Sorry I was away from the Blog for a few days Barbara...I've been spending time working on a new piece as the memoir just wasn't cutting it for me. As always, excellent writing! Loved the things that your father told you, especially the pool cue!
Write About Small Mistakes
What a poignant topic to write about today. Yesterday I told my favorite Aunt that I have been separated since April. It was something I had been meaning to tell her, but our family was preparing to celebrate my cousin's wedding and I did not wish to be a dark cloud over this happy event. It's funny how she and another aunt knew that something was wrong. You could say she wasn't surprised.
Looking back on my separation, I have made alot of small mistakes, however the timing of them and their frequency have fused together to become a large mistake. That mistake being living my life for the acceptance of others. If I had this time to live over, I would have taken control of who would know and when they would know. This time I allowed my mother to dictate if family members should know. I realize she was being the hopeful optimist wanting her daughter to reconcile her marriage, but this giving up of power in my own life has cost me. Now I must slowly recover and recovery is often painful.
Monday, October 6, 2008
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Cooler Weather = Warm Mitts
I am coming to the conclusion that I'm not really a "garment" knitter or crocheter. I'm more of a knitter of quick projects using interesting yarn or construction. I like to make hats and gloves and mittens; things that are fun and fast and that I can personalize with my own quirky tastes. I'm going to try my hand at a vest or two to see if that's something I can get behind. Plus my darling Durwood gets cold really easy so I want to keep him warm without my having to swelter at the same time.
Now that I've outlined my latest manifesto, we can move on to FOs and WIPs.
In the FO department, we have the Twisted Harvest Wristwarmers the pattern of which was such a trial (see last Sunday's post). I persevered and finished them. Pretty, aren't they?
Durwood has been checking the Weather Channel.com to see the predicted temps for our trip to Missoula, MT next weekend to visit David & Abby. He's called me to the monitor more than once, pointing at the screen and saying, "46 degrees! 46!" So, knowing how cold he gets I decided to knit him some convertible fingerless gloves/mittens fo
r the trip. Thursday night I bought 4 skeins of Cascade 220, intending to make each little fingerlet a different color. He nixed that idea, the stick in the mud, and chose the beautiful heathered dark brown. Friday after supper I cast on and knit while watching TV, getting to the place where you start knitting the fingers. Too big. Dang it. Frogged to the top of the cuff and tried again with smaller needles. Better but not perfect. By then it was midnight and bedtime. In the morning, he convinced me that it was okay and to keep going (I think his hands were already cold and he liked the warmth having to try it on over and over.) I zipped through the fingers, 1, 2, 3, 4, no problem, then came the thumb. It's supposed to have a 3-stitch hole in the pad side so the wearer can poke his thumb out when the top flap's open, to 
grip things. The first 2 times the hole was on the knuckle side--rrrip and reknit, rrrip and reknit--the third time was the charm, so the thumb is done, now for the flap (condom?).
Now that I've outlined my latest manifesto, we can move on to FOs and WIPs.
In the FO department, we have the Twisted Harvest Wristwarmers the pattern of which was such a trial (see last Sunday's post). I persevered and finished them. Pretty, aren't they?
Durwood has been checking the Weather Channel.com to see the predicted temps for our trip to Missoula, MT next weekend to visit David & Abby. He's called me to the monitor more than once, pointing at the screen and saying, "46 degrees! 46!" So, knowing how cold he gets I decided to knit him some convertible fingerless gloves/mittens fo
r the trip. Thursday night I bought 4 skeins of Cascade 220, intending to make each little fingerlet a different color. He nixed that idea, the stick in the mud, and chose the beautiful heathered dark brown. Friday after supper I cast on and knit while watching TV, getting to the place where you start knitting the fingers. Too big. Dang it. Frogged to the top of the cuff and tried again with smaller needles. Better but not perfect. By then it was midnight and bedtime. In the morning, he convinced me that it was okay and to keep going (I think his hands were already cold and he liked the warmth having to try it on over and over.) I zipped through the fingers, 1, 2, 3, 4, no problem, then came the thumb. It's supposed to have a 3-stitch hole in the pad side so the wearer can poke his thumb out when the top flap's open, to 
grip things. The first 2 times the hole was on the knuckle side--rrrip and reknit, rrrip and reknit--the third time was the charm, so the thumb is done, now for the flap (condom?).
