measure twice, cut once

Ya' know, I am forever reminding MyFK of the concept that just because someone does something stupid, it doesn't mean that they are stupid. I also frequently remind him that just because maybe someone does something that I don't like, that this does not mean that I completely don't like them.

We all make mistakes.
We should all be okay with none of us on this planet being perfect.
And we should all be okay with not needing to like every single thing about another person in order to like them as a person.

I tell you this because I'm about to tell y'all a little story about my trip to the prosthetist yesterday.
And I want you to apply the above lessons, so as not to have a bad impression of him.


He did something stupid.
And he did something I didn't like.
But it doesn't mean he's stupid.
And it doesn't mean I don't like him.

I don't think he's incompetent, and he's the only prosthetist thus far who has been able to resolve my unique fit issues. As far as I'm concerned, he's a genius (or at the very least, a creative thinker/problem solver).

But yesterday he.....
(well, let's call a spade a spade)...
fucked up.
Royally.

I dropped by his office to merely pick up a new waist belt (I use one that wraps around the thigh of my prosthesis and then straps around my waist, and it really helps me feel like the leg is more "attached" to me).

My plan was to also mention a couple of other things I've noticed with this test socket, so that those adjustments can be taken into consideration when the definitive socket is being made soon.

I also wanted to have him make the lenght of my prosthesis a tiny-tiny-TINY bit shorter.
-------------------

As an aside, this might seem hard to understand if you have both your legs, but for me, I have been operating without two legs or a prosthesis for sooooo long now, and I spend sooooo much time standing on only one leg, that when I put on my prosthesis, it's often quite difficult for me to answer things like, "Do you have your weight evenly distributed between both legs?" Beats the hell outa me. And things like, "Does one leg feel longer than the other?" Well, sometimes I just cannot accurately assess that.

I've had the physical therapist watch me both standing and walking, and she thinks the prosthetic leg seems to be the correct length. But the more I walk with it, and the better I get at walking with it (the less I am waddling like a duck with my legs farther apart, and the more I am walking with my legs directly underneath me), the more it feels like the prosthesis is just a tad bit too long. This past weekend, when strolling with TheMIG we noticed that I really lurch up and down when I take a step onto the fake leg, so I'm kinda thinking it's worth checking out.

I've had the leg's alignment tinkered with before. They have to do it every time they make me a new socket. They don't just tinker wiht the height...actually there are all kinds of angles and rotations that can be tweaked. And let me tell you, sometimes just a 1/8" adjustment can change your whole world. It's a very strange thing.
---------------

So yesterday, at the prosthetist, we agreed to try shortening my prosthesis by a 1/4". That plan is that we'd let me walk on it for a day or two, let the PT see me walk on it, and then reassess.

I'm not a prosthetist.
I do not know all there is to know about the methods by which a prosthesis can be shortened 1/4".
I'm not a seamstress or a carpenter, either.
But I have heard, "measure twice, cut once" a few times in my life...
and as a knitter, I certainly understand the logic of knitting a gauge swatch before embarking on a sweater....
and as a chef, I certainly understand the logic that you can't take salt out of a dish once you've added it.

Anyhow, I think I know enough about prothetics by now to be able to say for sure, that there are at least two (and probably more) places on the prosthesis where you can make the adjsutment to change the length of the leg. And I think I also think there are ways to make that change in length by only adjusting something or interchanging parts.
Not by cutting them or permanently altering them.
(y'all see where this is going, dont you??)

I think that one place you could make a change is with the little connector pieces that bolt the top part (the socket) onto the mechanical lower limb (the C-Leg). I think those connecting widgets come in different sizes, the same way you can go to hardware store and find both 1/8" and 3/8" screws.

Another place you can make that change is on the mechanical limb itself (ie: the $30K part of my prosthesis), down near the ankle. See, the "ankle" is really just a pipe, and that smaller pipe slides into the slightly larger pipe of the "calf". Kind of like a collapsing telescope. So to shorten the leg, you could just push it together another 1/4". Right?

Well, apparently, my pipe could be pushed in no deeper (that sounds dirty), and rather than go back up to the widgets up near the socket and fiddle with those, the prosthetist took it upon himself to take apart my "ankle pipes".

And trim off 1/4".

With a saw.


I dont know enough about the C-Leg to know why that shave job was such an issue (because I guess that's how they do things all the time with a more manual/less computerized prosthesis).....but apparently with the C-Leg it IS an issue. And now my leg doesn't work. That little trim job made the computerized knee no longer able to bend for some reason. Big problem.

The C-Leg is manufactured by OttoBock, a German company, and most mechanical things from that nation require strict conformity to the rules and regulataions.
(Say it with the tone of an Evil German Nanny/Ballet Mistress): "Vee vill not varrantee your produkt if you do not adhere to auer protocols and if you do not use auer replacement pahrts!!! Your varrantee shall be void!!!!!! Mwahahaha."


Well. So. I have no prosthesis for a little while.
Luckily it is no fault of mine, and it's not my problem (or expense) to fix it.

As for the prosthetist? Well...
he feels bad and I feel bad that he feels bad and so we all feel bad...but whatchagonnado.

Hopefully I'll be up and running (okay, well, walking) by Monday.

stress

For fast-acting relief try slowing down.
~~Lily Tomlin, comedienne

on yesterday's performance

I’m feeling very proud.
Proud of what I did, proud of what we did, and just basically proud to be a member of this dance project.

During the performance itslef I felt grounded and supported and connected and beautiful.
Can’t ask for much more than that :-)

Only one person (that's a record) approached me after the show to tell me how brave I am and that I am such an inspiration (and we all know how much I love that).

**if you dont know how much I love that, please reference yourself to Monday, December 12, 2005 "a label I can live with". I've made several attempts at trying to learn how to link you to an old post, but apparently I'm too much of a moron to figure it out

------------------------

Turns out that five days was just about the right amount of time to be away from MyFK. He wasn't gone so long that I was suffering withdrawls, nor was he gone long enough for me to forget I have a mommy-life. SO I got some projects done, slept in, had time to relax, time to play with TheMIG, time to hang out with friends old and new....oh, and I was able to have cookies for breakfast and not have to worry about setting a bad example... hehehee.

My first chance to see him again was this morning as he was waking up, and it was really sweet...then made him breakfast and off to school he went.
Picked him up at 2:20 and by 4pm I'd pretty much had enough already hahaha.

Ok, so NOW I'm ready to dive into that parenting book.

break a leg (?)

Today Dandelion Dancetheater is performing at ODC Theater in San Francisco. It's a showing of works-in-progress so that people
(people = potential funders of the project)
can see what material is in development.

This is not my first time performing publically, by any means.
But it is my first real modern dance performance.
And it is my first time performing completely naked.

