Umm,Hi.

I'm just gonna get down to it. About two weeks ago I developed a powerful aversion to both the internet and the knitting. What started out as a simple case of procrastination turned into a kind of panic response, including respiratory lockdown, whenever I: 1) Looked at or even thought about my current knitting project that is sitting on the couch 2) Logged on to the internet.

I couldn't even approach the knitting to put it away, so I could stop looking at it. I was only able to publish that last post because most of it was already written and I worked on it off-line.

I know what you're thinking, and I'm not depressed. My non-knitting time has been well spent on a new, ridiculously boring solitaire game I purchased from AOL, off-line of course, which I will soon be deleting. Okay, that sounds a bit depressed but it's not.

I've also been spending lots of time with The Cakers outdoors, because it's Spring, dammit, and we've had a long haul of beautiful weather and only freaks don't go out in the spring on a beautiful day. ::I hate Spring, BTW. Every bloomin' thing about it. And I'm not going to apologize. And it's not depression. If I ever have the time or courage to explain, it will make perfect sense. Some of you may even choose to join me.::

My sister's birthday was last Sunday and I was knitting her a scarf for a gift. That purple lacey one. I had only three inches to go, which would have taken me minutes to do. But I couldn't. I don't even know where it is. The need for a last minute gift lead me to yet another preoccupation, photo notecards:



While avoiding all things internet and knitting last weekend, I decided to clean out my photo files. Recalling a recent note on JStrizzy's blog, that she is now selling notecards made from her photo collection, I had the great idea to make my sister some cards for her birthday. And then I decided to make some for my mom and my mother-in-law for mother's day. It's been a really fun process. And good for my soul.

And I will not be producing these for sale.
And I'm not depressed.

I don't know how this allergic reaction to the internet and knitting got started in the first place. JenLa recently was victim to a hacker, which has kept them from posting for a week ::which made me feel a might better, girls. Thanks. A simple upswing of misfortune.::

But it almost feels like someone hacked into my brain and threw a switch. No doubt the hacker was so frightened by the experience that he left before doing further damage. I'm sure I could've tracked him down through one of the local mental health clinics, but I figured he's been punished enough.

So, now I'm back. Obviously cured. It's a dull story, the cure. Yesterday I had a cut-n-color appointment and needed a project to work on. Feeling ready to knit but not ready to approach my current project (heart motif sweater), I decided to start a hat for the Get Connected charity I posted about last week. I decided this just 30 minutes before having to leave for my appointment. With no time to scour pattern books, I remembered that Crazy Aunt Purl had posted a quick hat pattern a while back, so I ::gasp:: got on line,and breathing fine,found the pattern, printed her up, cast on and had one row done before I left. That was it.

I have also been walking 4 miles a day, about 4 times a week, between all the other crazy shit I've not been doing. So there's lots of unrecorded brain bloggin in my noggin, which means the Walking the Blog Pt. II is hopefully on the way. Hopefully. And yes, I know I'm behind in the Alphabet Bit.

Bossin' Your Music Around
In the meantime, I need to spread the word on Bruce Springsteen's New album. All I can say is Oh Man.

It's rich. Deep. Powerful. I go to bed with one song in my head and wake up humming another. I haven't quite sorted through the strong emotions some of these songs evoke, but for now I just want to spread the word. My personal favorites at this moment (it changes) are Erie Canal, Shenandoah, Oh,Mary Don't You Weep and Mrs. McGrath. The last one is an old Irish ballad about a mother receiving her once perfect and now maimed son home from war. That one makes me cry. And it's not because I'm depressed. It's a sad song. Actually, most of the songs will make you want to dance. Many will make you think.

I am back.
I will be back.

Labels: The Boss

Preface: I'm going to proceed with today's blog post as though I've not been not knitting, posting blog,reading blogs, eating, pooping, peeing, bathing, mating, parenting,or otherwise doing anything but thinking about and writing reports for work. In other words, we're going to pretend that the following post is based on recent observations and not a succession of events which occurred weeks ago, the last time I was allowed out of my brain cell. End Preface.

