Brrr...ish

(daily 'drawing' challenge...silly, I know)

They say it's getting cold...but I have yet to really feel it. Could be the fatty layers of walnuts and cocoa I've padded myself with, or just the fact that I'm feeling a little Spring revival in the old ticker. I even abandoned The Sweatsuit for a week in favor of walking (hoping to log in a few last minute commuter points for work), but she started up like a charm tonight (to my hidden surprise). She's a lady like that. So is Bee, for scraping the windows that were threatening to make us look more ice-sculpture-on-wheels than car.

I scored pretty big in the eating department today. I got treated to lunch and dinner and coffee and cheesecake. And Bernice the cat gave me a back massage. She's very good at it. Creepy, but true.

I'm getting very excited for Christmas. Not the commercial-y part...but the love and joy and cheer and inner warmth part. And the Solstice party on the 22nd (dude). You should all come. There will be a cookie swap...

Sorry I can't think of anything more profound to say. The theme for my life these days seems to be...Love the one(s) you're with. Do what you know to be doing (with joy). Don't freak out about what you don't know to be doing (with fear). Trust. Be thankful. Live. The quote on my mind? Wherever you are, be all there (Jim Elliot). The verse on my mind? Hour by hour I place my days in your hand (from Psalm 31, The Message paraphrase). The Chambers for the day? I am called to live in perfect relation to God so that my life produces a longing after God in other lives, not admiration for myself. Thank goodness it's not up to me to be profound.

Thanks to everyone who shared in my wanderlusty (why does that look so wrong?) post. It's so nice to know that I'm not alone in the things I wrestle with...that I'm not too terribly crazy...that I have friends. Truly. I am blessed.

Cousin (it)

Limited time only...or else I die.

O snow...

Oh, Le Pauvre Sweatsuit. This morning we woke up to several inches of snow. It would figure, she said to me, since you are filling in for someone else at work this morning. Yes, we all know what this means. Shovel shovel. Sweep sweep. The shovelin's all right, but the sweepin just ain't no good. Ah well. Made me feel like watching Christmas movies...but this will have to wait till November noveling's end.

After work I went straight to the Good Food Store for junk food to write by. After all, if you're gonna go junk, it might as well be organic. So, I loaded up on carob raisins (you sneer, but I love), papaya spears, walnuts, Hansen's vanilla cola and Annie's mac 'n cheese. I nearly got some tofu pups to accompany Annie on a gastronomical journey into organic white trash-land, but I decided to forego. (I forewent?)

I took an intense nap (complete with nightmares about being locked in a prison tent with two creepy adolescent boys and a knife...luckily, I escaped) and awoke with messy eyebrows. Let me tell you, this is a feat for me, because I don't have much to mess up. The other day I suggested to my mother that I was going to try using Rogaine to grow more eyebrow hairs, but she warned me they would fall out after 48 hours of discontinued use (of Rogaine, not eyebrows). I just don't think I can commit to being a Rogaine lifer at this point, so skimpy brows it must be.

Well this, ladies and gents, is how one procrastinates writing a novel.

Love,
me and the sweat(snow)suit

Thankful, but...?

I came across this picture that I think I drew while sitting on a park bench in Seattle. (Speaking of which...Pal, I miss you way way too much.) I don't know that it has a whole heap of a lot to do with what I'm writing about this morning (whatever that is), but I was feelin' it, so here we are.

It's funny how quickly my thankful heart turns prodigal. I'm still thankful, but...for some reason all I can get my mind around right now is grabbing a friend (or a knight in shining RV), packing up my life, tossing it into a film-, yarn- and tootsie pop-loaded vehicle, and hitting the road in search of sunshine and untold stories.

Have you ever felt like you're at a fork in the road? Not the kind you face every time you turn around to make a decision, but the kind that will completely sever you and your sheepish pants in two if you don't make up your mind right now? The scariest thing to me is that not deciding is a decision in itself. Passivity is scary. But so is passion. I wish I knew what is right.

I wonder what the prodigal was thinking the night he was packing his things. Did he justify his departure by saying he was not really living life in the safe confines of his father's house? That it was better to seize life while he was young than wait for an inheritance when he was old? Is this me? Because frankly, I'm terrified of the neat little life in the neat little house. Of the 9 to 5. Of the mom who one day says I wish I'd never married. I'm terrified of wasting my gifts. I finally wake up from years of wanting to die, and now I'm terrified I'll sleepwalk through life.