Wish me luck.
(You never tell a dancer to "break a leg.")
(And you should especially not tell an AMPUTEE DANCER to "break a leg.")
(Breaking a leg would be bad.)
*giggle*

Incidentally, dancers say "merde"...
which is the French word for "shit".

Don't even get me started.
------------------------------------

early morning coffee/computer time revealed this interesting interpretation of the origin of the phrase "Break a Leg":

It has also been peculiarly suggested that the origin of the phrase dates back to Shakespearean days. Apparently at the time, the poor and uneducated (often slow and dimwitted, and referred to as Groundlings) unable to afford real seats, would crowd the front of the theatre, right up against the stage. Transfixed by the performance, when they got really excited the Groundlings were customarily known to drool! Prior to their performance (on a stage besieged by eager Groundlings), actors would wish each other good luck by saying, "May you give such a stirring performance that you fall on the ensuing spit of drooling groundlings, and break a leg!"

HA!!!

AND I also found this list of "good and bad luck superstitions of actors."

Number 15 on the list of bad superstions is:
"People should not knit near the stage"


?!??!?!?!?!?!?!!!!!!!!!

cozy

Carol comments: Now I wonder what would happen if you went into a big box craft store and when they asked you for help, you told them you were looking for a pattern for a knit prosthetic cozy?

hahaha...very funny!
Actually, I read that and asked myself why I hadn't already thought of pulling that stunt!!

It only took me about a second to answer that.

See, to be totally honest, the reason I haven't tried pulling that particular shennanigan is because (unlike the fake need for lubricants and springs), I actually DO have a need for a cozy.

And I've actually considerred knitting one.
Not a prosthesis cozy, exactly.
But a Stump Cozy.


Let me tell ya'...my "residual limb" (often referred to by The One who cuddles up next to it as "a fricking iceberg") would definitely benefit from having some sort of warming garment. And I doubt I'm going to find a Stump-Cozy at a department store. So, like most knitters obsessed with our craft, I thought....I'll knit something myself!

Except I haven't figured out exactly how to do that yet.
I'm not a pattern designer.
Not that a Stump Cozy should be rocket science. I can knit socks, and I obvioulsy wont be needing a heel on this contraption. In fact, I've figured out that whatever kind of Stump Cozy I'd knit up (being an above-knee amputee) is probably not going to be sock-like at all. It will probably be more like a handbag.

One cold night, when neccessity was being the mother of invention, I realized...wow! My stump is about the same size as my head!

And looks great in my kitty hat.

But seriously, in my novice pattern designing mind, I cant seem to figure out how to get a stump cozy to stay on my leg without cutting off circulation, which would just increase the iceberg factor. My residual limb is very short, so ribbing at the top would be right on the femoral artery. I've considerred an i-cord drawstring, knitting in an elastic thread, using Cascade Fixation, and I've even thought about attaching some kind of waist belt (which just sounds miserable). So I just dont know.

My Cozy thoughts have extended to covering these, also:


See? That's what I need to knit! I need Crutch Cozies! (the grey fake sheepskin is pretty ugly)
Last year I even went out and bought this lovely Koigu for them.

See all the colors? They will go with anything I'm wearing!
(....which will do just fine while I knit a matching pair for every outfit)

But then I did the math of warm/damp armpits, plus the friction of swinging crutches, with the addition of wool....(the equation being felt) and I realized I really needed to rethink this project a bit.

My friends have suggested that I must knit a cozy for my wheelchair seat.

Sure. That'll be the day. Right after I finish that Lysol can cozy for my 92 year old grand-mother.

But here's my latest cozy obsession: the covering of the socket.
THIS is my temporary socket.

I think I've told you guys about this before....it looks like I made it myself with a glue gun and duct tape (and there IS actual duct tape on it). Now, I aint complaining, because this is the first socket that has stayed on my leg so I can walk. But DAMN is it ugly, and in the few warm days we've had here since I got this new socket, I've worn shorts, and it looks reallllllly bad.

So I want to knit something to cover it.

And I just realized, that this WOULD be a prosthetic cozy, after all, now wouldnt it (?).

I'm on my way to that big-box craft store right now to ask for that pattern.

comments on comments

But first...
a little ampuTEEHEE for you:

Yesterday I had to make a pit-stop at one of those humungous hardware/home supply stores. Just to set the visual stage for you, I was wearing my prosthesis (my prosthesis looks robotic and mechanical) and I was wearing capri length pants. I was also wearing a poker face, because I have pulled this shennangian many times.

This is my routine:
I wait until someone comes up and asks me if I need help finding anything (and if I have to wait long enough, I not beyond approaching the customer service desk). Then I tell them one of the following:

* that, "my leg has been making this really squeeky noise, and could they suggest something other than WD-40, because WD-40 is not recommended and will void my warranty..?"
* or that, "I broke this little small spring thing inside my fake knee, and I need to jerry-rig some kind of replacement until I can get it into the shop. Can you help me?"

There are other versions, but you get the gist.

I've gotten really good at not laughing while the poor sould stands there, mouth hanging open and/or fumbling for ideas. I've also gotten really good at making them feel bad when they ask me if I'm joking. If I'm really bored, I've even let them go ahead and call the manager for help.

I only pull this crap when I'm alone.
Anybody else with me would have to be quite the actor (one of these days I need to have someone lurking to catch this on video, though... "Smile! You're on Candid Camera!")

I don't just do this in hardware stores, by the way....
sometimes when I'm not wearing my prosthesis, I'll go into a shoe store, go through the whole fitting process, and then ask them how much it is for just the one shoe.
Yup.
Really.
Highly entertaining.
---------------------------
Ok. SO. Comments on Comments.....

Janey writes:
In fact, I am going to join "other Olympians who didn't quite finish, but are still running toward the finish line nonetheless", at the Turtle Along.....
I thought about joining you, but I'm having serious issues sticking to one project since the Olympics. I've the got the 2nd glove sitting next to the computer, MyFK's socks in my purse, Latifa is done and being ruffled, and the Olympics Shawl is next to the bed (where I am mostly sleeping for a change and not knitting).




But thanks for letting me know...I'm watching you guys!

Anonymous gave me the mathmatical answer to the decibal question regarding children on a field trip bus...
I love geeks.