Lately it seems like I do my best blog writing while out walking. Maybe it's the fresh air and sunshine or merely the caliber of mental widgets I encounter on the path, but whenever I go walking about, I am inspired to write a post in my head, or brain-blog, as I call it.

And damn if I don't walk up some funny shit. No really. My Walking the Blog posts are my best work; poignant, relevant, and possibly some of the funniest and original observations to potentially grace the face of the internet.

Potentially. Because sure as shit, by the time I get home from the walk and fix the dinner and feed the dog and play with the girl and gratify the husband to his complete and utter satisfaction, and finally sit down at the keyboard, my brain is wearing nothing but a smile.

During yesterday's walk, I happened upon a few of the very same sidewalk-cretins who inspired my earlier (and far more clever than this) impressions and thereby jogged my Walking the Blog memories. Sort of.

And it went something like this:

Dear Lady Walking in Front of Me, Talking on the Cellphone:

It's a beautiful day. We're on a nature trail. I'm half out of my fucking mind with stress. I need some quiet. Did I mention this is a nature trial? And while I surely appreciate your thorough presentation of our local weather forecast over the next two days, as shared with whom I presumed to be your adult daughter, with children of her own, who lives out of town but will soon be coming for a visit, please, just shut the fuck up.

And lady, I'm a mother too. I know that I will never totally give up the parental reins when it comes to what I consider my legal right to be obnoxiously intrusive and interfering with my offspring, regardless of their age. That being said, I’m pretty sure your daughter's gynecologist has already told her that Chlamydia is an STD and cannot be contracted by eating rancid pesto.

Dear Young Mother at the Playground:

It's a beautiful day. You're at a playground holding the hand of your barely walking, strapping baby boy. A lovely picture. Really. Except for that cell-phone tucked between your shoulder and ear. That looks a little awkward. Especially since the hand that isn't dangling the baby is holding what appears to be a freshly frappe-ed, Frappocino Grande.

With your hands being all full and shit, you can't possibly remove the phone from it's neckly nook, and therefore you have no choice but to stand in the middle of a playground, on a beautiful spring day, and talk on your phone, between sips of icy drink, while your babe whimpers and watches the children play. At the park. On a beautiful spring day.

I'd be happy to give you a hand and all, but I'm afraid it would lead to my eventual incarceration. Of course, that would be only after the special forensic team of proctologists and Verizon Techies procures the physical evidence from your preppy Gapped-ass. Then again, the chance to hear Fergie ringtoning "My hump, my hump, my lovely little bumps..." from your freshly waxed bung-hole, might almost be worth it.

Dear Buttard Walking Towards Me in the Sopranos-esque Jog Suit:

It's common sense to follow the rules of road traffic while walking a trail used by other people. You veer to the right, and I veer to the right. Then we just fuggidah bottit.

This concludes Part 1 of the two part, Walking the Blog Mini-Series. Following is a preview of the next and final episode, to be posted at a future date:
1) Best Stalking Story Ever
2) Marcy and the Boob Walkers.
3) Perhaps some other shit I might just make up about people driving past in cars or riding buses.

Knitting Knuggets
Knone.

She Lied About Knitting
Over the past two weeks I have knit about three rows on The Cakers heart motif sweater. Two of which were unknit. Accompanied by a lovely Beaujolais.

I'm thinking this is a Really Cool Thing going on in my own little town. If you're interested in participating, my neighborhood yarn store is collecting donations.

Hate to brain puke and run, but it's time for my walk. I'm thinking that I should start carrying a legal pad and pen on my walks so I can jot down blog-worthy material. On second thought,no. I'd hate to end up some other hateful person's blog fodder.