I guess the first test of a prodigal heart is to ask whether I am all about the me and now. God, help me to be wise to myself. Plant me where I'll bear good fruit. Help me when all I see around me is dirt and seeds.

Reading back through, I realize I may sound like a) I am wanting to turn my back on my Father and b) Wifedom and motherhood are hovering in frilly pink ribbons just above my reluctant lap. Neither is true. I'm just not sure where my place in this world is right now.

I'm still thankful for...anyone who actually reads my ranty rambles, Bernice (the cat, not the bakery)'s muffins, lip gloss, senses of humor, genuine diversity, thriftshops, local celebrities, fortune cookies, natural fibers, and sincere hearts.

Giving Thanks

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! Count up your blessings, and find someone to share them with. I guarantee you'll get more back.

Here's my inventory of blessings for the moment...in no particular order...good health, good job, soft bed, warm house, hot showers, clean(ish) clothes, abundant food, abundant water, abundant free time, sunlight, night, sleep, dreams, letters, prayer, things that make me cry, foreign cultures, voices, places I've never been, mountains, pastures, cows, trails, dogs, tulips, sunflowers, color, rain, leaves, trees, Africa, snowmen, holidays, Bible studies, yarn, toilets that flush, The Sweatsuit, mom, dad, sisters, grandmas, grandpas, aunts, uncles, cousins, cat-niece, neighbor, wonderboss, friends here and friends there, hugs, beauty, truth, hope, joy, grace, forgiveness, smiles from friends, smiles to strangers, tears shared and tears alone, emptiness, fullness, laughter, stories, seasons, sounds, smells, scenes, music, old movies, good books that make mine look bad, guitars, pianos, children, old people, everlasting life, expressions, photographs, mystery, wonder...People I've never met. Jesus. Love that comes and goes. Love that never changes.

Well, I should probably go help my mom with dinner now. There is just no end to the blessings I have to be thankful for...externally, internally, and eternally (as I learned on Sunday). Therefore, I hereby deem it mandatory that everyone who reads this leave a comment with at least 8 things listed that they are blessed by. Come on, you know it will be fun.

That's it for now, friends. Chances are, if you know me at all, I'm probably thinking of you today, thanking God for you, and missing you. Take care.

Good Fruit

So I have this friend who just discovered pomegranates...The kid pretty much lives pomegranates now. Can't go a day without at least one. Can't stop talking about them. He's like the ambassador of pomegranates, sharing his love of them with everyone he knows. I find this very cool because a) Pomegranates are great, and b) There's something so right about enjoying the fruit of the season.

I feel like this is God's message for me these days. Summer may be over, yes, but life's winter bears a fruit all its own. Will I trust Him to sustain me with the fruit of whatever season I'm in? Will I rejoice in it...knowing that the season will pass and I may not always be able to enjoy the particular blessings that it brings? Friendship, creativity, free time, special lessons...God, help me to trust and rejoice in Your provision for each season, and to share the fruit of it with others. Help me never to waste or complain or wish for whatever is not in season for me.

Zimbabwe Eve and Nanowrimo?

One year ago today, I was saying "trick or treat" to my Grandma J (because she told me to) and being given yet another donation for the next day's journey to Zimbabwe, Africa. Hard to believe. Not the donations...My sister has already made it clear what kind of grandma I have. But the fact that God brought me on an adventure that would change my life in more ways than I could have imagined. I will never get over how good and gracious He is. And the journey continues. From the depths of a mended heart, I am thankful tonight.

So now I stand on the eve of a different journey, one that I suspect will be fairly life-altering as well. Cue the novelist. My friend Jersey Beth (Bee) has happily convinced me to join her in a wild, month-long fling at noveling. 50,000 words. 30 days. 4 hours from now, 1 soon-to-be-regretted-horse's-mouth. There's no turning back now.

Bring it.

Big Weekend, Part II: Pat and Irene go to a Barndance

Two months from today is Christmas!!!

Sorry...just had to throw that out there. So, yes. Big weekend for me, part II.