Gray...thanks for all your kind words of support ;-)

Jodie said...
Have you frogged any sweaters before. I tried to recently, but it ended up being a ton of work. One of the sweaters is a nice dark blue wool, but the sides are surged together so they are really hard to get apart.
Yes, I've frogged sweaters before, and some are easier than others....but I wanted to warn you that you cannot frog a sweater that has been surged (well, you can, but you will end up with lots of short little one yard pieces of yarn!).
When sweaters are surged, the manufacture is basically taking a huge bolt of machine knitted fabric, cutting out the pattern pieces (much like sewing), and then sewing/surging the pieces together before the fabric unravels all over the place. THERE IS NO CONTINUOUSLY KNIT PIECE OF YARN!
You need to rip apart sweaters that have pieces that are knitted separately (either by hand or by machine), and then SEAMED (they same way a hand knitter would do finishing).
There is a really good tutorial for ripping out a sweater here (this is how I learned): http://neauveau.com/recycledyarn.html

I really like that shirt! I'm going to have to think about getting one of those for me since I'm an amputee knitter myself
YAY gimp knitters unite! hahaha
I just ordered my shirt yesterday. Can't wait to wear it!

jodi writes:
When you say that you improvise movements in response to ideas, I can't really get my head around that at all. (did I ever tell you about the six months of bellydance classes, after which I still can't shimmy? pathetic).
You know, I really want to answer that, and I really don't know how, because I'm a dancer who doesn't do the visual art piece. I feel like it must have something to do with having a visual impetus for creating something, and then using those images to feed your artwork (whether it be dancing or printing or knitting)...but I'm not sure that's all of it. You've really got me thinking.

However! My co-teacher IS both a wonderful painter and beautful dancer, and I mentioned this to her last night. She says that over the years she's been examining the connection (and sometimes lack of connection) between her painting and her dancing. We have a date to talk about it tonight after class....so stay tuned, and with any luck I'll have something for you tomorrow. Or who knows...maybe she'll just comment *cough-cough* (she's a lurker here *giggle*).
Oh, the pressure.

As for the shimmy thing? Wellp, I know you are going to have a horrible time understanding this...every student of mine does...but this is a fact: it's almost impossible to LEARN how to shimmy. Shimmying is not an actual dance move. Shimmy comes from release....realease into a dance move. A (real) shimmy is literally the tissue and musculature releasing from the skeleton, and it happens almost as a reverberation of a movement. I've never seen it work when forced...it only comes when you completely relax, and when you completely don't think about it. I think it took me just over a year before a shimmy found its way onto my body.

And no, I didn't know about your taking bellydance classes! I was wonerdering if you'd ever gave it a whirl. You seem like the type of gal that would dig it ;-)
If you ever get out to California on a Thursday, look us up...we have a whole lot of fun.

Carol writes:
Oh boy, do I ever sympathize (or do I mean empathize) with the kid thing! My oldest is 8, too, and he is very much as you describe. The kind of kid who says "Mom, I'm going to play a video game. Will you come watch me?"

Good grief, I thought I had the only kid on the planet who asked me to to that. It's comforting to not be alone.
But I'm almost ashamed to admit this...I cultivated that beast allllll by myself.

See, MyFK and I used to share a video game interest in common. I loved to watch him play Animal Crossing. I initially patted myself on the back for being such an interested and involved parent, and for choosing such a wonderful game!
No violence, very cute...you have a little house and you have a job so that you can save to buy stuff to decorate it. You dig for fossils, and go fishing, and collect bugs, and donate to the museum...you write letters to the cute little towns people, and you help them run errands. VERY CUTE GAME.

But did I sit and knit while he played??
Yeah, for awhile.
But then I ended up getting addicted just watching.
So much so, that when MyFK asked me to get my own memory card and make my own little town, too (cuz you can go go "visit" each others towns and shit), I practically ran to Toys-R-Us.

I should mention that TheMIG turned us onto this game...so it aint just for little kids (there's a whooooole bunch of big kids out there playing, too)...and I used to snag TheMIG's memory card and MyFK and I would go visit his little town, too...picking his weeds and stuff).

But then the bad parenting thing happened.
MyFK and I got to playing so much that I actualy bought a 2nd Game Cube because we weren't sharing well.

I know.
Not so good.

After awhile, MyFK moved on to other video games that I didnt want to watch (or listen to, for that matter....have you heard some of the sounds tracks on these things??)

And I kept playing Animal Crossing.
Obsessively.
It was eating up knitting time, though...so eventually I gave up interest. But not before buying the Nintendo DS version last November. That lasted about a month and then I got burned out, thank goodness. Which reminds me, I need to sell the 2nd Game Cube and maybe the DS...nobody uses them.

So there you have it.
The ugly truth..hahahaha.


jodi also writes:
I have to say that reading a parenting book during your five days off from parenting is like being given a week's worth of homework for what they call spring break here

You know?!
GOOD POINT.
Thank you very much.
Back to knitting I shall go.

i'm freeeeeeeeeeeeeee

Don't get me wrong.
I love my kid.
And I even enjoy (most of the time) doing the "work" of parenting.
And I'm sure I'm not the only parent with a kid like this, but....

MyFK is extreeeeeemly high maintennance.
(wonder where he gets that from)

And he is also GONE for the next 5 days on a trip to the snow with his dad!

YAYYYY!!!
Mommy time!!

I remember in my very early twenties reading, "Gift from the Sea" by Anne Morrow Lindenburgh and not completely comprehending it (even though I thought I did)....but I most certainly get the picture now.
(damn! that book just celebrated it's 50 anniversary, and it's still relevant)
----------------------------

The last book about actual parenting I read was somewhere around MyFK’s 5th Birthday.

He is now coming up on his 9th Birthday.

It has become ridiculously clear to me that I am dealing with a person in a completely different age group (ummmm, duh), one that is far better skilled in the art of manipulation (funny how certain growth spurts have kinda snuck upon me when I'm not paying attention).

It has also become ridiculously clear to me that I am in serious need of an upgrade in my parenting skills. Certain tactics are just no longer effective.

So reading a new parenting book is on the list of the many things I want to do over the next five days.
Along with knitting (go figure).
Finishing up some purging of cabinets and corners and piles around my house (I'm actually more than 50% done!).
And just listening to the sounds that I can't usually hear under the din of the contstant chattering of my fantastically articulate and incessantly inquistive child (who also has such a knack with sounds effects, he should put "becoming a foley artist" on his list of what he wants to be when he grows up).

treats

The last 24 hours have turned out to be full of fun little treasures and surprises.
---------------

First, I finally made it to the thrift store Sunday (going Saturday didn’t pan out). I bought some sweaters to frog (for the non-knitters, that means to "rip-it" out...get it?):

The purple-ish thing is a cotton, and my plan its to reknit it into the summer version of the“something to keep my shoulders warm” .
The brownish thing is wool, and it’s kinda ugly, but I think it’s going to make a couple pairs of really lovely felted slippers (and I’ve never felted before—on purpose, at least—so I wasn’t about to blow a wad on new wool for that experiment).
The forest green is a soft lambswool…and I have no idea what I’m going to do with it yet, but it was just too lovely to pass up. I’m thinking of maybe knitting a sweater for MyFK next fall after I burn out my sock obsession.
------------

The next treat was the best…TheMIG bought some very special pampering-kinds-of-things yesterday, and then spent a chunk of the evening pampering me with them (use your own imagination, but I’ll bet you get it wrong).

