I hate Christmas was wonderful beyond my dreams. Christmas Eve I stayed up until 2:00 a.m., ransacking the house in search of my secret booze stash, after knocking off the last legitmate bottle of wine. to make sure the next morning was nothing less than perfect.

Christmas morning, Cakers was up at the crack of ass dawn to open her gifts. Then, while Cakers played with her new toys, I cleaned up the wrapping paper mess and prepared a plan to get myself legally adopted by the lady down the block for mid-morning brunch with the in-laws. No sooner had I finished with all that, when College Boy came over from his father's house, to open his presents.

When my son was done opening his gifts, I was struck by a sudden sense of sadness at not having run away with that rogue band of eunoch bikini waxers, back in college. had a few more kids, with a few more different men, so the gaiety of this morning could have been extended.

After a third round of gift exchange, this time with my in-laws, punch was spiked brunch was served. After the table was cleared,we had a surpise guest: Child phenom Caker Monshaker.



My inlaws left at 2:00, which gave me just a couple of hours to hunt down my former therapist to ask him to: 1) drop the restraining order and 2) Get me a 48 hour inpatient placement, where I would be expected to do nothing but enjoy a medication-induced euphoria and whoozily receive my guilt-ridden visitors. prepare for a round of toxic relational debauchery reciprocal love and joy with my mother, siblings and nieces and nephews, at a party being held later in the evening.

That party went pretty well except for the part where my niece shot my nephew in the neck with a pellet gun and my former SWAT instructor brother had to take her down, to disarm her and then my mom cried., but the highlight of the evening was the presentation of my Tammy Faye Snuff film snowman cupcakes.

And even though most of the little snowman noses fell like panties off a Spears'ass off in transit to the party, my family members were so thrilled with these little fellas that they fought over who would get to implode theirs next in the microwave get first pick.

In fact, by then end of the night there were only two left and I found them in the back room, toasted and nestled between two graham crackers, with a chunk of a Nestle's bar.!

I spent the next day sniffing cleaning supplies and sucking the scalp of Cakers'new wig. cleaning, and the day after that I cleaned up after the cleaning up.

And today, we're at the cottage.
Halya Fucking Loo Ya.

I'm so excited to be here that I don't give a whit about the anticipated 6-10 inches of snow expected between 4 and 11 p.m. today.



Early in the snow shower, the flakes were huge and I wanted to take a picture of one. I received a photography book for Christmas, but it doesn't have anything in it about photographing snowflakes, so I winged it.



Here's to Getting Hosed on New Years
I bet you thought I forgot.
But I didn't.



I'm finished with the leg part. Next, I have to do that stuff that makes sox more than just messing around with a 7 inch tube of glorious substance.

Soxual Heeling, Baybee.

p.s. I meant to have the this post done two days ago. But hey, Shit happens. Shit Happens.

p.s. I REALLY meant to have this post done two hours ago. But hey, Blogger Happens. Blogger Happens.

p.s. I'm ree ree tired and will not be checking publication for typos, grammos or STDS.

Labels: Christmas, Cottage, I Need Therapy Thursday, Intendments, Knit In Progress, Pho-Ho', Too Tired for Pudding

But not as bad as I might need some specialized critter control.





This meaningless post is a BWO production.

::Thanks, JenLa for the link.::

Labels: I Need Therapy Thursday

Butt Beans 2, Human Beans 0.

Today I sent a pass for a student, but the student didn't show at the designated time. After waiting 10 minutes, I make a quick run to the mailroom, then the loo.

When I return to my office, this is the scene that greets me:



Look closely at the, um, hole:



See the gray pencil marks?
Someone took a pencil to my bean hole, then left.
No note.
No call.

That's been the essence of this entire week, people.
Random acts of Buggery.

P.S. The bean remains.

Labels: I Need Therapy Thursday, I Work Too, Pig Booty

And rain.