My friend Bee, also known as Beth (since I have all but dispensed with my one-time penchant for anonymity), invited me to a barndance put on by the career group (translation: singles group) at the church we have been attending for the last few months. I all but called her a liar when she told me the event was mentioned in the church bulletin. My response was somewhere between 'Why not? It sounds too good to miss' and 'You will have to drag me, wild-horse friend'. But in the end, I could not resist the story of it all. And by that I mean getting to e-mail Jamey (#1 Sister) with a casual "Not much new here...Beth and I went to a singles barndance on Saturday" or getting to call Pal (one of a few whose name has stuck) and say something slightly less casual, like the "You won't belieeeeeve what I did today" that we have always loved so much. I have yet to do either one, actually. Procrastinator that I am. I also have yet to tell the padded out version of the story to my eager audience of imaginary grandchildren, which is strangely a sizeable motivator in the things that I must force myself to do. In short, I thought a singles barndance would make a good story.

I'm not sure that it accomplished said goal (although it would seem that the story continues in some ways . . .), but I did discover something pretty cool. A leftover something from the night before...the big fundraising event. I am not quite the unlocked-prison-cell-dweller that I used to be. When I say 'unlocked', I mean that I was free to go, but too afraid to leave the 'comfort' of my prison. I was stepping in places that months ago would have paralyzed me, and not feeling an ounce of the debilitating fear that I had always tried to blame on shyness or awkwardness. God's freedom is good news indeed. The prison door was opened long ago, but the captive still cowered. The door of the cage was opened, but the little bird just sang to herself and watched the world go by from her swing. You can call me silly, but I can't help it. There is nothing like God's freedom. I have to say it was a long, hard road, those few steps from the prison-cage to the open door, and I would not have made it if Someone hadn't reached inside and grabbed my hand. I can almost remember each step now...like crossing stones in rushing water. Every now and then, prison's "safety" calls, and I must deliberately choose to keep walking (or flying) away. But on my way, I'll catch a mirror-glimpse or a memory of where I was, and I sing inside: I have been released.

Anyway...about that barndance. To sum it up, Beth learned how to dance. I learned that I cannot dance. (Unless of course you count the danse ridicule that may or may not have been invented by the Frenchman who called us Pat and Irene). I learned that it is foolish to care about what you're wearing when it's so cold you never take your coat off. I learned that you should never bring pie to a potluck if there's a chance you could take it home with you. And yes, I re-learned that each of us carry a hidden story within us, and that things (people) are not always what they seem. Oh...and as far as I can tell, I don't have Future Wife written anywhere on my person. So...I'd say I learned a lot.

Big Weekend, Part I: Stretched and Blessed

Big weekend for me.

On Friday evening, I got all foofed up to volunteer at our first we-hope-it's-annual fundraiser for work. Normally I would have been scared to death, but for some reason, this time all I could find to be afraid of was the slightly teetering 3 dollar heels I was wearing. Speaking of 3 dollar finds...I have to say that my 3 dollar dress from The Underground (the Senior Cititzens Center thrift shop) made quite an impression on an even more teetering lady in her in-the-know stiletto croc pumps. I confess it produced a secret smile in me.

Speaking of secret smiles...I have been holding one in all weekend long ever since I saw the crowd of people gathered in the cocktail-lit room for the benefit. To see that many people turn out on a Friday night in support of the work that you are lucky enough to be a hidden part of...Incredible. To be honest, it moved me to tears. I was totally overwhelmed. Not because people were lining up to say thank-you (to be honest, where I work, there is seldom a shortage of thank-you's), but because I felt like I was watching them catch the vision of what we're about. And because I am one who gets to carry out that vision every day (or night). I get to be the eyes and ears and arms to the people we're all trying to reach out to. How incredible that God allows that.

Now...lest you think I've come here to rub my job in your face, let me tell you what hit me the hardest about the evening. As followers of Jesus in this life, we are all called to be night managers, right? We work and watch in the night, right up until the final daybreak. Maybe our specific assignment doesn't feel like a particularly magnificent one at the moment...Maybe our work is all but invisible to most...But I believe that one day, God will overwhelm us with the fruit of hidden faithfulness. Perhaps what I witnessed last Friday in that sparkling, buzzing room is just a little reflection of what all God's workers will witness when they stand dumbfounded at the threshold of a heavenly gathering. All the lives that we had no idea God touched through us just because we kept about His work. I hope you're encouraged and challenged. I know I am.

The last thing to say about the evening is this. I had the prickly job of trying (with questionable success) to pin a boutonniere on our locally famous newscaster. She was very friendly and gracious about it...but a word of advice...If you ever find yourself in similar (teetering) shoes, don't preface your performance by saying, "I don't know if you trust me to do this...". Because they probably won't. Incidentally...now I know why the boy who was forced by my English teacher to ask me to our school's pseudo-prom chose to go the wrist corsage route.