I'm so in love.

------------

For today's first bonus, I got to have breakfast with another member of Dandelion Dancetheater. We got to know each other personally a bit, outside of rehearsals. I’m working with some verrrry cool people ;-)

------------

After breakfast, I arrived home to find these in the mail from jodi:

I fell in love with these right away when I saw them in her new shop, but sadly, I’d already burned out my “fun money” for the month of February. What was great though, is that she offered a trade, so I sent her some yummy yarn in exchange. Thanks, Jodi!!

There’s one more thing I’ve been dying to splurge on, but it will have to wait until I have $$ at the end of the week….you MUST click here to see this shirt of Franklin’s… (and DO click "view larger" and get a good view of the image) This shirt would be so very fitting on this amputee knitter :-) I can't wait to order it!)

--------------

The last bonus thing today was reading this:

"Another dancer makes a partner of her wheelchair, deftly twirling it in an elegant pirouette."

Dude, that's a quote about me!! (found here)

the day after

When I made the anniversary post yesterday, I’d intended to block out the comments option (but spaced out, as I was flying out the door on the way to rehearsals). I wasn’t pimping for kind words y'all...it really was just a post for me….but thank you all so very very much for sharing the warm sentiments ;-) It was a nice thing to wake up to this morning. Because as it turns out, yesterday was somewhat bizarre.

In order to explain yesterday/Friday/The Anniversary Day...I need to describe to you what happened the night before/Thursday/The Anniversary Eve.

Thursday night, after the bellydance class I co-teach, I decided to do a dress rehearsal of a little solo I'd created to mark the anniversary of the accident. My plan was to actually perform the piece on Friday (during rehearsals with Dandelion Dancetheater), but I also wanted to share it with my class and have a chance to run it through in an actual dance space.

I wouldn’t exactly call the dance a “work-in-progress.” I’m not planning on dancing it again. The dance was more of a “work-barely-worked-on,” and I was fine with that…this dance was merely a process piece that I wanted to share with friends as a way of exploring two recent feelings I’ve been having.

The emotional context for my dance solo was:
* I can’t control how you see me.
* I am a bouquet. I am my own vase.

The dance was a performed to two pieces of music. The first half of the dance piece was loosely choreographed, and was based on a dance phrase that came out of a recent improv exploration done with Dandelion. A few weeks ago, our director had us do some stream of conciousness writing about “something that we could not control.” We then created a movement phrase that represented that thing. My thing was “I cannot control how other people see me.”

For the second song of my solo, I did a complete improvisation, leaning more towards (but not completely) bellydance. As an improv, it did not have any choreography, but it DID have something that we call in our bellydance class “a private place.” During this part of the dance, I imagined that I was dancing in the woods on the side of the road where my accident happened (except there was no car or accident). There was a carpet of yellow leaves and the sunlight was coming through the tree branches. I could smell the earth, and hear the sounds of nature. And I was gathering a bouquet of flowers.

The bouquet image is pertinent because for years now, I have used the bouquet image as an analogy for my life: I have often felt like I am a big, beautiful, blooming, bouquet.
But a bouquet without a vase.
Most of my life I've searched for a vase.
And in some pretty ridiculous places, I might add.
I've even tried turning things that arent vases into vases.
Somehow I've managed to keep the bouquet looking fresh over the years...
But since my accident, my flowers have withered a bit.

I think what I'm finally figuring out is that it is my own reposnsibility to keep my flowers blooming, and in order to that, I need to be my own vase (rather than seeking containment from sources outside of myself).

Okay.
So back to how Thursday's dance became Friday's Funkiness.

So Thursday night I dance. After I dancing, I get some feedback about the piece...but the one person I really wanted to "see me" the most, to really “get it” the most, I felt... did not.
And I was okay with that at the time, and I even went to sleep feeling okay about it.
But I didn't wake up on Friday feeling okay with it.

So now, it is Friday morning, and I'm half asleep.

During my sleep, I woke FIVE TIMES because of different versions of the same exact dream…of a car or truck running me off the road.
That wasn’t a happy way to wake up.

So I try to shake that off, and that shifts to realizing I'm feeling sad because the person I wanted to “get” the dance piece, did not…and that seemed REALLY ridiculous and interesting to me given that the dance was about how “I cant control how you see me.” And THAT seemed ridiculous and interesting because I was letting that sadness wilt my flowers as a result.

So I try to shake THAT off, and get about my day....and then MyFK wakes up and tells me he doesn’t like living in our house because it isn’t clean enough....and that's why he likes going to visit at Nana and Papa's... and by the way, did I know that at his friend's house it's so clean you can eat off the floor??
*sigh*

Well, that pretty much drained the water of the vase (the one that wasnt really there anyhow).

So I try to shake THAT off so that I can make it to Dandelion rehearsal, because guess what…it IS The Anniversary, and I'm performing today for my peers.

So I dance my solo again.
This time get NO comments.
No feedback.
Not a word.
Nada.
Nothing.
(which is out of character for this group).
So beats me.


I went to bed early.
When I woke up this morning I was so glad to find that yesterday was over.
And I'm considerring tossing my calendar.
---------------

MyFK is at his dad's this weekend....and I've got a huge chunk of "me-time".
I'm on my way to the thrift store to buy a sweater to rip apart so that I can recycle the yarn and reknit it into the summer version of "something to keep my shoulders warm."
This should be highly theraputic.
I get to shop (without the guilt of spending more than $2)
I get to tear something apart (gently, but it's beautifully destructive)
I get to repurpose yarn (YAY purpose!)
and I'll get to knit (can't beat that)

Who needs therapy.

anniversary

Life is fragile.
Everything can change in a matter of seconds.

Two years ago, my car was bisected by a guardrail that speared through the full length of my car.

It’s path travelled across my lap.
I thought my leg was only pinned.
I learned later that the guardrail had amputated my leg upon impact.
The rail was damming the flow of blood.

My car was spotted off the side of the road two hours later.

While trapped in the car, I was awake.
Feeling many many things.
Like organs shutting down one at a time to protect one another. Like determination to find a way out of the car. Like plotting to catch a passerby's attention. Like refusal to die this way. Like complete and total panic. Like a lonliness I have never found the words to accurately describe.

Healing from those moments has been far more difficult
than healing from my injuries.
That's the truth.

I am glad for every moment I have, for every feeling I have, for every experience I have, and for every path I get to cross.

Life is fragile.

3rd grade science and math

Science
It was storming last night. The sounds of high winds had me up at 5am, and MyFK climbed into my bed around 6am because he couldn’t sleep either.
(man, how I’d wanted to doze until 7!)