I'm just asking for one day.
One nice, long, chilly, rainy, summer afternoon.
With my girl.
All cozied on the couch.
And away from the fray,
Of children,
Who steal her away,
Every day.
And who,
So rudely,
Never return her
In the condition they found her.
So sweet.
And clean.
And obedient.
And much less beatable.*

On a Sort of Ironic Note**
Presenta Sahara:


Sofara, Sogooda.

So, good nighta.

*Of course I don't. It's just a poemy thangy. But she has being play rope on my last nerve. And it doesn't help that I have some kind of emotional funk shui going on right now.

**Sahara is going well, and we haven't had any rain, and Sahara is a desert, where it doesn't rain.***

***Sorry. Blame it on the rain. Hee.

P.S. Anybody else get hooked on the World Series of Pop Culture? Go Twisted Misters! I see an Alltel commercial in your future...

Labels: I Need Therapy Thursday, Knit In Progress

Okay. So I’ve been cranking out these behemoth-o-mongo evaluation reports, one after the other, day after day, week after week, with no respite in sight.

Today, while taking a break from the write/print/proof/rinse/repeat cycle, I decided that I needed a little somethin’ somethin’ of the sweet variety. The only thing available within grunting distance, however, was a Jelly Smelly from my little candy-assed friend

Except the pig had other ideas.
An exception to which I took exception.
And a jumbo paper clip.



So there I am, sitting in my office, in all my dignified, professional glory, digging a jelly bean out of a pig’s ass, with a paper clip.

So I could eat it. ::The jelly bean, not the ass. Ass.::
Which I did. But only after a careful balance of probing, manipulation and gentle shredding.

For different reasons, perhaps, I think we both found the experience rather gratifying.

Have you made an impact, today?

I Needed Therapy Wednesday, Too
Last night I was on my own for dinner, so decided to visit the local grocery store salad bar. While working my way through the accrouements, I heard myself say, out loud and very, “What the hell are you talking about?”

To no one.

It just goes to show how people deal with stress in different ways. Some get their freak on. Others get their crouton.

Lettuce pray.

Labels: I Need Therapy Thursday, I Work Too, Pig Booty

It was a week ago Thursday night, late. I'd just popped a tiny Tylenol P.M. and was heading off to bed, when my husband comes into the room and asks me if his aortal aneurism ::I cannot spell that word.:: was ascending or descending?

What are you talking about?

My anyerism. You know. Is it descending or ascending?

How'd you get an anuerysm?

Didn't you hear the doctor? ::He's referring to the rent-a-cardiologist at the hospital, a month ago.:: He said my aorta is enlarged.

I never heard the word anyerism.

Well, that's what an enlarged aorta is.

What are you talking about? We don't know if your aorta is enlarged. You haven't even seen the real cardiologist yet. Your own doctor told you that you're a big boy, with a big heart and sometimes a big heart brings a big aorta. And if that's what you really have, wouldn't the rental cardiologist unit have told you? They didn't even have your baseline measurement at the time. And I just took a Tylenol P.M. ferfucklesakes.

I know my baseline, now. It was 4 cm. It's up to 4.6. That's huge. That's an aynyerism. Just forget I said anything. I thought I could talk to you...my wife. I thought you might be interested to know that when they perform the surgery to fix it, I'll be buried in ice and put on artificial life support, so as to minimize the brain damage, which is almost certain with this particular kind of surgery.

Brain damage? Where the hell is this coming from? And way to ruin a good Tylenol P.M. fuzz, by the way.

I got it from the internet. I've been reading up on this shit every day. I have...as he reads from the back of a tattered grocery list...a Thoracic Aortic Aneryism. And that's really bad.

I'll spare you the details of rest of the dialogue, but I will share that it included screaming and swearing and crying and then laughing. You see, a couple months ago, Cakers was diagnosed, by a real doctor, with bronchitis. The day after the appointment, our very own Doctor Cabana calls me at work to tell me that Cakers has Asthma.

Did the doctor call? I asked, with alarm.