::I know I've been a bad blogger. In my defense, I've spent most of my waking hours over the past 10 days writing reports. And I just can't write anymore. It should let up now, at least for a couple weeks, but I can't say for sure. In the meantime, speaking of holes, go check out this post , from my new favorite read. Well, read the rest of her stuff too. Of course.::

::Idiotic Editing apologies: Sorry for the late repost, but I found a huge typo in my post, which I somehow missed after 3000 careful read throughs.::

Labels: Charity Knits, Walking the Blog

In the world of speshul ed, Spring is the proverbial season for Stuffin'the Bunny, i.e. I'm busier than a nine tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. ::Okay, there's no proverb about stuffing bunnies.::

In my world of work, deadlines are not to be trifled with and no excuse for being late, wrong, lately wrong or flat out stupid, will be accepted. Temporary declines in overall hygiene and appearance are not only acceptable, but expected. Otherwise, you're a slacker.

For me, this busy time means balancing my day between writing reports for looming deadlines and being available to my adolescent clientele. The latter trumps the former during the workday. This means I'm bringing the paperwork home. Every night.
In fact, I should be working on a report right now because it needs to be in the mail to parents by Monday.

But I'm not.

I've said it before that I kind of like it when it gets a little crazy at work, for a while anyway. Usually this giggin' on the wiggin' occurs when I'm able to just barely stay on top of it. It's a feeling of crazed competency. But I only get that special feeling when it's a fair fight. Right now it doesn't feel like a fair fight. I'm overwhelmed. And I'm not giggin' so much. I'm probably not even making much sense.

I'm way behind on my Blog Reading and emails and last night knit for the first time in a week. So, if I've missed reading about something real important, I'm sorry.

With the lack of anything else of interest to talk about, I have no choice but to bring you another Cakers story. ::To those of you who commented on The Cakers "old soul" two posts ago, I have kind of an interesting esoteric tale, but am not real comfortable posting it here. I hope to answer youse guys individually in email. Soon. ::

::No Really::

Arachna Kid
From a very young age, I have been afraid of spiders. Not phobic or anything, but if I'm caught by one, unaware, I experience the involuntary Oh-My-God-Oh-My-God-Oh-My-God-I-Almost-Touched-A-Spider dance. Once I became a parent, I did learn to kill, but only to save my child's life. While I never became totally comfortable with it, if I could get the kill without having to look at it much, or feel any crunching beneath the paper towel, I could easily move on, with minimal shudders. .

Earlier in the week, The Cakers is in the bathroom screaming. "Spider! Spider! "

My husband was not home, so I'm the reluctant hero. When I get to the bathroom, I see my girl on the toilet, and a spider on the wall, about two feet from her now curled toes. Not that I consider any spider attractive, but there are some spiders whose appearance strongly suggests "Stay the fuck away. Bitch." This was one such spider. It was not only huge, but it's legs were weird. The ones in the front were much shorter than the ones in the back, and they all bowed forward, like crab legs. I'm pretty sure it was the kind that flies into your face if you make eye contact.

Using my well-honed Spider-Face-Death-Differential-Math skills, I decide I could get the girl off the can with nobody losing they mind getting hurt. And then we would just report it to daddy when he gets home.

The Cakers was not thrilled with this plan. She wanted the bastard dead. After a tearful discussion, she relented and allowed me to scoop her up and out of the room.

Fast forward to bedtime. As I'm walking toward her room to tuck her in, she comes out of the bathroom. That's when I remembered.

"Did you tell daddy about the spider?"
"No. I killed it." She said. Way too casual.
"You did?!? How?"
"Well," she says, in her best, My-Mom-Is-A-Lameass-Chicken-Shit-And-Left-Me-No-Choice-But-To-Become-A-Spider-Slayer-At-The-Tender-Age-Of-Four voice, "I got a washcloth. Then I covered him up. Then I looked under the washcloth to see where he was. Then I pinched like this (she shows me pinching). Then I looked and saw his leg all crunched like this (she demonstrates by bringing a fist to her armpit) And he was dead."

Then she turned for her room and went to bed.

So, at least we know she's not an old Buddhist soul.

Now I gotta go.

May all your bunnies stuff real good.

Labels: I Work Too, My Daughter Scares Me

...of my vacation

I guess it's a sign of a good vacation if over a two day period, a vacationer has no more than 30 minutes available for writing a frickin' blog post. So that's good. As in a good thing. Right?