Just Call It God

Chambers' words are for me today:

The test of a man's religious life and character is not what he does in the exceptional moments of life, but what he does in the ordinary times, when there is nothing tremendous or exciting on.

Here are some words I don't believe you will ever hear God say: "Let's just call it good." I remember my own father saying those words to me at various times throughout my youth, when I was drowning in sleepless tears over some insignificant school project that I couldn't get just right. Sometimes those words would be accompanied by a fatherly lecture on how I majored in the minors and minored in the majors (Jamey will chuckle at this, though I doubt she ever got that particular lecture). But I have yet to hear God say, "Let's call it good." God, unlike me, is not a perfectionist. He is perfection.

The tricky thing about perfectionism is, it is more often than not a futile attempt to please an impossible audience (everyone), or an attempt (also futile over time) to hide the imperfect self you can't face behind a perfect exterior. God's not interested in either, thank goodness. Everything He does is perfect by the nature of who He is. He can't be less than perfect. He can't try to be more perfect. He will never say, "Good enough. I give up. I'm done here." I think that I have actually asked Him to say that a few times. When each baby step up the impossibly steep mountain seemed too painful. When we would pass by a little green stream and I decided it would be a good idea to just make ourselves a home there and not go on. Nope. Despite my pleadings to the contrary, He keeps on making me press on, hold out, look up...for His very best. We're the children of a perfect God. Unless we demand our own good enough way, He will keep shaping, pinching, stretching...Excuse me for mixing my metaphors. But you catch my drift. I'm off to my women's study. God is good. Chambers is not bad either:

Getting into the stride of God means nothing less than union with Himself. It takes a long time to get there, but keep at it. Don't give in because the pain is bad just now, get on with it, and before long you will find you have a new vision and a new purpose.

Where Have I Been All Your Life?

Hello all who are left. I don't know what has possessed me to write something today. After months of silence, yet. You would expect adventurous tales, rollicking anecdotes, bittersweet melodrama or light-bulb revelations (or knitted masterpieces). You would be disappointed. And you probably would not know me. As it is, I cannot provide so much as an explanation for my absence. For some things, there are simply no excuses or explanations. This is not one of those things (not yet anyway); I just thought I would throw that out. For now, all I gots is a shrug, an 'eh', and the 'i-o-know' leftover from an angsty youth.

Anywho...Summer is gone, and with it, the first carefree days I have known in my adult life. Carefree because I discovered what my knees were made for, and because it was just one of those summer seasons in life. There is a place for every season though, and I am most-of-the-time eager to see what life's fall, and harvest, brings. More on that to come.

Getting What I Dessert

Someone once said that they liked to use various events in their life as an excuse to eat dessert. There was a time when I would agree, but I'm afraid that dessert has now evolved into such a regular part of my days, that I find myself using it as an excuse to orchestrate the various events of my life.

For instance, I'm eating some Dairy Queen with my friend (Tiger)Bee, and I think, "Here's a good excuse to blog."...




Or I find a chocolate cake with a lit Barbie on it and some friends in my apartment, and I say "Well old girl, you might as well have a birthday."...


Or I see an all night drive-thru and think, "I guess I'd better get me a car."...Then there was the time I walked into a church and found a towering white cake with a miniature me-and-some-guy on the top...No one else was around for that though, so I just ate the whole thing by myself.

P.S. Happy (late) anniversary, KrystyKay.

Breaking the Silence

Well, well. It seems it might be time to dust my blog and clear up some misconception bunnies that have gathered under the bed. Wow. That may be a new low in stupid expression use.

First of all...you'll be happy to know that I did not waste my fortune on a nap decision. As it turns out, my mind is never made-the-heck-up. And, as per my jinx and Sir Lance's prediction, I did need to use it on an unforeseen and important decision. Can we all spit out a collective "phew"?

Secondly...au contraire mes frères...it is quite possible for me to resemble a dirty horse pooping, or any components thereof. As a matter of fact, I set about to prove this very point with a ridiculous photo of a chocolate-faced me enjoying a fudgesicle way too much, while sporting my "Single and Loving It" bib with a teddy bear on it. I regret to say that, in my pursuit, I stumbled upon some secret photos of myself that make dirty horses pooping look like a Niagara Falls postcard. Let me just say that the only person on the planet who was granted the privilege of seeing them had to sit down when the laughter and shock became too much. But enough about that...

