyed because future roommate was the one pushing this process, and Girlchild IS ready, but it's fine. I can continue on my path, she's not in the way of the push to get the house ready to sell. Repairs and paint and recarpeting can take place, not a problem. And the endless paring down of the accumulation of a long family life can continue as well.

Today's funny: Cousin C called me for a pep talk. Given my high bitchiness level of late I'm not sure I'm the right person, but whatever. C has been inspired to put her own house on the market, and has begun the process of digging out and disposing of 20 years of stuff, and became overwhelmed just by digging through old paperwork. She needed advice from a pro who has been dealing with a mere 11 years of stuff. My advice: She's not under the gun (neither am I) and she can take it one bite at a time, tackle a closet, then a room, donate what she can, trash the rest. Don't try to read years of documents, buy redrope folders and stuff it divided by years. Old papers aren't the issue, do them at your leisure. They don't take up that much space, not like the rest of your shit. Pick one small corner of a room, take a box, put stuff in there for Goodwill or the hospice thrift shop, and then repeat until all the extra shit is gone.

I talked her in off the ledge. We will keep on plugging, reducing the accumulated sediment of long-married lives to that which will fit into an apartment or a condo. She wants to go back to MD, to be closer to her sons. I don't know where I'm going. Maybe two miles away to an apartment for now, until my destination reveals itself. I'll keep looking, and I'll be mobile, because breaking a lease ain't nuthin' compared to selling a house.

I assembled the other nightstand today, it went much faster and without incident, after struggling through the first one. I'm halfway through the first Red Scarf scarf. Tomorrow is Monday, and I have a very truncated week so I must get in early and leave late, because I am taking the end of the week off. Imagine, time off for something other than a medical reason!

Stood Up Again.

2007-08-25T17:51:00.000-04:00

No gray, rainy day. It's raining now but it's almost 7, so that doesn't count as a lovely rainy day. No Knitted Kimono. Hot, blazing sun, and Girlchild's phone bill in the mail. This means Monday should be a good packages day, because in addition to the book that ought to show up, please, please, I am expecting an order from Glenbrook Farms. Lucinda used to run this business out of Live Oak, FL, but has relocated to Kentucky. Yet another former Floridian. I'm a little bummed because I miss that overnight delivery perk from being in the same state, but waiting a few days for the White Chocolate Toffee Rooibos Tea is worth it. Damn, that stuff is good - add some sweetener and milk or half and half, even fat free h&h, and you have dessert. I ordered some catnip and some soaps, too. The old boys haven't had a catnip mouse in a long time, and I have some felted and ready for stuffing.

So I didn't have a lovely gray rainy day that I'm craving more than chocolate right now. I did, however, run a lot of errands, do a lot of laundry, bag another bag of clothes for Goodwill and make even more room in my closet. And I went nuts and ordered those new Spacebags storage chest thingies As Seen On TV, because I have winter blankets, throws and coats that are needed 3 months a year max, but when they're needed, they're needed, so I can't get rid of them, and I'd love to be able to smoosh them into a box and stick them in the corner of the closet for the other 9 months. Because in staging a house for sale, making the closets look Spacious and Vast is so important. I still have the puffy down jacket I bought for a NY trip when Girl was in 6th grade, and I still break it out for dawn patrol dog walking in January, when the wind blows, but the rest of the time it is taking up closet real estate when it would be quite fine smooshed into a box.

I single-handedly moved the elliptical trainer out of the bedroom into the little room formerly known as the office, and there it will stay until Girl can give me a hand moving that heavy damn thing to the garage. I think it will be sold to a lucky buyer, it won't fit in a 1 br. apartment, and honestly, while it's good as a backup exercise option, since I went back to the gym I became spoiled all over again by the Rolls Royce quality elliptical machines at the gym.

It looks like Girlchild will be moving out soon, her high school friend M is back in the area and is looking for a house to rent, and the plan is that M and her BF and BF's Brother and Girl will all rent a house together. M has a lab mix puppy, so Dudley will have a companion, and the house they have in mind is roomy enough for all and well laid out for dogs, fenced backyard and all.

Murphy will be devastated and will need much attention. But in a way, it will be good, because when I am down to an only dog I can walk him again, and he can spend time with me in the yard as I fill in all the holes his adopted brother dug and try to make it look presentable, and in 48 hours it will be Dudley Who? I already talked to Boy about the possibility of bringing Murphy with me to Asheville in October, and Boy says it's fine, and Asheville is a very dog-friendly town so he'll be welcome at outdoor tables at restaurants, etc. We can have an adventure together. S thinks she wants a dog, so this will be a good test for the cat's dog tolerance. (I'll bring Murphy's crate in case the cat is not dog tolerant. He's a big, mostly outdoor cat, but I don't want to displace him if it's cold at night and he wants in.) If it all comes together, listing the house in November is looking good.