We've had two days of gorgeous weather here, which means there's been no wasting time indoors. I even got me some pink cheeks.

And then it's back to work tomorrow. And while I've a post a-perculatin', it's just gonna have to wait.

In the meantime here's some vacation sky for Sandy, taken at the lake early last week.



::For the record, while my camera does have a special setting for setting suns, the only special handling that shot had was shrinkage.::

Labels: Deep Shit, Pho-Ho', Saturday Sky

G is for Girl

From Delicious Nugget...



To Juicy Hambone.



Swirling Cwinderella...



To One Beat Chick.



When I first found out I had a Cakers in the oven,I was more than a little anxious. There wasn't just the health considerations for both me and the babe (I was 42) there were also significant lifestyle changes to ponder.*

Sometimes I would nervously joke with friends and family that back in the days of cavemen, a woman my age would be dead by now. And maybe there was a reason for that. To a person, the response would be, "Oh, she'll keep you young."

Hmmm.

This girl of mine is very hard to describe in font. You really have to experience Cakers to know what I'm talking about. She's sensitive and bullheaded and vulnerable and brave and logical and magical and has an otherwise indescribable essence the likes of which most people have never known, and often feel compelled to comment on.

Yesterday I was talking to a neighbor mom in the yard, while several neighborhood kids (including mine) played around us. A four year old neighbor girl had been begging and whining (and whining and begging) about something that none of the adults or children could do anything about. It was obvious that this girl was not going to let up, and I suspect she was enjoying our ever increasing frustration with her interruptions and impossible demands.

Along comes Cakers, who gets off her bike, puts her hand on the girl's shoulder and in a very sensitive, caring voice says "You'll feel a lot better if you just stop thinking about it."

To all the people who told me "She'll keep you young," you were a little off the mark. She doesn't keep me young. She keeps me amazed. Every day.

*There were more complicated cognitions and emotions I experienced as an old pregnant lady, including an odd sense of loneliness. But this is a story of celebration and awe. The other part of the story can wait another day.

Two days ago we were basking in the beauty of a sunny, 66 degreed spring day. This morning I woke to find this view out on the front room window of the cottage:



Yah, that’s snow. Stuck to the window. Hurled from the sky sideways, in the form of large snowballs (not kidding), as Mother Nature opened a can of weather-whoop-ass, upon our Michiganian Spring Breakin’ selves.

I think it's payment for our recent gloat-fest over not being amongst the pathetic southbound fucks, stuck in traffic on I-75, over the past three days. But I'm a quick study, which means you won't read a font of complaint about Spring Break weather here. Otherwise I'm sure I'll be dreaming of a white Memorial Day.

Mea Culpaducah
A thousand apologies for my repeated misspelling of Paducah in that last post. Blame it on the rain snow Nyquil Internet. Yes, that’s it. The Internet.

When I wasn’t sure of my first choice of spelling,I did a quick Google before I hit publish. I mistakenly figured 3000 real estate agents can’t be wrong.

Hearty Ho’
This is my current project, a pullover sweater for The Cakers.



The pattern is from the Rowan Treasury anthology and the yarn is Brown Sheep Cotton Fleece. I initially dug out the yarn to make SaunShine’s Regine, but I was short a skein. It’s an easy knit, once you write the chart out in text (That is, if you’re an auntie Chart person, such as myself.).

Before I could get started on this sweater, I had to make a run into town to the knitting needle store where, I was shocked to learn,they also carry yarn. :: I know, you could have knocked me over with a bunny fart. ::

Sale Yarn. Even.


That would be yarn that sails nicely into large brown bag and then into the back seat of a family vehicle. The very place I planned to keep it safely tucked away on the car floor, just beneath the space where Cakers dangles her feet. Upon our return home, it would have been secretly whisked away to one of several sacred hiding bins.

Have I mentioned lately, how my little girl has grown? Oh yeah. Used to be that she gave no mind to my secret back seat stash habits. But the next time we all get into the car at the same time, she says: Look Daddy, Mommy bought a big bag of yarn!