Thirdly...where was I...Oh yes. Despite rumors to the contrary, I so did not eat that bird! I placed him safely back in his swimming hole. I may have had a few more bites, and yes, I may have caught a stray eye or two, but shucks if anyone can call that murder.

Okay...so that should do for now. So, Friday may be anti-dirty-horse-poo day, but summer Saturdays are all about the Outdoor Cinema. Hooray! It should not take you long to discover that this photo is not from our Outdoor Cinema, but from a showing of The Breakfast Club in a parking lot in Fremont, Seattle. The feature film was preceded by this little gem of an educational film, earnestly titled, How To Be Popular. Perhaps I should have taken notes.

Next week's Outdoor Cinema is going to be locally produced short films, which is conjuring up some beautiful images in my head right now. Has anyone else seen that Gilmore Girls? Anywho...Sorry, my dear friend B., but it simply has to be better than that lets-all-go-jump-off-the-nearest-bridge fest, Whale Rider.

Until next time, my friendlies...S., I love you too...and I'm so glad to see you here on blogger.

Silent Birds and Ancient Wisdom

Sleep is a lost cause these days. So is eating it seems. And, it follows, so is trying to look like anything that does not resemble poo, dirt, or a horse. If the week continues as it has begun, I shall be a dirty horse pooping by Friday. Just in time for the weekend fun.

In one of my heroic attempts at ingestion, I came across a little bird in my soup. He said nothing. My fortune, however, said that I could make a decision with confidence. Wonder of wonders! I stand at the sugary threshold of ancient wisdom and realize that, for perhaps the first time in my life, I have nary a weighty decision to make. Crap. I just jinxed myself. Okay, I am off to take a nap with confidence. Don't even try to talk me out of it. My mind is made-the heck-UP!

White Legs and Other Horrors

Boy says his legs are so white, they make his socks look dingy.

Okay, so first of all, I'd like to apologize in advance for the "grody" content of this post. To my friend who nearly vomited in the car when finding a pizza hair (you know who you are), I suggest you turn your eyes and click your way as quickly as possible to someone else's blog. If you allow your eyes to wander beyond this point, you cannot say that you have not been warned.

So...Today Boy and I walked downtown to buy him some batteries for his camera, me some sunglasses (that tickle) and both of us a spot of lunch. I won't tell you where we went (that would be in bad taste...har har), but when I invented my own sandwich, the person at the counter said "Wow. You got yourself a sandwich there!". What he should've said was, "You got yourself a sandwich hair!". Witness the source of my dismay as we ate our lunches quietly along the river.

All right. On to the lighter side of the news...After Boy and I had finished eating (and throwing strategic pieces of food into the river, along with the forest that was drifting by on its long journey down from the snow-melting mountains), we decided to try to get some sun on our legs. The reason I initially took the photo was that boy spotted a spot on his leg and said "Oh sick! Is that au jus?" Angry gasp. "No! It's a new mole!". Here's a close-up picture. Not that you wanted one. For the record, new moles are not always a laughing matter, kids. Go see your dermatologist.

Well, after an hour and still no tan, we decided to walk back home. Boy said, "I thought I got a sunburn, but it was just my white legs blushing from being exposed to the world."

(Speaking of Other Horrors...My Elliot got voted off of American Idol. I am guilt-riddled and sad, as it is all my fault. I actually had to work and could not vote.)

Two Weeks Down...

I was doing all right until I saw this picture. Now I am missing my sister so bad. I'm sorry if these aren't the most flattering pictures of you, James, but everyone knows you're beautiful. They also know that there are few things better in life than seeing you laugh really, really hard. I miss you.

Officially Earning My Nerd Badge

Dear Elliott,

Will my 50 votes from work
be enough to save you
from the American boot?
Or will they send you packing
back to RVA
home of rockstars
and long lost friends?

Only time will tell.
Another 20 minutes
to be exact.

Love,

The faithful fan of underdogs

The champion of dark horses

That May 5th Thing

That's what my friend Bee kept calling the holiday we celebrated last Friday. I don't have any photos to post, so I am giving you my sloppy cartoon rendering of our Cinco de Mayo evening...complete with all the limbless, digitless characters we encountered...and my first gray hair for which I like to thank the last 3 months of my life. While intending to prove just the opposite, it occurs to me that, by taking the time to draw and post a picture, I am bearing witness to the fact that I don't exactly have what is ordinarily referred to as a life. I guess now is as good a time as any to confess that I spent the following evening having a Star Wars marathon with my other friend Bee from NJ. Heck, I'm not gonna lie. It was all a lot of fun.