No. I got it from the internet. She has asthma. I just know it. ::I have no idea. Maybe there is a diagnostic website where you breathe into the mouse and right click at the same time?::

Oddly enough, at her follow-up appointment, the doctor gave Cakers'lungs and overall respiratory functioning, a clean bill. And we didn't speak of it again. Until last Thursday.

And even though we agreed to hold off on looking for a nursing home until after getting a second opinion from the Real Cardiologist, the following Monday, I couldn't stop rethinking the possibility of me and The Cakers living a life without this man. This internet diagnostic idiot, who just happens to be my everything. My happiness. A man I would gladly share a life with in a van, down by the river. Okay, make that a used R.V.

I need him. He changes light bulbs and fills my gas tank and fetches me wine. He loves to grocery shop with me. He has a healthy respect for ADHD. He can do a buttload of dishes in about 10 minutes, the same amount of time it takes me to circle the kitchen six times, move 3 plates from one counter to the other, before deciding to do it later. And every night he tells me to quit plucking my eyebrows and come to bed. ::I don't even know how he knows that's what I'm doing, because I'm very quiet with the tweezers. It's like he's psychic. Practically.::

Needless to say, I spent last weekend fighting the intrusive images of limping through the rest of my life, fielding the misguided hatred of the half-orphaned Cakers, while growing fat and wrinkly and bald of brow. All alone.

Long story almost over: Per the Real Cardiologist, The fucking rental from the hospital misquoted the echocardiogram findings to us. His Aorta was not 4.6 cm, but only 4.2. Which, with margin of error, is basically a non issue at this time. His aorta hasn't grown. There are no structural issues with his heart. And while his cholesterol was normal, it was a bad normal, and the Real Cardiologist is also a lipids specialist, so put E. on medication for that, which is unrelated to any of the issues that put him in the hospital.

E. still has to see another Cardiologist who specializes in the electrical stuff, but this guy we saw Monday is pretty certain the episode last month is not a heart issue but a brain issue and described it as the opposite of the "fight or flight" response, which we now affectionately refer to as the "I think I'm going to lay down and take a nap. Right now." response. Okay, I guess you had to be there for that one. But my husband loves him some nap, any time of the day.

We should know more after the next appointment.

In the meantime, it's all systems go, with no restricted activity.
Well, except for access to the internet.

Post Post Note 1: Work is going to be crazy up to the end. I feel like I'm in a batting cage with three pitching machines, and no bat. Or armor. I'm working late every night and when I get home I have nothing left to think or say. It's going to be a more-than-usual sketchy blog schedule 'til June. And I've not been getting around to read blogs and am behind in correspondence and I really wanted to respond to comments on last few posts, but I just...can't. Right now. Much. But I do appreciate the good thoughts and encouragements.

Post Post Note 2: The Rent a Cardiologist Fuck-pas was the second in a series of two significant miscommunications at the hospital, which caused me undue emotional duress, of the life-threatening variety.

Labels: Deep Shit, I Need Therapy Thursday, Manpie, Scary Shit

In my recent life there has been too much rain, wind, snow, ice, fog, thunder, lightening, driving in above conditions, exposure to asshole drivers driving in above conditions, boogs in my nose, wearing of elastic waist pants, hair on my left leg, stepfather in a hospital, Dayquil-induced dementia, take-out dining, college student on my couch and fat on my ass.

In my recent life there has not been near enough wine,knitting, fresh air, writing blog, reading blog, writing email, reading email, sleeping, feelings of professional accomplishment, bugs laying eggs in the ears of my enemies, canoodling, lessening of boogs in my nose, Judge Judy, opportunity to use the word "dearth" in a sentence, leg shaving, pudding eating and reduction of fat on my ass.

Labels: I Need Therapy Thursday

We're going to the cottage this afternoon, through New Years. This was to be a joyous event. Now, not so much. First of all, Cakers and Husband were going to go skiing on New Years Eve day, and leave me to my own stuck-at-the-cottage-all-alone devices, which usually include some sleeping in and some blogging and some knitting.

