I am almost certain that all of my ancestors on both sides are 100% German or Germanic (and I'm too cheap to send away for a DNA test and find out) so having things lined up and organized satisfies some deep (deep, deep) part of my psyche. I constantly battle "should" and "have to" in my life but wearing mis-matched socks for the last few years (I'm eternally grateful for that first trio of socks, DIL1) has slightly diluted my need for regimentation. Not completely, you understand, but some. So keeping a Bullet Journal this year has satisfied my innerHitler (yeah, yeah, he was Austrian but you know what I mean) although at times I lose the discipline to sit down and write in it. When I got the beginning of the month email from them the other day I was going to delete it without looking at it and even thought of unsubscribing but in a lull at work I opened it and am I glad I did. Reading one of the articles this month by a French BuJo keeper and seeing how she arranges her daily pages gave me a way to keep journaling but not have to fill an entire page with a day's busyness. So I took my journal (thanks again, DD) to work with me and got October going this way. I still have room to make a daily note off to the side and, because these pages have grid lines, I'm not even writing outside the lines. There's less room for drawings but since the Vicodin went away I'm less apt to draw them anyway. See the nice straight lines separating the pages into thirds? They satisfy me in a way I can't explain.
I'm a pretty tough cookie, most of the time, but sometimes especially when bad things or potential bad things pile up, I get scared and weepy. I found these little raffia and bead bracelets at Beach People last week in Door County. I bought a rainbow "Beauty" one for my newest, big grandson because I think he's a beautiful person and want everyone who sees him to know and I got this "Strength" one for me. See you make a wish as you tie it on, while you wear it strength and courage (in my case) will flow in you, and when it breaks your wish will come true. I say I don't believe in all that woowoo-type stuff but I tend to hedge my bets. Plus I like the look of the row of the silvery black stones. Who remembers what they're called? Hematite, maybe?
I didn't knit much yesterday so I don't have anything to show you in the knitting department. I trimmed a pattern but no one wants to see a drift of golden tan tissue paper with black lines on it. Sorry to be so boring.
October 7--Hardie Truesdale, Pictured Rocks Natl. Seashore. Waves smoothed over the rocks like a mother's hand stroking her sleeping child's brow. The sky above was the deepest indigo dotted with stars while a thin sliver of light forced its way between the clouds and the surface of the lake. Anna walked along watching where she stepped, careful of her footing on the rounded beach rocks. She had walked far enough that traffic sounds blended into the wind in the pines and the waves on shore. Luke should be driving now, getting out of town and onto the highway. She imagined him fumbling his sunglasses out of the console as the sun found a crack in the cloud cover. Soon most of the radio stations would fade and he'd be left to choose between Slim Whitman or Howard Stern both of whom would put him in a rotten mood.
Okay. I just got home from having my hair cut and with the way Francis likes to style my hair and today's wind, I look like I'm wearing a fright wig, plus there are hair schnipples creeping down under my shirt making me itchy. I'm going to go take a shower before reheating some pizza and then going to Friday Night Knitting. Oh, btw, I'm wearing an old, slightly smaller pair of jeans today--and I look good. Except for the fright-wig hair, that is.
P.S. Thanks, women writers, this made my day.