“Mom…will you scratch my back?”
“Only for a minute. I’m reallllly tired and I’m trying to fall back asleep. Mommies need sleep, too ya’ know…”
“Nooooo. Mommies don’t need sleep.
(*pause*)
I learned that on Nova.”

(???)

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Math
Q. A teacher invites 3 parents to chaperone on a field trip with his 3rd grade class. How many adults will be in attendance?
1+3 = 4

Q. The class has 20 students, how many children is each adult responsible for?
20 divide by 4 = 5


Q. Three 3rd grade classes are going on the trip, each class having 20 students, 1 teacher and 3 chaperones.
How many students will be going, in total?
3 x 20= 60
Teachers?
3x1 = 3
Chaperones?
3 x 3 = 9

Q. If during snack time, all three teachers walk away, and 8 of the 9 parent chaperones are busy picking their noses, or staring off into space, or chatting with other parents while the kids are arguing over gummy snacks and all the wrappers are blowing all over the picnic area and the kids are pushing each other into a mud puddle.....(*ahem*, sorry, I digress)... WHAT is the ratio of children to adults that are paying attention?

60 to 1
(in case you couldn't tell, it is this AmputT that is the only 1 paying attention…and it made for a very long and hectic fieldtrip on a 6-acre working farm)

There is one last math problem I was not able to compute (I think it's algebra with a bit of physics maybe?):

Q. If there are 60 children on a bus, and all are screaming as loud as they possibly can, what is the decibel level inside the bus if all the windows are closed?

Anybody know? Just Curious.

why wood is good

As much as I complained about TV commentators for this XX Winter Olympics, I did hear one very funny thing while watching the coverage:

“….and Joe-Blow-Athlete of Such-And-Such-Country will finish this race in fourth place, taking home…the Wooden Medal.”

Hahahahahahaha!

Well, I brought home The Wood, too…with my Olympic Knitting.
(although I should be given a frickin GOLD for the lesson I have finally learned)

I HATE KNITTING ON A DEADLINE.
I hate it so much, that it can actually keep me from being able to pick up the needles at all.

No, I did not finish the Olympic Mohair Shawl before the flame went out. And I had plenty of time to get it done, too. I passed up many an opportunity where I could have sat and knit. And I chose not to.

It would seem that during the two years prior to these Olympics, I’ve developed some interesting habits while training for these games.

First year of training:

* A company that sells kits for felted hats and bags hires me to knit a display bag (I knit, they felt). I am given no firm deadline. The yarn and patterns are delivered to me, and instead of the agreed upon bag, I am sent the components for two fair-isle hats. I’ve never done stranded knitting. And for those who aren’t knitters, felted items are knit HUGE, because felting is basically shrinking your knitting during the washing to make it thick and warm. So these aren’t your normal sized hats. They are giant. Hats like this. Along with the yarn is a note that I need to return the completed hats within 3 days. I am leaving for vacation in two. I almost hurt myself trying to get them done on time. Lots of teeth grinding. I am paid something like $12.50 per hat for my work (slave labor?). I swear that never ever again will I knit on a deadline.

* It is my friend’s 90th birthday. For some insane reason, the day before we are to meet and celebrate, I decide to knit her a small, shaped shawl. I stay up all night getting it done. I can barely see straight, weaving in ends right up to the last minute. She calls to cancel our date, and the finished gift sits in a bag in my car for three weeks until we can reschedule. I swear that never ever again will I knit on a deadline.

My second year of training:

* I negotiate a small job from my local yarn store. I am to knit sample swatches that they will use as displays. In exchange, I’m to be given hours toward classes. I also have the added bonus of sampling new yarns. I picked up a bag of skeins they have waiting for me, and I’m not given a deadline…but it’s assumed that I will do this kntting in a reasonable amount of time…like ummmm, before they sell the inventory and there is nothing left to display. I take the bag home and knit not one single thing from that bag. In fact, the bag never leaves my car and makes it into the house. Feeling guilty about shirking knitting responsibilities, I also do not pick up my own knitting. This goes on for about 6 weeks until I finally return the bag of perfectly undisturbed skeins and apologize profusely, saying you’d think I’d have learned by now: I hate knitting on a deadline. I swear that never ever again will I knit on a deadline.

* My mom asks for sock for Mother’s Day, two months early. Mother’s Day is in May. I only finish one sock. I promise to get the pair done by her birthday. Which is in June. I hate the colors of yarn she chose (what an eyesore), and therefore avoid picking up her project whenever possible. Every time she sees me knitting on something else (which was often), she makes some offhand comment about her cold feet. She finally gets her socks. In December. And I swear to myself that never ever gain will I knit on a deadline.

2006, now my third year of training:
* I finally understand that while I do love a knitting challenge, I am not in love with the time challenge. My version of challenging myself is to learn at least one new technique or skill with every new project (and I have successfully and progressively done that over all three training seasons).
* Yet still, in 2006, I set myself with the New Years Schmezolucion to knit one pair of socks per month (it’s February and I’ve already blown that one off).
* And then, sign up for the Knitting Olympics.

Ummmm.
DUH.

Now, for the Olympics, I do pick a project that includes the challenge of a new skill. This is going to be my first lace, and I am (stupidly) going to knit it up in (not-so-lace-friendly) mohair, which is a fiber I’ve never worked with before.

Here is why I should be given Gold instead of Wood:

By Day 4 of the Knitting Olympics, I realized that I’ve set myself up for failure, and instead of continuing to knit myself into insanity, I begin to very frequently, and very happily, put my knitting back in its bag. And smiling about it.

As a result, I ended up having time to do some wonderful things.
Like sleeping. Like eating. Like taking MyFK to an afternoon at the bookstore. Like taking him and a friend on a tour of the JellyBelly Factory. Like birthing a new dance solo that I will perform next week as a work in progress. Like trying to use my prosthesis a bit more (no, I haven’t figured out how to knit and walk yet--I couldnt do that when I had two legs). Like keeping up with housework (welllllll, sorta). Like spending time catching up with friends. Like going to see TheMIG's band play when their tour rolls through town. Like going to see Axis Dance Company's new work. Like taking some much needed downtime to do some deep thinking about some major overhauling I’m ready to do in the area of my emotional growth.

I am at complete peace with my Wooden Medal. I scored The Wood for knitting how I like to knit. I knit my first lace. And I tamed mohair and made it obey. And now that the REAL deadline has passed, I think I can finally pick up the needles again and finish this shawl. On my own terms. And I will be warm and cozy with it when it is done. And stress free. And happy with myself for finally shaking a bad habit. And I’ll be sporting The Wood (something I've always wished I could do).

There is nothing worse I can do to myself than taking something I absolutely love (because it relaxes me, allows me to express my creativity, and brings me peace)….and then turning it into something that I dread doing.