However, it's supposed to rain all weekend and my laptop needs a new video card so is out of commission. Our desktop computers are my husband's work computers and do not have modems for dial-up.

I was really looking forward to getting some fresh air via some lenghty walks through my favorite up north haunts. See above note about raining all weekend.

I was really looking forward to getting caught up on some blogging. Time off from work seems to be the only time, anymore, I have the brain power required to pull a couple sentences together. See above note about computer.

I was really looking forward to catching up on other blogs and leaving some comments and shit. See above...

I was really looking forward to getting caught up on organizing and playing with my photos. On my computer. Ditto on seeing above...

I was really looking forward to taking some lovely winter shots at the cottage and playing with them on my computer. See above notes about rain and computer.

I really should get finished packing. My husband is at a meeting right now and will be home soon, expecting me standing at the door all agiggles, with three packed laundry baskets and a dressed kid and a tail-wagging dog.

I have one basket packed with stuffed animals and am still in my pajamas, trying to decide whether or not I should floss that piece of orange chicken leftover from last night's dinner or save it for a stink bomb in the car, and I think someone forgot to let the dog in and that may be his tail poking out from the neighbor's bushes, as I write. Damn them neighbors and their bushes. And I haven't heard from Cakers in about an hour. That's not good. Unless she's hunting Labrador in the bushes. And if that's the case, I won't expect either one of them for another hour or so.

Plus, I'm getting the crud.

Not So Happy Old Year Sign Off
We bought Cakers a digital camera for Christmas. It's a real one, not one of those kiddie kind. She's still getting used to it but we've been enjoying some of her "perspectives".



We're getting mostly self-portraits such as this one.



I had a few more but they wouldn't load. Fuck You Blogger. Why oh why couldn't this be I Get Therapy Thursday, instead?

Enough about me and my whining.

Have a Blessed New Year and Godspeed on All Your Happies.

Labels: I Need Therapy Thursday, Now You're Whining

Tuesday night I sat down to write a quick little post. But I couldn’t. Write.

Then I decided I needed a special link, to get me started on my quick little post. But I couldn’t. Find it.

And then I got distracted.

And then I got tired.

And then I looked at my blog and saw that it was already the day before WTF Wednesday and I had only posted once since the last WTF, which would make my last post a WTF Post Sandwich.

For some reason, a WTF Post Sandwich about a crazy dead cat named after a shriveled fruit sounded like a beg for bad luck.

And then my brain felt like it was going to melt from all the internal sweatin’and frettin'. So I stopped thinking about it.

Still harboring a strong need to worry about something totally senseless,I got to stressin’about my visitor stats. And comments.

And even though that felt better than worrying about a WTF Raisin Post Sandwich, it still didn’t fit the bill.

So I decided to worry about someone else’s blog problems,and rested my worried mind on JenLa’s bleeding bloglines, which reminded me to wonder about something else: If a woman has her period all the time, can it still be called a period? And if not, what should it be called? Infinity? Ellipses?

And then, in a burst of selfishness, I brought the spotlight back on me, to wonder, in a worrying kind of way, why can’t I blog like I used to?

Was I past my post prime?
Had my wad done blowed?
My ship done sailed?
Had the best I got to give, done got given?

And then I wondered if I was really wondering if it's better to read the writing on the writing on the wall, and dump the guy before he dumps you, even if it's sure to break your heart?

And then I went to bed.
And then I got up.
And then I went to bed. Again.
And then it wasn't WTF Wednesday. Again.

Now here we are.
Still.
Again.

Anyway...

Tuesday's Post or WTFYF or What to Feed Your Family

Last weekend I whipped up a batch of La's Drunken Bovine Stew, ::It’s the shit, I’m tellin’ ya. :: and Monday I went with Carole's American Chop Suey ::Yes, we all know we’re talking about goulash. Because the local Bostonians have a history of getting their beans all up in a bunghole, on the issue, we’ll just wink and play along. Mmm k?.::

k.

