Life's a Stitch

Thank you all for your encouragement. I especially appreciate your stories, it’s amazing how common, but hidden, mental illness is. This is as public as I have been with something that’s been a part of my family’s life since I was 11. The added bad news is that my mother removed herself from the waiting list for housing near me without saying anything. We now have to start from scratch.

I’ve been dealing with Bryant’s pukey flu. It’s been a long time since I had a middle of the night emergency clean-up with one of the kids. He managed to spew across the bed, onto the floor and into the desk drawer. It even managed to make its way underneath the mattress. The only comfort was that I am now aware that my 15 year old actually eats peas.

Working away on my Heavenly wrap. It’s been two rows forward, six back. If I don’t take the time to count the stitches after each row, I end up ripping back. It’s not easy ripping back because of the sticky mohair content and I pull out more stitches than intended. It’s far more sparkly than in the photo. I just read that mohair rips more easily if you put it in the freezer for half an hour. Maybe it’s nature at work; something that keeps the goats from sticking together like velcro when the herd huddles together in the winter. Isn’t that an image?

Here’s a good lead on a yarn sale: Chez Casuelle – 20% off all yarn and free shipping to the US or Canada for orders over $25 or $15 to anywhere else in the world! Thanks to reader, Claudia. If I owned a knit shop I would stock it like this one.

Sometimes life is a stitch and sometimes it needs stitches. It’s one of those times. You see, I grew up with a mother who suffers from mental illness – 40 years of it, so far. When she’s on her medication all seems well, but when she’s off, watch out! She’s off right now and I know she doesn’t have the insight to help herself, so I pray that I’m able to manage by long distance. She was supposed to move near me last year, but changed her mind. I was very disappointed as I know her life needs stitches from time to time and it was going to be difficult and complicated if she didn’t come. I just didn’t think it would happen so soon.  Wish me luck. My mom was the one who taught me to knit in Brownies when I was six. That’s a nice memory.

Oh, Ms. Grace, you’ve done it again. I heard C get up at about 6:30 this morning to take Gracee out. Then I heard him in the living room screaming. Worried about his finger situation, I listened closely. He’s yelling about the dog and twenty dollar bills. That darned dog. There were teensy bits of money all over the living room. A friend of Bryant’s had given him $60 to pay me back for concert tickets I Mastercarded. The dog actually went into my purse and helped herself to the money, a packet of salt (which apparently didn’t appeal to her as it was in tact, but soggy) and an eyeglass cleaning wipe.

I spent a fair amount of time putting together weeny little pieces of twenty dollar bills to see if they might be salvageable. I knew the old story of having to have both sets of serial numbers for replacement from a bank. I consulted with the Bank of Canada site and found out that they will replace "mutilated currency" if they think you have a valid story and if there’s enough of the bills to identify their value. I figured a photo of the culprit would help my case.

In the meantime I showed them to my bank manager and he agreed to try to submit them for me, even though two of them only had partial bits of both serial numbers, as he knows where to find me if they’re returned. What a nice guy to give me the benefit of the doubt and hand me $60.

I wonder what remnants we’ll find in the yard?

I seem to be balancing the stress of life with nice surprises. I received a box from Germany with this beautiful seagrass basket. It’s from a blog contest I won on the Scottish Lamb’s site before she took a break from blogging. Jean put your name in for a chance at the basket if you mailed a hat and bootie set to the Preemie Project.

My Puerto Rican grandmother used to yell in exasperation, "Enough ees enough, too much ees too much." I’m with you, Grammy. Last week Chuck’s finger had an altercation with the table saw (instant replay of earlier in the year when he put several fingers through the band saw). He got eight stitches and a round of antibiotics. Last night, he was in bad pain and I decided to get brave and look at it. Whoa. Bryant described it as reminiscent of the movie, Saw. Into the clinic today and right to the hospital, back on to IV antibiotics (another replay of earlier in the year when his knee was infected). Enough is definitely enough. I think he needs to ditch the woodworking and knit. Knitting needles are sharp, but you have relative control over them.

My oasis this past weekend  was a meet-up with other bloggers.  On Sunday, Nadia and I had the opportunity to meet up with Caro, a Vancouverite living in Texas, along with several other non-knitting people, bloggers and not. One had a shopping blog. Now there’s a concept! I thought I was a shopper par excellence until, even I, got shopping tips from her. Shopping and blogging are a natural, but mix shopping and knit blogging and I’m in heaven. I bought a bit of Christine’s stash on e-bay and can’t wait for it to arrive. She creatively grouped a collection of like coloured yarn making it irresistible to stay away from her lot of pinks.

And finally, it’s a wrap – C’est La Vie # deux. Two of these are enough for now. Two of the ruffles were almost too much. This one will be a gift.