Sometimes in Summertimes

A Boy and his ice cream (before the dental work that renders ice cream so not a treat)

One of my favorite things about being a Missoulian, and more specifically, a Montagnian, has to be summer walks along the river that usually end in ice cream consumption. Why? Well...

Because sometimes you can stop and read a book along the way, provided your favorite haunt has not been seized by make-out couples and bikini-clad melanoma-seekers, forcing you to seek reading refuge in the red-ant swamp with the ravenous crows.

Because sometimes a hippie's dog fetches a stick as wide as the wide trail itself, causing a sizable traffic jam.

Because sometimes your friend's incredibly handsome, famous, and amazing dog treats you to a pinecone dance.

Because sometimes you get to see a little pig in a dog park.

Because sometimes you get a lecture from a wise old man about not photographing nature, lest you should steal the soul of any river flies who traipse innocently across your camera's field of vision.

Because sometimes you get chased by giant hobbled river rats...And other times you only see them swimming furiously up the ditch.

Because sometimes you catch a fellow tenant washing their dishes in the river.

Because sometimes you run into a local celebrity who pauses their workout just to tell you how much they are admiring your ice cream...all the while running up and down in place...And other times you run over your Latin professor, who thankfully doesn't remember you, because you dropped out of his class after only 3 days.

Because sometimes you venture back in time to high school P.E. and return with newfound appreciation for the person you have become...for the narrow escape you made from the person you were.

Because sometimes your ice cream mixer has an evil twin, and you can't remember who is who.

Because sometimes your ice cream clerk finds the "hypercolor" mood ring on your limited edition Ben & Jerry's so fascinating that he rubs his thumb against the carton until you have soft serve.

Because sometimes you follow up your ice cream trek with a trip to Dairy Queen...for a slightly raw long dog, causing you to cite as fact what you have always suspected: Hot Eats blow big time. They're half-off in the giveaway bin.

Anyone else care to chime in?

Sister Golden Hair

I decided at the last minute to make #1 Sister a CD before she flew off, and here's what came out. All the songs that remind me of her...the songs she likes, the songs with memories, the songs that say I love her, the songs that make us lachen...that I could fit on one disc. A necessarily very incomplete list, but I hear it made her smile.

























Sister Golden Hair.........America
Brown Eyed Girl.........Van Morrison
Born In The U.S.A.........Bruce Springsteen
The Promise.........When in Rome
Time After Time.........Cyndi Lauper
You Give Love A Band-Aid (Bad Name).........Bon Jovi
Cruel Summer.........Bananarama
Wicked Game.........Chris Isaak
Tom's Diner..........Suzanne Vega & D.N.A.
Sunglasses At Night.........Corey Hart
Say You, Say Me.........Lionel Richie
Jack and Diane.........John Mellencamp
Everyday.........Buddy Holly
Jamie.........Eddie Holland
Have I Told You Lately.........Rod Stewart
You Decorated My Life.........Kenny Rogers
You're My Best Friend.........Queen
I'll Be There.........Jackson 5
Why Don't You Write Me.........Simon & Garfunkel
I Believe In You.........Don Williams
On the Road Again.........Willie Nelson
18 Räder und ein Dutzend Rosen.........Sammy's Saloon

I can't wait for her to teach the songs to her students in St. Petersburg...which apparently, are mostly African. That makes it doubly exciting for me if I ever get to go back to Africa! I also can't wait to hear if she plays our childhood "radio shows" that Boy put on CD for her students as well. They'll be tellin' North Dakotee-an jokes in no time!

40 Days

Footprints in the wilderness.

All right, so after a sleepless night of listening to Bernice making muffins and getting her nails caught in the "dough", I decided it was high time for a clippin'. Here's a little shred of wisdom from me to you: True love is clipping someone else's toenails. I loved someone enough to swallow their gum for them once when they had a panic attack of the stale-gum-and-no-garbage-in-sight variety. But I never ventured to cut anyone's toenails. Until now. I am happy to report that I successfully clipped all of Bernice's kneading nails...even the tricky non-digits in the back.