I haven’t had American Chop Suey ::wink:: since I was a kid. My mom used to make it but never worked from a recipe. When I asked her about it a couple of years ago, she laughed and said there was no way she could remember what she put in it, except for a plop of brown sugar.

I was very excited to try Carole's recipe, and am happy to say I wasn’t disappointed. I did add salt, pepper, paprika and a plop or two of brown sugar. I may add a little bouillon or broth next time. Minus my generous helping at dinner, my husband ate the entire batch within a 14 hour period.

In a gesture of good blog karma, I’ll now share with you, one of my favorite, easy, culinary comforts. Not only is it tasty it only uses one pan. I don’t have a name for it yet, so I think I'll call it...

Rosemary’s Chicken. Yeah.

Ingredients:

4 chicken breast halves, with skin and bone-in.
Baby redskin potatoes
Baby carrots from a bag*
Olive Oil
Salt
Pepper
Dried or fresh rosemary
Up to ¼ cup of white whine
Large, shallow roasting pan (size matters here.)

Preheat oven to 400.

1) Wash and pat dry chicken and place in roaster.

2) Wash veggies and halve potatoes

3) Put 1-2 Tablespoons of olive oil in a large sealable storage bag. (enough to lightly coat veggies**)

4) Put potatoes and carrots in the bag with oil and shake until coated.

5) Arrange vegetables in pan around chicken.

6) Brush chicken with olive oil.

7) Season chicken and veggies to taste with salt, pepper and generous amounts of rosemary (well, don’t actually taste the chicken at this point, just imagine with your mind's tongue.)

8) Place in oven.

9) Bake for 45 minutes or until chicken is proper temperature, per meat thermometer.

10) About halfway through baking time, remove pan from oven and turn the veggies.

11) After chicken is done, increase oven temperature to 425 and remove pan from oven. Remove chicken from pan and keep warm on a plate, under foil.

12) Pour 1/8 to ¼ cup*** of white wine into the still hot pan and stir to mix with chicken juices and to loosen bits on bottom of pan. After wine and juices are mixed, toss with vegetables until coated evenly. Return pan to oven for 10 minutes or until most of liquid is absorbed or evaporated.

*The baby carrots in the bag is most convenient but fresh carrots taste noticeably better with this recipe and are worth the trouble to me. Just watch the size. If the pieces are too small, they will kind of meld with the bottom of the pan.

**You can use skinless/boneless chicken but it won't provide as much juice, so add 1/8 cup of chicken broth to the olive oil when tossing the veggies. Chicken broth can also be added to the pan during the bake, to replace fluids.

***If using a smaller than large roasting pan, use less wine. The more area there is to cover on the pan for stirring the bits, the more wine you need. Since we're on the subject of size, the veggies should not be crammed together in the pan but have a little breathing space. Choose pan size or quanity of veggies accordingly.

P.S. I've used chunks of red onions and whole garlic pieces with the veggies. If you add extra anything, just be sure to leave breathing room.

P.P.S. If you have big breasts, you may need to cook them a bit before adding the veggies. If your breasts are small, cut the veggies smaller.

P.P.P.S. It’s not as complicated as I make it sound. The recipe, that is. Not my brain. My brain can complicate dust bunnies.

I may have some knitting updates soon. Or maybe not. I’m still fibrous. I promise.
College Boy is coming home for the weekend and I’m sure he’s going to want to spend extended amounts of quality time with his momma.
Or at least her computer.

Labels: I Need Therapy Thursday, Now You're Whining, Someone's in the Kitchen with 'Gina

It's a deal done. A done deal. Saturday morning there will be a New Kia on the Block. It's a fun little zippy thang that will afford me safe passage through the worst that Mother Michigan can offer.

I'm excited but I also fret over new purchases such as this. I'm a worrier, with associated issues related to entitlement and feeling worthy of good things. I'll get over it real quick, with a full appreciation of my bountiful blessings, whether it's a worshipful husband, adorably challenging off-spring or having the resources to purchase a safe, shiny new car or a hunky hank named Perry Winkle.