Girl started classes again this week, she's taking the prereqs she didn't have to take as a social sciences major, (like real math and real science), in preparation for the intensive one year BSN program. She's still working her heavy workload, too, and if they rent the house they're considering, she'll be quite far from her job. Something has to give here, and I'm thinking it will be the job. She may end up waiting tables again over near the university, because between the hours she's putting in and the much longer drive, I'll be scared for her falling asleep behind the wheel one night. And, sadly, she'd make better money waiting tables three or four nights a week than she is busting her ass over 40 hours every week caring for the developmentally disabled. Worrying Mom hopes she'll quit the job and go back to waiting tables near her new home until she starts the nursing program, when she will have no time to work at all.

Oh shit. It's pouring really hard now and the skylight is leaking. Add the roofer to the list of people to call on Monday. Roofer, irrigation guy, painters, yeah, this homeownership thing is a great investment.

Much Better.

2007-08-25T05:43:00.000-04:00

Thank you for "listening" to my self-pitying bitching. I'm better now, and marveling again at Vi, who is always so wise and no-bullshit, and how she hit it on the head. I make a lot of people uncomfortable, I think, because I am living proof that you can do everything "right" - get an education, get a good job, work hard, buy a nice home, send the kids to college, go to the gym, eat right and take your vitamins - all those virtuous behaviors of the "upper middle class" aren't a protective charm that wards off ill health and tragedy. My husband was healthy until he wasn't, until he died a slow, awful death. I was fine until my brain exploded. I was so very lucky to survive, and to survive with relatively petty after effects. But the very wise Vi nailed it - when very bad stuff happens to people who Look Like Us and Live Like Us, it penetrates the magical thinking that This Can't Happen To Us, it destroys the illusion that things like this only happen to people who somehow "deserve" it, who made poor lifestyle choices, or otherwise "brought it upon themselves." We don't admit that we think that, of course, but we do, because otherwise we'd have trouble falling asleep at night, thinking about all the random bad shit that happens, even to People Like Us, so we try to find reasons - Was he a smoker? Is there a family history of that? And yes, I do think that there is an element of that in my neighbors' lack of neighborliness. They aren't bad people, but I think my story makes them uncomfortable. I will be much better off making a fresh start somewhere else, where I am not the Plucky Widow Lady Who Survived the Brain Aneurysm and makes people who knew us Before the Shit Hit feel a little oogy.

I am stalking the delivery of Knitted Kimono, Amazon thinks it will be delivered today. We shall see. And I bought the latest Interweave Knits, I believe this is the first issue with Eunny Jang as editor? I let my subscriptions to all the knitting mags lapse years ago, I buy one off the newsstand occasionally, but I may have to re-up with IK. I must make the Minimalist Cardigan, and the Cobblestone Pullover has my son written all over it. If I find two Must Makes in any knitting magazine, that marks it as a keeper. Unlike the Vogue Knitting anniversary issue, which had nothing I could imagine making.

It's supposed to be a gray, rainy weekend, and I am thrilled. I plan to spend my day puttering, watching movies, knitting, and not thinking about work. Maybe I'll even get around to blocking a couple of things. It could happen!

Friday

2007-08-24T06:57:00.000-04:00

This ~~may be~~ is a long one, I've been saving up for days.

I'm reading a wonderful book, Here If You Need Me. It's the story of a woman who was widowed and became a Unitarian minister and chaplain to the Maine Warden Service, going along on search-and-rescue missions in the Maine woods, ministering to the families, etc. I'm not very far into it and I'm already hooked, she's a wonderful writer, honest and wry about subjects that aren't funny at all, like the sudden death of her husband. And every time she refers to her "Plucky Widow Story" I snort in sisterhood, though my story is different from and not as interesting as hers. But anyway....

The thing that set me off this morning, and I admit I'm tired because it has been a shitty long week and I'm also hormonal, but what set me off was her description of the period after her husband died, and how neighbors brought food and neighborhood men would show up to fix things for her. And this set me off because I have at this moment a busted sprinkler head in my front yard, I know at least 4 able-bodied neighbor men have observed it, and I very strongly suspect that one of their offspring broke it because their kids all play in my yard, and I know they know this because they are often outside tending to their own yards while their kids are running their bikes and chasing balls onto mine, and nobody has asked, "Hey, can I help you with that?" Because I would say yes. But nobody asks, and I will not go to them and beg. They know I'm a widow, at least a couple know I'm a SAH survivor, obviously I work long hours. Frankly, it's easier to hire help than get help.

But I don't feel invisible, because I did get a shitty letter from the HOA, bitching at me because my yard isn't as perfect as they'd like. Mind you, my yard looks okay, I spend about $200 a month to keep it mowed, fertilized and pest controlled, but I will not violate the water management district's watering restrictions, and that's enough to make the grass alive but not LUSH. They'd prefer a lusher, greener lawn. When rainfall has been sparse, and we are coming out of a long drought. Yeah. And if I don't get on the ball and make the grass grow without rain, they could fine me. I double dog dare them - I will make such a stink.