I think I have finally learned not to knit on a deadline (PLEASE, if you see me doing it and writing about it here…slap me around a little bit…you have been granted official permission).

I suspect maybe I'm in good company donning The Wood. As of this entry, Miss Harlot (who started this whole Olympic thing in the first place) has not posted that she completed her item either. But she's amazing with a deadline. More than likely,...she DID finish it, and is just sleeping it off ;-)

**update: Hail the Mighty Harlot...she DID in fact finish, and just in the nick of time. She totally deserves The Gold. Totally gorgeous sweater.

a day in the life of a gimp at the airport

For those of you who haven’t experienced traveling as (or with) a disabled person…I shall now shed a little light on what you can possibly expect from Airport Security (aka The TSA—Transportation Safety Administration).

In my own personal experience, since becoming a gimp, every single time I've flown, I have ended up in the super special we’re-going-to-pat-you-down-and-pillage-through-your-bags area. It doesn’t matter what kind of mobility equipment I bring along with me. They all have metal components, and therefore I am to be pulled aside.

If I arrive in a wheelchair, I’m patted and pillaged.
If I wear my prosthesis, I’m patted and pillaged (I’ve even heard that some amputees have actually had to take their limbs off).
I’ve even tried to slip through on just crutches (sans prosthesis), hoping they’d x-ray the crutches and let me hop through the metal detector...but no dice. Apparently hopping is completely unacceptable airport behavior.

So I get patted and pillaged every single time. This means I also have the added bonus of having to wait around while they find a TSA approved female to do the pat down search. And every time I travel with MyFK he asks, “Mom, why does a woman have to do it?” And every time I never know how to respond. When I try to explain that perhaps some women might feel uncomfortable being inspected by a male, I then get drawn into a discussion about societal gender rules…and once that discourse gets under way I have to be the type of mom that explains that this “comfort concept” is completely moot if either woman is a lesbian, but isn't it odd that nobody ever considers that?…to which MyFK questions, “Well then shouldn’t they send over a boy who likes boys to pat you down mom?? (heeheeheeeeeeee…I love my kid. What a crack up.)

Anyhow, these discussions with MyFK always end up with my reminding him (and this is my speaking my truth when I add this): that I am very thankful that the airport security is doing such a fine job of thoroughly checking. It makes all of us feel safer travelling.

To tell you the truth, this pat and pillage routine has actually proven to be a benefit to me almost every single time I fly. By now, understanding that it is senseless to waste time in the “regular” security line, I just go straight to the pat down area and get it over with. On most occasions I have made it through security faster than my able-bodied traveling companions. And on most occasions I am treated with respect and consideration.


Except today.
No benefit. No respect. No consideration.

And, oddly enough, today I’m not even the one flying.

Today I am going to the airport to pick up a friend’s son who is flying alone. TheKiddo has some sort of overnight layover in my town, and then he travels on again tomorrow. So MyFK and TheKiddo are having a slumber party.

Driving to the airport, I hit major Bay Area traffic (yes, we have traffic on Saturdays). The flight had been delayed 2 hours, but while I’m en route to the airport, I call in again, and the flight is now only 1-1/2 hours late instead of the previously stated 2 hours. We’re going to be late, and I can only warp time in the car when I’m driving solo.

TheKiddo’s flight had already landed and was disembarking as we arrived in the airport parking lot. I am stressed and very very cranky. I take my prosthesis off and switch to a wheelchair because not only am I hell on wheels, but I’m also aware that at some point I may possibly need to take my leg off for some bozo to x-ray it, and I’ve got no time for that shit.

This is my first time dealing with a kid who is flying alone, and as instructed by TheKiddo’s Mom, I check in at the service counter to sign paperwork, and I ask if TheKiddo can be brought down to me outside the security checkpoint. The agent tells me that this is no problem, he radios ahead to the gate to advise, and I proceed to the checkpoint.

I am met by the TSA people who pull me aside to a waiting area.

Hey! This was easy!
Just wait for TheKiddo!
With time for clearing the plane, we must have made it on time after all!
I guess we did warp time after all!
YAY!

We wait.

And wait.
And wait.

Finally, the guy holding me at the checkpoint says into his radio (in an exasperated tone), “We still have another one….”

Hmmm. A this point, I question him about exactly what it is I am waiting for, only to find out that I’m not waiting for TheKiddo to be delivered…no. I’m waiting for the female to pat me down.

Why?
I guess they want me to pick up TheKiddo at the gate, not at the checkpoint.
Why?
Because somebody blew off the instructions to bring TheKiddo TO me at the checkpoint. Instead TheKiddo is stuck waiting at his gate…not alone, mind you, but with the same airline attendant that was previously radioed the instructions. Apparently the attendant is either deaf, hates his job, is killing time entertaining TheKiddo until his shift is over, or is just plain stupid.

Grand. Here comes the female TSA-Bitch, and she isn’t going to listen to one word I have to say.
Nope. She’s on a mission, and she’s going to pat me down. Period.


I say: I’m not flying, and I’m not attempting to go to the gate. I've already signed the paperwork to have TheKiddo brought to me.

…but the TSA-Bitch is going to pat me down and scan my shoes and swab my wheelchair and…

…allllllll the while, I am being probably the biggest disabled smart-assed snot I have ever been in my life. (so much, in fact, that the stuff in the colored text you are reading is actual quotes, verbatim, to the best of my memory, unembellished...only names changed for *ahem* security's sake)

MyFK: But MOMmmmmmmm!! TheKiddo is waiting ALONE!
Oh, I know, but I have to wait while this lady has her way with me.

I stand up to be patted down, and TSA-Bitch tells me to sit down.
So I do.
And then 20 seconds later she says she needs me to get up out of my wheelchair, and asks if I am physically capable of being in a standing position.

I say: Ummmm I think I was just standing a second ago when you told me to sit. No? Am I confused?

I stand up but hold onto my chair to stabilize myself while being patted, because sometimes someone pushing against me can cause me to lose balance (duh).

TSA-Bitch says: I need to move your chair. I have to get all the way around you.
(and before I can answer pulls the chair out from under me and pushes it way out of reach)

I say: Well jeez, you didn’t ask me if I was physically capable of standing without something to balance with. So...isn't my holding onto something and rotating or turning around acceptable?

No.

Ooooookay.
So I’ll balance on one leg for you.
Want me to juggle for you at the same time?

MOMmmmm!! What is taking so long??!!!
Well, once you are disabled, you lose certain rights, son. People are allowed to touch you when and where you don’t feel like being touched, which would be fine IF I actually wanted to pass beyond this area. But I do not.

