Knitters, I have a stash full of extraordinary yarn that I don’t use because I feel like it “deserves” an extraordinary project using difficult techniques.
I know this is foolish.
Please, knitters, remind me that it’s ok to use the good yarn, even for garter stitch, just because I want to.
The neighbor replaced my starter. Almost didn’t let me pay for the part. Now I have a cat on my lap and all is well.
But now my car won’t start.
I’ll bribe the neighbor. He’s a car guy and can probably fix it. I think it’s the starter, which has been temperamental all summer. The battery is practically new. I was hoping to slide through fall and the holidays and into my tax return before having to deal with car repair, but the car seems to have other ideas.
On the plus side, I have Sunday and Monday off. And I can walk to work if it’s not fixed by Tuesday. And I have a granny cart for any grocery shopping that my roomie can’t drive me to. And the market is just a mile away.
Cross your fingers for me. Here is a picture of Caruso to keep you occupied.
Also, my ginger pear coffee cake (pears from my own trees) is delicious.
I posted a pic from Sakura con. We got pneumonia at Sakura con. Probably go again next year.
we got to meet her.
Check back later. I keep trying to get my head above water. This is me last spring at Sakura-con. I weigh ~130 lbs. I’m mostly tired, but I’m healthy physically and mentally.
iphone app worked with older version of wordpress, but once i updated – as one should – it fails on authentication. am researching. not that iphone integration is required, but it seems stupid that the app and the software won’t talk to one another. i can’t show you that picture because it’s on my stupid iphone.
Left comment for the app support. we’ll see if anything comes up.
It’s been rough these last few years.
I felt like if I had anything I wanted to say, I couldn’t find anyone who wanted to hear it.
Now I’m deciding if an audience is even necessary.
Here’s a current project, named #hashtag.
Home heating oil
A full refrigerator, without requiring a special Thanksgiving shopping trip
Wine, a gift from a friend
Great finds at the Goodwill
My roommate Dustee
My ex-husband not calling me selfish and irresponsible
My own washer and dryer
The hum of the furnace that breaks the silence
The feeling of safety
Loneliness that drives me to interact
The power to act – or to not act
Fear of failure
My bed. I have a really good bed.
I suppose it started right after Heather was born. I was drunk with the physical reality of motherhood. My body had been transformed; mind and spirit had to change, too, to keep up.
We were driving east up 67th toward Phinney, and I saw a man walking in the sidewalk. He was just a man. Some guy walking down the street. He wore an army green coat with faded jeans, hands deep in his pockets to keep out the January drafts. Worn out ankle high hiking boots in an indescribable shade of drab. His shaved bald head had a thin coating of now grey hair.
That bald head in the cold looked so much like my new baby’s. For a split second I saw him as his mother just have, just a few weeks after his birth. I wondered how that giant adult body held up a weak, newborn’s heavy head. Then he took another step and he was a middle aged man again.
For the rest of the day I was lost in that immediacy of motherhood. Everyone I saw was someone’s newborn.
I never quite recovered.
How do you get angry with someone, even someone who desperately deserves it, when in the blink of an eye you can see them as a two week old baby, utterly dependent on others for survival?
And aren’t we all?