Squarely Forgotten
I've neglected to honor a work in progress. It's a garter square afghan, inspired by Melanie Falick's (et.al.) Knitting for Baby (I know, how thick is the creative cretin who needs "inspiration" to create an afghan out of garter stitch squares?). My husband is very excited about this project and anxious for it to be completed. To break up the monotony of garter stitch from here to seaming infinity I made a deal to knit a square every time I finish a project. By finish, I mean steamed, seamed and ready to wear. I have 8 squares done, with 23 to go. I'm kind of cheating the system because I currently have three garments waiting to be "finished." I really need to get to those because I've run out of stitch holders.



The yarn for afghan is Encore. The above mentioned Periwinkle is Pure New Zealand Wool, from a company called "Wool Pak." And a recent purchase from a new yarn shop in town. Grand Rapids (in consideration of it's size) is sorely lacking in quality yarn stores. There are two nice ones in the SW suburbs, approximately 14 and 20 miles from me (I live in GR metropolitan area).

The new yarn shop is also in the suburbs, but closer to me than the others. The ambiance is a bit hoi polloi for my tastes, but they carry a selection of quality yarn (Rowan, Jaeger, Classic Elite, etc.). In the fall they're getting in Lana Grossa, evidently not currently offered retail in U.S.

Like many yarn shops, this place holds a monthly sit-n-knit in the evening. Unlike many yarn shops, to attend one of these functions, one must make a reservation and fork over $25.00 for a meal. I'm pretty good at multi-tasking, but I'm pretty sure I can't eat and knit at the same time. I'm also pretty sure I don't want to attend a knit gathering with people who would pay $25.00 to knit while eating Chicken Mandarin salad and Killer brownies.

Maybe I'm cynical, overly suspicious or flat out paranoid, but I can't help but wonder if this is a scheme to keep out the fiber RiffRaff.

Sample RiffRaff:: The middle aged woman with too much bling-bling in her hair, who pulls up in a Korean import suv, with dealer plates and price sticker stuck to and completely covering passenger window.

Sample of Potential RiffRaff Scenario: Said woman tries engaging clerks in intelligent textile conversation, unaware of the chocolate Slim-fast mustache crowning her upper lip. Clerks quickly shuffle woman to separate room where low-rent yarns are sold in bulk. Only other woman in room is wearing a hair net, a pink and green checked culotte skirt, knee hi nylons and Keds sneakers with no shoe strings. Culotted woman wonders aloud if they carry no dye lot bulk acrylic. Mama Bling starts to cry. She wants her Subaru.

I'm thinking of joining the Knitting Kitty Ring. I do have a cat, although I rarely speak of her. She's a private kind of feline, but has agreed to put herself in the limelight from time to time for momma's sake. Her name is Bella, but I call her Bella Boosky, or Boosky. I don't know why. Names and sounds seem to freehandedly arrange themselves in my brain without prompt or solicitation from brain's user.

One of the standards for Knitting Kitty Ring membership is some blog coverage of kitty kinds of things. So, for a Knitting Kitty warmup, here's something cute for you Kosmopolitan Kitten Kanoodlers: Lilly. I purchased a couple of these cards when I was on vacation in Leelenau
County. My favorite shows Lilly sitting on top of Art's Tavern in Glen Arbor, but for some reason that one isn't offered in the boxed sets from Leelenau.

Final thoughts for the day: Will Perry Winkle? I think Natalie Would.

Labels: I Need Therapy Thursday, Kia Mia

My husband gave me some startling news yesterday. On some level I knew it was coming, but also held to the smallest hope that there would be a happier ending. But it is not to be. The hour of truth is upon me.

The lease on my car has expired and it has to go.

So what. It's just a hunk of metal (are cars still made of metal?). But it's my hunk of metal and I can't explain how or why, but I get attached to my cars.

Several years ago, I fell into the "lease trap." I was newly divorced, had just bought my own home, started a new job 15 miles away and my car was getting old. At this same time, my sister and her four small children had moved in with me and my young son. She was in the process of rebuilding a broken life, had recently rejoined the work force and had no car.