You mean needles, don’t you honey?

No daddy, see? She holds up the bag.

My husband looks at me. I smile real sweet and say real quiet-like, "Was that a childless band of gypsies we saw camped outside of town yesterday?"

The yarn is Plymouth Baby Merino. If I can lose 10 pounds of gut and boobage over the summer, I'm thinking of making this into Knit and Tonic's Not-So-Shrunken Cardigan.

A Photo-Opsession...
...Taking close ups of lake water. 200 shots just today. Consider yourself warned.



I call this one Loopy Swan.



And thanks for the good health vibes. Aside from excessive goobage, I'm feeling almost back to normal.

P.S. Up until like, yesterday, I did not know that if you click on a post picture, you can see a bigger version. Gawd I love this country. And Mother Nature. Of course.

P.P.S. I've heard that my comments haven't been working. Please email me at Marcymayy at aol dot com if you run into problems. If I don't know about it, I can't cry about it. Thanks.

Labels: Cottage, Pho-Ho'

1)I’ve had quite The Couple of Weeks at work; an unchronicled series of events which unceremoniously came to an end Thursday afternoon, at 3:00 p.m., at the commencement of my Spring Break.

2)Friday morning we drove to the cottage.

3)Friday afternoon I was bitch-slapped by a cold-like virus.

4)Friday night, having forgotten to pick up a sleep-friendly cold medicine in town, I was forced to substitute an Alcho-Seltzer concoction of my own, which made me feel better in some ways but not so much in many others. And I slept nary a drip. When I did sleep, I had nightmares. About work. I dreamt that I had diagnosed half the H.S. staff with Aut*ism Specktrum Disorder and administration was really mad at me because now they had to provide speshul education job placements for all these employees under ADA, and where would they find the money?

5)Today I still don’t feel so snot hot.

6)Today I feel unclever. No, worse than that. I feel anti-clever. I am The Anti-Clever.

7)So, what am I doing here, with my brain du Mod Podge? The ABC- Along. I need to get the F out from behind.

8) Let's get on widdit.

F is Fur Fluffins'
AKA The Fluffinator, Bella, Bella Boosky, Boosky, Boosky Patoosky (Sweet as Fluffin Pie…It’s a cat song. Shut up.) Boo-key, Kitten-Kattin and L’il Bitch.



::Notice how she has possession or near-possession of everything I need for a night of happiness? You can't see that she's laying on top of a denim pant leg in progress. L'il Bitch.::

I don’t have many interesting stories about Bella. Well, maybe a couple, but to make them interesting I would need some clever. Got none. Okay, maybe one.

I never had a girl cat before, and the heat cycle thing kind of caught me off guard. I first knew something was wrong when I was watching the weather channel and an apparently weather-worthy event was happening in Peducah, Kentucky. At this time, in addition to knowing naught about estruating felines, neither had I ever heard of Peducah, Kentucky. And I was immediately fascinated by the sound and feel of saying it.

Peducah.
Pe-DOOO-cah.

After saying it quietly to myself a few times over, I yelled to my boyfriend (now husband) in the other room, “There’s a tornado warning in Peducah!” And as soon as I said Peducah, Bella (who was sleeping on the floor) stuck her butt in the air and went Maaawwwwr! Then, as quick as it went up, the butt when down.

That’s weird, I thought. So I yelled it again. Peducah!

Butt up. Maaawwwr.

I know it sounds kind of mean now, but I had no idea what was going on. It was an amazing thing to see. So of course, I had to call Eric in to see.

Peducah. Maaawwrrrr.

It wasn’t until a couple of days later, after catching her Fluffhumpin' the Hoover, that I figured it out. We fixed it, of course. (The cat, not the Hoover.)

That’s my Bella story.

I do have some knitting updates but they’ll have to wait until there’s a notable drop in the nasal drip.

I’ll close with a picture I took yesterday, shortly after we arrived. My girl is quite the multi-tasker:

Labels: ABC