Sure Feels Like Fall Out There
Is it me or has it gotten cool rather quickly? Didn't we skip right from the seventy degree days to the fifty degree days? Who's in charge here?
Oct. 4--Three things my father told me--I always envied boys with a regular dad. They'd come to school on Mondays and talk about ballgames, fishing, building things, stuff like that. I'd stay off to the side and listen, not too close so no one would ask me what I'd done with my dad. I don't think they'd have believed me anyway. How could I tell a bunch of nine-year-olds about spending Friday night in the bar watching the old man hustle pool. "Never play a man with his own cue," he told me. If I made too much noise on Saturday morning, eating my cereal too loud or dropping a shoe, he'd holler at me to "shut the fuck up for Christ's sake" and take a swing at me. I was fast enough to duck--usually. On Sunday afternoon he'd take me along to the liquor store where he'd knock down a pack of smokes and kick it over to me to stuff in my pocket. "Who'd ever suspect a kid with freckles and red hair?" he'd say with a laugh as he peeled the cellophane off with the maximum crackle. How could I tell Jason and Michael and Andy about things like that? They wouldn't understand, their dads played catch.
Man, it's big in here when you're all alone. If anybody reads this, please comment--or post. I'm getting self-conscious talking to myself all the time. Well, enjoy your Sunday!
--Barbara
Oct. 4--Three things my father told me--I always envied boys with a regular dad. They'd come to school on Mondays and talk about ballgames, fishing, building things, stuff like that. I'd stay off to the side and listen, not too close so no one would ask me what I'd done with my dad. I don't think they'd have believed me anyway. How could I tell a bunch of nine-year-olds about spending Friday night in the bar watching the old man hustle pool. "Never play a man with his own cue," he told me. If I made too much noise on Saturday morning, eating my cereal too loud or dropping a shoe, he'd holler at me to "shut the fuck up for Christ's sake" and take a swing at me. I was fast enough to duck--usually. On Sunday afternoon he'd take me along to the liquor store where he'd knock down a pack of smokes and kick it over to me to stuff in my pocket. "Who'd ever suspect a kid with freckles and red hair?" he'd say with a laugh as he peeled the cellophane off with the maximum crackle. How could I tell Jason and Michael and Andy about things like that? They wouldn't understand, their dads played catch.
Man, it's big in here when you're all alone. If anybody reads this, please comment--or post. I'm getting self-conscious talking to myself all the time. Well, enjoy your Sunday!
--Barbara
Friday, October 3, 2008
Friday, It's Friday!
Thanks for all your comments on the Jellico story last night, Jennifer & Bob. We missed you, Jenny. I'll be in Montana next Thursday but I'll be back the following week. Yippee, Montana! Seeing David & Abby!! Yay! Going to Yellowstone!!! Fantabulous! Oops, I'd better quit, I'm almost out of exclamation points!
October 2--Write about never and always--Never and always are the slamming of doors painted black and white in their severe oppsiteness. Never and always build a narrow pathway lined with brambles and paved with broken glass to slash and cut travelers and keep wafflers from straying. Never is a granite wall across your path keeping you from foolishly trying new things. Always is a greased slide that snares the unwary delivering them to the edge of an abyss. Purge never and always from your mind and your tongue. Save yourself the embarrassment and open up your world to the seduction of maybe.
Weekend ho! (no, not that kind of ho. tsk, you people.)
--Barbara
October 2--Write about never and always--Never and always are the slamming of doors painted black and white in their severe oppsiteness. Never and always build a narrow pathway lined with brambles and paved with broken glass to slash and cut travelers and keep wafflers from straying. Never is a granite wall across your path keeping you from foolishly trying new things. Always is a greased slide that snares the unwary delivering them to the edge of an abyss. Purge never and always from your mind and your tongue. Save yourself the embarrassment and open up your world to the seduction of maybe.