I needed a new car, she needed my old car (I'm no saint, the car borrowing was getting old). So I sold my car to her on time, which meant I had no cash for a down payment on a new one. The lease mongers, however, were offering 0% down. And that's how it started.

To me, a car is a personal thing. It contains bits and pieces of my life. It's my singing studio. My think tank. My decompensation zone. It also contains a plethora of personal DNA (I watch a lot of Law & Order). Under my carseat are petrified french fries, ink pens, nicorette gum containers, crumpled "Hello My Name is" tags, and maybe a few secrets. There's still ice cream on the radio console from the time I thought I could safely drive a five-speed while eating an ice cream cone (all was fine until I had to make an emergency shift to third gear). And I've been trusting my butt daily to that driver's seat for three years.

I don't give my butt daily to just anyone. It's personal. Intimate.

I'm in a better financial place today than I was when I hopped on the bloodsucking lease carousel. My husband promises that my next car will be purchased. It will be mine until I say it ain't.

Tonight I took my baby out for a final spin. I opened the windows and sunroof. I cranked the Cranberries, in tribute to Subarus present and past. Here and gone.

In preparation for the ::gasp:: severance, we had the cracked windshield fixed today. The windshield-fixer-man came right to the house... a-ringin' the doorbell. I answered the door, gave him the keys and couldn't help from wondering why he didn't exactly ever look at me.

I made a joke about the mess in the car, but he didn't laugh and didn't look, still. 30 minutes later, he came to the door for a signature, handed me the keys and left. Not long after, I went into the bathroom. I saw my reflection in the mirror. It went something like this.

Please note that I don't typically carry a camera around with me. Just moments before this cosmetic "awakening" I was trying to catch my baby girl doing something adorable, so the digital was handy. I took the shot myself. Not bad, eh? While initally mortified at my reflection, I couldn't help but smile to think of the story this guy will be telling at tonight's dinner table.

Okay Pig, Let's get to some Knitting
Understandably, I've been on an emotional brink all day. What better comfort is there than clicking through the miraculous world of internet yarn shopping? I've been eyeing this Mission Falls Carnaby Turtle for a time. Unless it's travelling at a turtle's pace, it should be knocking at the door within the 7-10 days.

I'm feeling better already.

Labels: I Need Therapy Thursday

A couple of nights ago while catching up on favorite blog/journal reads, I revisited Girl From Auntie. While I had previously seen the links to Auntie's ##### Chronicles (for the purposes of personal safety, within this post, I'll refer to them as "the Culls"). I had not really been interested in checking them out until Auntie drew attention to them in a recent journal post (I'm sorry I can't link you to the Culls or the journal post because Auntie's place is currently not available, which is weirdness, if you know the story).

For those who don't know, Auntie's "Culls" reveal a colorful saga involving a color full deziner who shares moniker with a housekeeper on a tv show that aired in the early 70's, which was a story about a lovely lady who was bringing up three very lovely girls.

I was up reading the Culls until 2am, when I should have been doing something else.... like sleeping (okay, I admit that some of that time was devoted to playing Aunties matching games ::link not available:: at which I kicked some bootay). When I finally completed the last available edition of the Culls, I was hungry for more.

I was so hungry for more that in the morning I was hoping to find that the next (and final I believe) edition had been miraculously posted during my 5 hour slumber. Of course this was a ridiculous fantasy.

Tangential Thought Alert My psycho/social history is rich with fantastical musings. As a child I was convinced that my real mother was Glenda, the Good Witch of the North. Some mornings, upon waking, I would convince myself that my real mommy had finally shown up to claim me, and was waiting down stairs to float me away in a Wood-veneer Bubble Station Wagon, loaded up with all things Barbie (I only had Midge and Francine, Barbie's flatter chested cousin).