Oh, and even our trade contractor stood me up, he hasn't come out to look at the irrigation system, and it has been a week. So I'm giving up on him, I'll have to start calling other companies in my ample spare time at work.

So, in my tired, hormonal, self-pitying mood this morning, I couldn't help comparing the experience of the author with my own. I have lived in this neighborhood for over 11 years. These people are not strangers. God, I hate this place.

I wondered if it's me, if I'm too fiercely independent, but I realize that I became "fiercely independent" by necessity, because during the two years of my husband's horrible slow death, only three friends (two of mine, one of his) stopped by to visit with him, or picked up the phone to call, or offer any assistance.

I did not reject any help from other people, none was offered. My friends were there when needed without strings attached, both are still my friends today, his friend was all talk and no help. I haven't spoken to him in years. I went back to work a few days after my husband's funeral and have been dealing with whatever comes along ever since. I have come to expect nothing from friends and neighbors, so I am not disappointed. And now I live in this neighborhood full of Good Christians with fish on the backs of their cars, and they may or may not wave back when I wave to them. You'll know they are Christians by ~~their love~~ the fish on the backs of their cars.

This experience has taught me a lot, and though I am bitter and self-pitying this morning, the thing that I really have learned is that if I see someone who may need a hand, I will reach out and offer it. And also contribute my time and effort to things like the Red Scarf Project and others, that send anonymous little morale boosters to people having a tough time. And it's sad but true - the online knitting world was kinder to me than my own neighbors. So I remember that and try to pay it forward.

Except at work. I won't lift a damn finger for those people. My boss R got to hear it yesterday - we had a meeting with another department, and I was asked repeatedly to do their jobs for them, "Could you write this?" (This being a basic business letter.) Then the other one chimed in: "You can call him and negotiate this." R flatly told them that neither I nor anyone in our department would do the project for them, this was their job.But this is what I get from every department in the company. This task is is not going to be easy, fun or glamorous, so let's get Catherine to do it. Nobody, okay, maybe three or four people in my company can write a grammatically correct, intelligent business letter. I'm constantly shocked by how bad their basic skills are, though they all purport to be college graduates. They still see me as The Paralegal, so anything with even the vaguest, most tenuous legal connection is passed off to me. Please write this for me. Please help me do this. Please, please - and I pass it right back, sometimes it takes an email exchange that grows increasingly testy on my part before they give up, because Catherine is a bitch and will not help them. I'm sorry, I didn't enable my own children like this, I'll be goddamned if I'll do it for adults. Yesterday was good - R didn't wait to grow increasingly testy, as I was opening my mouth to tactfully deflect the work back to them, he jumped in and unleashed the Testybomb at the first suggestion that Catherine was to do any of this. Bless R.

And it's Friday, and I have another nightstand to assemble, but I expect it to go much faster this time, and we are finally getting some rain, so the bitch from the HOA management company should get off my back about my grass, and I plan to spend this rainy weekend indulging in movies and knitting. I'm about halfway through the first of the two Red Scarves. And I'm itching to start more socks, but I have enough socks in play right now. And I have to finish my big purple sweater, because it looks like the Asheville trip will be pushed back two weeks for work reasons, and that's not a bad thing, but it does mean I'll need the sweater even more by mid-October. I may be bringing Murphy to Asheville with me. It's such a dog-friendly town, and he'd love a road trip.

That's enough ranting for now - Happy Friday!

Whoopsy Daisy?

2007-08-23T07:26:00.000-04:00

Whoopsy Daisy (see sidebar) is 404. Yoo-hoo, Kerstin?

One Eye Dr. Down, One to Go.

2007-08-22T18:56:00.000-04:00

Today was the Retina Guy. My left eye does have damage from the aneurysm, he saw scar tissue and also what amounts to a film over my retina. He thinks that the bleeding in my brain caused pressure that caused my eye to bleed internally, which may or may not be related to the film on the retina. That does explain the screwed-up vision immediately post-surgery, and the interesting abstract art display I'd see when I closed my eyes. (I thought it was the drugs, or my brain healing, but it could have been the blood interacting with the innards of my eye, triggering displays of red swirls and splotches.)

But, the bottom line:

He: Can you see it? (the faint film on the retina)
Me: Yeah, a little.
He: Does it bother you?
Me: No.
He: No reason to do anything about it then. Your vision is good. We'll just watch it and see if it changes, if it starts to bother you we can operate to get the film off.

Sounds like a plan to me. It's not interfering with my life in any way, no reason to mess with it. It's just another interesting and unique thing.

Next week - Neuro Eye Guy! I expect another "Is it bothering you?" "No." "Okay."

Whatever.