So the TSA-Bitch begins to do her pat down, and let me tell you…I’ve been patted down a whooooole lotta times by now, and never have some of these particular nooks and crannies been patted before. AND she took her time. And THEN she decides that my under-cleavage is suspicious and has me raise my arms in 20 different positions (while balancing on one leg for several minutes by now) so that she can get under there again. And again.

She asks me if I have a problem.

Yes, as a matter of fact I DO.
SUPERVISOR!!!!!!!!

Great. Here comes DickWad. A fucking idiot who couldn’t pass the police force exams because he’s a moron, and so he ended up working the airport. But I need to show respect ya’ know, because, well, he’s boss of this tiny little world, and he has a uniform and shiny badge to prove it.

The TSA-Bitch is now telling him that my wheelchair looks fishy because it hasn’t passed the swipe test.

Mr.Dickwad, Sir. Could we PLEASE stop examining me. I do not need to be inspected. I’m not flying, and I’m not attempting to pass this checkpoint to get to the gate. There has been a miscommunication. TheKiddo I am retrieving was to be sent down here to the checkpoint. Can you please send TheKiddo down here?

DickWad says: Well, that’s up to the airline.

Well, then can you please call the XYZAir desk and have them send TheKiddo here, because that is what I asked for, and that is what they agreed to do.

Yes, I will call them. What’s your name, what’s TheKiddo’s name, what’s the flight number?
I give the data.

He leaves, and while he’s gone the TSA-Bitch is starting to furtively take notes about my hair color, what’s in my purse, and that my sock (singular) matches my blouse. And now allllllll my personal information is being entered into some database that probably now catalogues me as suspect for the rest of my frickin traveling life (not that we can't all be eavesdropped on at this point, anyhow, mind you).

MOMmmmm, are they done yet??
No, apparently mommy's wheelchair is possible suspect for high treason.
(actually, it is my REMOVEABLE wheelchair pad that is supposedly coated in bomb-goo…mental note: do not picnic on the newly fertilized park lawn and then sit your ass down on a fabric wheelchair seat)

DickWad comes back to help TSA-Bitch do the cataloguing.

Ummmm, excuse me DickWad Sir, but when you left, weren’t you supposed to be calling XYZAir and remedy this situation??
I didn’t hear you ASK me to do that.
Maybe that’s because you aren’t actually listening?

Turning to TSA-Bitch: Make her stand up and swipe her seat pad again and her backside again..

MOMmmm!! What is TAKING SO LONG?!?!?!
They aren’t done humiliating me yet.

But MOM!!!
Honey, shush. The fake police aren’t through exercising their weak little power trip muscles.

Bitch to DickWad: Her pants pass but her removeable seat pad does not.

Let’s see…ME AND MY CHAIR are okay to pass through, but the REMOVEABLE PAD is cause for suspicion. Does the concept of REMOVING THE PAD and leaving it here work for you (so I can blow yer asses up with it and rid the world of a couple of idiots?)

DickWad to TSA-Bitch: Well, she’s basically going to have her wish granted….
(funny, I don’t remember wishing on a little star or anything)
…because we can't let her through. They will have to bring the kid to her to the checkpoint to meet her..

I sit there reminiscing about this Bill Cosby stand-up routine. He gets kicked out of bed to feed the kids breakfast. He gets busted for feeding them chocolate cake instead of scrambled eggs. He is sent to his room.
Which is exactly where he wanted to be in the first place.

* sigh *

Well TheKiddo is finally brought down to the gate.
And then we need to go hunt down luggage, because by now, it has been stowed away because it wasn’t picked up quickly enough and is now suspect for high treason.



Best part? I get to do this allll over again tomorrow when I bring TheKiddo back to the same airport for the 2nd leg of his flight. YAY!!!!!!!

See?! having a 2nd leg can, in fact, be bad ;-)

no, it's not me

Well, at first I had thought it was just me.

Then a few of you commented and emailed telling me that in fact, no, it was not just me. Others heard it, too.

The NBC Olympic's Figure Skating commentators are doing a mean, nasty, and negative job with their coverage. Period.

This is what I heard today once I finally got to sit down and (knit) watch the Women's Figure Skating Short Program (and I wish I could load a sound byte here, because the tone was definitely part of it..let's see what I can do with itallics):

**said in review of Yalena Liashenko, skating for the Ukraine**

Sandra Bezik (twat): "You know, to compete for 12 years for Olympics, you just have to looove to go to the rink and train every day."

Dick Button (asswipe): "The problem is, that over that period of time, her skating hasn't changed that much!
(pause)
Maybe it would be more helpful if she went to the rink and not only trained but thought about it a little bit, too."
(longer pause)
"I hope that's not being unkind."

(silence from the other commentators)
-------

ummmmmmmm I dunno, DICK...what do you think??!?!
Sort of hard to vote for your being "kind," that's for sure, DICK.
*sigh*

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As a contrast, I offer to you commentary between myself and the 8-year old MyFK:

**said in review of (couples) Ice Dancing, Free Skate (I dont recall which couple)**

MyFK: "That's two girls."
Me: (mumbling over my knitting and under my breath) "That'd be the day."
MyFK: "What do you mean??"
Me: "Well, it's never been two girls before."
MyFK: "What about two boys??"
Me: "Nope."
MyFK: "WHY NOT??!!??!!"
Me: "Good question. Maybe by the time you get older, the rules will change."
MyFK: "So the rule is that it has to be a boy AND a girl?"
Me: "Right now, yes."
(pause)
MyFK: "I don't get it."
Me: "Me neither. And just to confuse you more, in the bobsled and the luge and some of the other sports, it can only be boys with boys and girls with girls. Interesing, huh."
MyFK: "It's not that the rule is right or wrong...it's just.....WHY is it a rule??"

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and that, my friends, began a discussion that ended up becoming the record longest bedtime story ;-)

knitting knerd

Last weekend was a Mommy & MyFK weekend...but MyFK spent a huge chunk of Saturday figuring out how to get me to take him to a place that he frequents with his dad. He wanted to go to this store where "gamers" of all types congregate. They play trading card games and computer games and what-not.

I reallllllllly did not want to go.
It was a major battle of wills.
But he's sharp for an 8 year old.
And apparently I've done a fantastic job teaching him that negotiating with logic and reason is far more successful that whining and pouting.

He knew I had a chore I needed help with, and he knew that I was behind on my Olympics Knitting, so I went down in defeat when he offered that not only would he help with the chore before going, but that I’d be able to sit and knit while he played games at this store. He insisted this game place was "quiet", but since we clearly do not share the same definition of what "quiet" really is, I was doubtful.

I agreed to be there for one hour.
ONE.
HOUR..
I was there for three.

He was right. It was quiet.
And I got a bunch of knitting done.
And I’m such a sucker.

But I felt like a total freak at this place!