I’ve ordered the sweater from White Lies Designs for my daughter’s wedding. She has convinced me to knit it although it won’t fit properly over the sash of her wedding dress. She wants it so much she says she’ll remove the sash! It’s not like she won’t be able to wear it after the wedding. We’ve decided to go for 3/4 length sleeves without cuffs.

While browsing White Lie’s fabulous patterns, including lingerie, we came across an interesting typo in the description for a corset set. It says it "puts the fun in fuctional," leaving out the "n" in functional. A subliminal message? Check it out, see if it’s still there. We wrote them an e-mail. It gave us a good giggle.

Here are some photos. The first is the third colour of yarn from the Yarn Co-op’s Fleece Artist purchase, in a colourway called "Wild Flowers," a little pale, but pretty. Speaking pf pretty, the second is from a package from Leah of Knittin Pretty. She sent out thank you gifts to a number of people who made suggestions for baby patterns. You know my spring colours, thanks, Leah.

I heard on the radio that more Goth kids grow up to be doctors and lawyers than conventional kids. They tend to be bookworms and are quite bright. The reporter said "Don’t worry, mother, if your child doesn’t resemble the one you gave birth to, be assured. One day he’ll wash his face, pull out the piercings and lead a life you’ll be proud of."  Not that my 15 yr old is Goth, he just has piercings and pink hair. The problem is that he is not a bookworm. I’m still worried. It’s in my job description.

Knitting my worries away, this is my next shawl/wrap. I haven’t decided what shape it’s going to take. I have until it’s 43" long to decide.

Thought I’d add this after checking my e-mail today. Did you get an e-mail, announcing Berrocco’s current newsletter, that reads: "Free patterns for kids, babies and bags?" I’m not the grammar police, but it struck me as funny and reminded me of the book "Eats, Shoots and Leaves." How many bags are you knitting for?

My father died when I was 16 requiring my small family to split up and scatter for a variety of reasons. I left my my home town the following year and never looked back. I always regretted not having a reference point to my growing up years. Others, who stayed behind, watched our classmates and cousins grow up; they had a life consistency I yearned for. I know, I know, it’s not always a bed of roses to stay connected to your early years. Lacking that consistency in my own life, I crave biographies and life retrospective movies – A League of Their Own, Mr. Holland’s Opus and the Dutch movie, Antonia’s Line.

Recently though, I realized I had enough time in my 22 years in Canada to start having a past. When I’m at meetings I see people I’ve worked with for 20 years and think about how we have history together. It’s nice.

This week I was reconnected to a link from my earlier years. One of my voice mail messages at work, upon returning from vacation, was from a co-worker from when I graduated from school in Nebraska. Funny thing is that I dreamt about her recently, so now I’m experiencing a dream come true. What a nice change from the year of M-I-L’s death, my knee surgery, the wedding issue and a 15 yr old’s nipple piercing. Thanks, Jackie, for reappearing into my life.

You know I had to fit knitting content in here somehow. Here I am, in about 1980 (half my life ago!) when I worked with Jackie, in the first sweater I ever knit. I’ll bet that sweater, made from unbiodegradeable Wintuk Sayelle, is buried in some landfill somewhere.

In Galveston, there may not be any yarn shops, but they have unique names for streets:

Scenic overlooks with cute dogs. Doesn’t he look like his head belongs on a different body:

Interesting ways to earn a living:

An opportunity for a night out on the town with two 15 yr olds:

A great way to get around the city:

And plenty of time to start a new shawl on the flight back:

Thanks to all for the birthday wishes and encouragement. I’m behind on responding to comments, but I want you to know they are all appreciated.

Now, how many of "y’all" have that Galveston song stuck in your head?

Haven’t found any yarn shops, but boy do they have sky in Texas. For you, Sandy, with love from Texas!                                                                     

               

Distractions like these make turning 50 something today a lot easier. Really, how did I get to be this old?

Upon our arrival in Houston we experienced problems with our navigational system. It’s not the latest model, in fact she’s a classic, a 1954 Li, who didn’t consult a map, but listened to two different people who told me to head out on Rt 59 north and connect to Rt 45 south. Huh? 45 miles later the highway ended.

I chalk it up to exhaustion. After 24 hours travelling with two 15 year old boys we had arrived at the Houston Airport. We’re doing a house and car exchange and were told that the car was parked on the second level of the C terminal. The elevator indicated that parking C2 was actually on the 4th level. This, in a city that housed Ground Control for NASA? An hour later we found the car and headed north on 59.

We made it to Galveston, a few hours late, and took it easy this morning on the deck where I  finished the first half of the ruffle on the second C’est LaVie.

The boys are having a grand time. You know you’re in Texas when two teenage girls from next door swing by to check out the two Canadian teen boys – on their horses.