So... an update on the passing of time and my top 10 list. In addition to the clippin'...I also pulled a book down from the top shelf, looked at sweater patterns in knitting magazines, checked my skymiles balance, and started organizing my music library in itunes. And the fact that I am writing about it amounts to somewhat of a blog revival, so I'm aces high today I'd say.

The sad news of the day is that Rockman Gary is no longer with us. I took a walk up the Rattlesnake with my mom today in hopes of finding him there. I can only gather that he suffered a rather crushing winter season himself. Or perhaps other eager beaver dogs like our Stella here, clumsily dismembered him in their pursuit of refreshment. The good news is that, to the best of my knowledge, Gary's namesake is still alive and well. Only a trip to the up-and-coming farmer's market will verify.

Now...I may have missed seeing my rockfriend/brother-in-law, but I did not leave the wilderness empty-handed (or headed). Mr. Tick here decided that he would also like to try making muffins...on my head.

Luckily I caught him before his nails got tangled in the dough. I do not love Mr. Tick. I would not clip his toenails. I would not even swallow his gum. I just had Boy help me seal him in a Ziploc, deliver a crushing blow with a wooden spoon, and deposit him in the trash outside. Just when I think I really can become a nun, a little bug appears and sends me dancing and screaming in search of the nearest male. I guess what I need is a convent in a skyscraper.

Funniest thing. I no sooner finished typing when Bernice spied a spider and went a-hunting. Maybe there's something to that whole cat-lady thing. Oh, heaven help me. My options are not looking good.

To Russia With Love

#1 Sister flapped her wings and landed in Russia. I miss her already. Only 333 days or so to go. I am praying for each one. Meanwhile...

Top 10 Ways to Speed My Sister's Return

1o.Learn to drive a stick shift.
9. Knit her a sweater.
8. Read through her bookshelf top to bottom.
7. Cut Bernice's toenails.
6. Write a book, a screenplay...a letter.
5. Learn to play Anji à la Paul.
4. Get organized.
3. Cut my hair and wait for it to grow back.
2. Revive my blog.
1. Find a way to visit her.

Well, of course there's a million more, but I think the procrastination of the bottom 9 should be enough to keep me sufficiently preoccupied and therefore surprised at her speedy return. Meanwhile, I shall gratefully accompany all of the activities & non-activities of my life with this soundtrack (Warning: Audiolink for those of you in public places). Just in time to help me look up in this winter of constant good-byes.

Deep Thoughts VI and VII: When It Rains...

My life was a closed book, left in the rain, and all the pages were stuck together.

Sometimes you have to drown inside before you can find out just how deep you are.

Deep Thoughts V

Mini-Misty Garden Scarf

Oh merciful heavens...It's been over a month since I've posted. Actually, I don't think you can really count a wordy sigh as a post, so it's been...oh gosh...ages. Well, brace yourselves (you random selves who have stumbled here by accident...you faithful selves who still pop in...or you lucky, soon-to-be rewarded selves who came in pursuit of the knitted good...), I have a nice boring little project-post to offer.

Behold. The Misty Garden Scarf. It's from the Scarf Style book. I'm not sure if I'm allowed to post this picture, but heck...it could be me.

Except that this is me. And my mini Misty Garden Scarf for Wonderboss. To be technical, it's mini because I changed the feather and fan pattern [k2tog] 3 times, [yo, k1] 6 times, [k2 tog] 3 times to [k2tog] 2 times, [yo,k1] 4 times, [k2tog] 2 times in order to make the scarf narrower. I think the yarn I used was bulkier than the original. Or maybe I just don't like fat-bottomed scarves who make the rockin' world go 'round. Hard to say.

This picture is silly. I had to contort in the bathroom at work to get the shot. It looks like, if you could see my upturned head, my face would look like the freaky mannequin in Chico's. And something about it says Gloria Vanderbilt neck. I don't know why. I think because I'm crazy. I think when we are old and turkey-necked, LaFalda and I will look at this and say "I'll take that neck". Turkey necks run in our family. But you didn't hear it from me.

Here's the pattern up close. I think the pattern looks better when it is done in full...not mini. I guess Misty Gardens need room to grow.

All right. It's Idol time. Consider yourself spared from any further knitting nonsensicals.

Sigh Me an Earthquake

This is by far the most confusing time of my life...I can sense I'm on the verge of something, and I can tell God is making me who I need to be for whatever that something is...But the not-knowing-what is absolutely killing me. He may be weaving something upstairs, but heck if all I don't see is a large tangly web.