Weekend ho! (no, not that kind of ho. tsk, you people.)
--Barbara
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
A. Mazing.
Durwood called me at work to say he'd taken pictures of the hawk that hunts in our backyard. I was jealous. Then I saw the pictures. Now I'm impressed. They are amazing.
Banned Books Week
I know it's the middle of the week already but Sept. 27-Oct. 4 is Banned Books Week. Celebrate by reading something that pisses someone else off. Here's a big list to help you choose a title. Read on!
Hump Day
You have my permission to do whatever necessary to get over the hump today.
Sept. 30--Write about a rendezvous--"There's nothing clandestine about this, Phoebe, so stop saying we're headed for a rendezvous." Gladys stared straight out the windshield frowning at her friend's remark. "Oh, Glady, you're suck a stickler for using just the right word. Don't you think rendezvous sounds better than meeting?" "I'm not a stickler," Gladys said, the bunch of fake cherries on her hat quivering with emotion, "I am precise." Phoebe waved a small hand, which was encased in a white lace glove with a starched ruffle at the wrist, as if shooing away a fly. "I'll bet Mr. Harlow and Mr. Turner are thinking that there's more going to happen today than a mere meeting. I could tell from their note and phone message." She reached up and patted her white curls, wishing she had thought to wear her hat with the violets on it. She thought that rich purple made her eyes look lavender like Elizabeth Taylor's had in Cleopatra. "Why didn't you say you were wearing a hat, Glady? I feel a bit underdressed now. You're making a play for the richer of the two, aren't you?" Gladys glanced at her. "Did you stop taking your pills again? What do I want with an old codger who's only looking for a nurse? I'm just the driver, Miss No-License." Tears sprang to Phoebe's eyes. "What a thing to say. As if I stopped driving on purpose." Gladys steered the sedan into the Denny's parking lot at 4:30 on the dot. Two gray-haired men waited near the door, one standing holding a cane, the other in a wheelchair. Shaking the quarter in her hand, Phoebe turned to Gladys as she parked the car. "Heads or tails? Whoever wins the flip gets to choose." Gladys shook her head. "No, honey, you go ahead. I know how you like a man with expensive wheels." The old friends laughed, got out of the car, and walked up to meet their blind dates.
So ends September. Let's hope October brings inspiration and motivation.
--Barbara
Sept. 30--Write about a rendezvous--"There's nothing clandestine about this, Phoebe, so stop saying we're headed for a rendezvous." Gladys stared straight out the windshield frowning at her friend's remark. "Oh, Glady, you're suck a stickler for using just the right word. Don't you think rendezvous sounds better than meeting?" "I'm not a stickler," Gladys said, the bunch of fake cherries on her hat quivering with emotion, "I am precise." Phoebe waved a small hand, which was encased in a white lace glove with a starched ruffle at the wrist, as if shooing away a fly. "I'll bet Mr. Harlow and Mr. Turner are thinking that there's more going to happen today than a mere meeting. I could tell from their note and phone message." She reached up and patted her white curls, wishing she had thought to wear her hat with the violets on it. She thought that rich purple made her eyes look lavender like Elizabeth Taylor's had in Cleopatra. "Why didn't you say you were wearing a hat, Glady? I feel a bit underdressed now. You're making a play for the richer of the two, aren't you?" Gladys glanced at her. "Did you stop taking your pills again? What do I want with an old codger who's only looking for a nurse? I'm just the driver, Miss No-License." Tears sprang to Phoebe's eyes. "What a thing to say. As if I stopped driving on purpose." Gladys steered the sedan into the Denny's parking lot at 4:30 on the dot. Two gray-haired men waited near the door, one standing holding a cane, the other in a wheelchair. Shaking the quarter in her hand, Phoebe turned to Gladys as she parked the car. "Heads or tails? Whoever wins the flip gets to choose." Gladys shook her head. "No, honey, you go ahead. I know how you like a man with expensive wheels." The old friends laughed, got out of the car, and walked up to meet their blind dates.
So ends September. Let's hope October brings inspiration and motivation.
--Barbara
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