Back to the story. I'm new to the knitting information superhighway so recognize that many of you may already know this story and perhaps have been keeping up with Auntie's updates. For those of you who haven't read the Culls, I highly recommend. It's fascinating stuff, of the 00 double pointed variety. And Auntie makes the reading easy. For the record, I had meant to post about this yesterday, before I found out that her site went MIA.

*I'm not using complete titles so that my cute but porky flanks won't be readily googled by "someone" (or his/her minions) and subsequently become the catch of the day at the local Bob Evans. Again, you'd need to know the story to know that my anxiety has legitimate basis.

Dang, this intrigue is draining. I apologize for any confusion here, in the event you don't know what the hoohah I'm talking about and/or haven't been able to successfully link to the articles.

Some Knitting
Here's a shot of the Encore chunky variegated I purchased on vacation. It's very, very soft. The yarn lady said it was new. At this point my plans are to make my nieces (and maybe some sisters) wrist warmers for Christmas. I may add some eyelash to it, for adolescent appeal. I now have to find a wrist warmer pattern calling for chunky yarn.

I bought a couple extra skeins of the Encore for a sweater for my baby girl. At this time, however, I have too many compulsory projects on the table. With each project generating at least 100 obsessional thoughts a day, I can't plan projects too far ahead at this point without getting dizzy. I don't look down.

At this time I really, really need to attend to some hygiene needs and prepare to get out for my once a week interface with real people.

I'll check Auntie's place later to get the rest of the links...I hope. If I mysteriously disappear, someone please feed the pig. She likes Smart Start breakfast Cereal and Slim-Fast Ice cream bars.

Labels: I Need Therapy Thursday

Sometimes my brain gets to chewing on something and won't stop until either the flavor goes stale, a bigger and better bite comes along or someone whups me upside the head. This cognitive feature has its ups and downs. The ups include that it makes me a good problem solver (although sometimes a tired one, if the juiciest chewing is at 2am). The most significant down is that I usually can't control what's currently on the chew carousel (sp?) regardless of how banal.

My latest chew has been about linking my blog to my impending vacation. Please don't get me wrong. I am under no delusion that any of you have been checking here three times an hour to see if I'd added any links. Nor do I presume that you will want to click if given the option. This isn't about you..it's about me. Me helping my brain to put its gum on the bedpost over night.

As a new blogger, I enjoy checking out the various sites and sizing up individual styles. I've heard that a well-linked blog indicates that it's creator likely (or linkly) knows something of what he/she writes. If I can't be that blogger, then, dangit, I'm gonna look the part.

So, here it be. On July 5, me and mine are going on vacation. We're renting a cottage on Glen Lake (Technically, it's a photo of Little Glen Lake. A smaller and distinct lake "linked" to Glen Lake by a narrow channel aka The Narrows). Glen Lake is in Glen Arbor, Michigan. Glen Arbor is in the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore.

There is a wonderful little yarn shop in Glen Arbor. It's called The Yarn Shop. It's a very cozy place, always with at least a couple of women sitting, knitting and jawing. I only get up there about once a year, but one of the owners, Mary, always remembers me by face.

Okay, I'm feeling pretty linked out now, but I made a commitment and I'm sticking to it.

I haven't worked yet on my daughter's sweater. I've given myself permission not to finish it before we leave. But I will. It's in my blood. My mom was always finishing someone's dress in the car, on the way to the Sunday School Christmas Pageant. It's what we do.

My knitting plans over vacation: A sleeveless T for a friend for an August birthday. The yarn is Reynolds Cabana, purple. The pattern is an Elann freebie FromTahki-Stacy Charles called Textured Sleeveless Top.

I don't think I'll be working on the lacey tunic because there will be too many people around (teenaged son bringing a friend) and other relatives are coming to visit. I'll probably work on a garter square here and there. And, of course, there's always a textile treasure to be found at The Yarn Shop. All right, I'm getting freaky now.

I'm pretty sure I won't be posting until after I return from vacation on July 12, hopefully with great photos of my Tankini lines.

Labels: I Need Therapy Thursday, North