To the right of me were 35 or so computers all filled with nerds playing on-line video games. The computers had headphones, so it was true--it was relatively quiet. Yay.

MyFK was in heaven. He was networked up with a group of 3 other kids to play LordOfTheRingsBattleForMiddleEarth (remember, this must be blurted out like a run-on sentence), which is his favorite game, the one that lately has had him commandeering my computer.

Across from where I sat were the card collecting dudes, playing a game called VS. I only know about this phenomenon because MyFK's dad plays it...and by the looks of things, when he plays there, he must be the oldest guy in the game store. Yikes. Anyhow, the card game involves a whole lot of discussion about being a Super Hero. It was hilarious listening to these guys “battle” each other. Apparently Spiderman and The Incredible Hulk are not friends. Who knew.

Sitting to my left was a gaggle of nerds gearing up for a game of Dungeons & Dragons. I could have sworn that game died out in the late 70's, early 80’s. Apparently it’s stood the test of time. This group of gamers included the only other female in the store...a very cute, but extremely nerdy girl in glasses. She kind of looked liked Velma going under cover at the Renaissance Faire. Anyhow, if this girl fancies cute nerdy boys, she’s a smart cookie…at this joint she's pretty much going have her pick of the litter, sans competition.

And in the middle of all this gaming action, sat me. Gimp Knitter.

For awhile, I just sat there gawking, while rating and ranking the nerd level of every single person in the place.

My greatest source of entertainment was checking out all of their nerdy paraphernalia. Stacks and stacks of D&D books, the special little score pads (one gamer was even keeping track with pen that looked like a magic wand), the little boxes and binders of carefully sheathed and protected trading cards....all organized and such (I’ll bet their rooms look like pig stys). Oh, and then there was the guys with all the fancy 18-sided dice and their shiny little trinkets and tokens for keeping track of lord-knows-what.

What nerds!!

Meanwhile, I am preparing to knit, so I am:
....sorting and organizing my index cards that has each row of my lace pattern printed them
....putting on the little row counter that I wear on a chain around my neck.
....spreading out my lace panel, fondling it, scanning for errors, admiring my genius.
....wishing there was another knitter present so we could hold it between us and wave my in-process-shawl around like a flag of infinished triumph.
....settling in with my knitting and the current issue of Interweave and a pile of stitch markers and a bag of Corn Nuts and a bag of Whoppers, all of which is artfully arranged around me like a little nest.
Oh
My
God
It is at this moment that I realize I am a complete knitting knerd.
And that I am in the wrong store.
This is not a yarn shop.
I need a yarn shop. Quick.

I look up and all the nerds are staring at me.
I am probably completely disrupting their fantasyland.
Hand knitting is far too practical an activity for a land full of wizards and goblins and super heroes.

I almost jumped up and shouted, "If someone you love made you hang out at the Local Yarn Store, we’d never ever look at you like you were a freak for sitting at the back table with your laptop and playing StarWars!! We’d be happy you gave us an uninterrupted chance to be swimming in yarn. SO. SHUT. UP."

But I didn't say anything.
I just sat down and ate my corn nuts.

And knit.
I got a ton of knitting done.
And MyFK told me I was better than Wonder Woman for taking him.
Awwww.
But let’s hope I don’t get suckered into spending too many days there.

-------------------------------------------------
Oh...there was this one really funny picture up on the wall there. Have to share it:




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The Olympics Update:

Who knows if I’m going to make the rush for gold. I have noooo idea at this point. I was about to throw in the towel the other day because I was so far behind. I'm thinking maybe I'm a bronze or something.

Based on the pattern, I need 11 repeats of the lace pattern. Based on my gauge (I am using a heavier yarn than what the pattern calls for), I was thinking maybe I’d do 10.

I’m only into my 7th repeat right now, and I think I’m getting ready to stop. Not because I’m trying to cheat and speed skate the 500-meter instead of the 1000-meter that I signed up for. But because I think if I go any further, this thing is going to look more like a blanket than a shawl!! It already reaches from my neckline to my butt at 6 repeats, and unlike the lace-weight the designer used, this isn’t going to drape the same. I still have yet to add the top edge and the bottom ruffle.




So I might be okay timewise.
Who knows.
This morning I tried to reread the section of the pattern that calls for picking up the provisional cast on to knit the border, and suddenly it looked like it was written in Greek.

We’ll see what happens.

putting the teehee back in amputeehee

One of the original intents of this blog was to record all the incredibly stupid shit people say to me that relates to being an amputee.

Things like:
"WOW your hospital bill must have cost you an arm and a leg!"
or
"I have no idea what it would be like to walk a mile in your shoes."
(yes, people have actually said these things to me)

Well, I haven't been posting things like that lately, if at all.
So here you go.

Well, ok, at least I get a "teehee" out of this....but do keep in mind that I'm a little twisted and that a good portion of the "disability community" (and then some), finds my humor and insights bizarre and innappropriate.
So beats me if you'll get a chuckle.
But I did.
So there.
------------------------

Today, while waiting in line to ring out at a register, a complete (dumb broad with way too much blue eyshadow on) stranger said to me:

“Ooooooooooohhhhh have you been watching the Olympics??? I just loooooove the Olympics, don’t you???!!……and isn’t just graaaand that even people like YOU can be included? I mean, people like YOU get to go be in the SPECIAL Olympics!!!!!”

No, Dipshit.
Actually, "people like me" go to the PARALYMPICS, NOT the SPECIAL OLYMPICS.

The Paralympics are for athletes with physical disabilities.
The Special Olympics are for athletes with intellectual disabilities.

Both are "just graaaand," true...but they are entirely different organizations for entirely different types of athletes.

I dont care much that you dont know the difference and make that mistake when talking to me, but I strongly suggest you understand the difference between the two before you go congratulating the US Wheelchair Rugby Team (featured in the movie Murderball) for their achievements at the "Specical Olympics". You wouldnt want one of these guys accidently mistaking your head for a soccer ball.

And if you still cant figure out the difference, try reading this.

at least this much

I am knee deep right now in:
responsibilities
an emotional growth spurt
and a huge pile o' mohair

I dont have time for much, but I wanted to at least respond to this comment:
------------------------

Ashlupa writes:

I'm with Full Radius; we'll be out there in May.
I checked out your website and your calendar, and I'm going to try to make it to your May show!! Please let me know if I can help with anything locally (promotion or what-not).
For those who'd like their link again, click here

Is Dandelion officially an integrated company, and how long has it been around?
I was stalling on replying because I was hoping that the director (Eric Kupers) would have a moment to answer this one for me (I'm such a slouch LOL). Unfortunately he's swamped...'tis the season for him to be knee deep in grant-season paperwork, amongst other things.

So here's my take on things:

Dandelion Dancetheater was founded in 1996, and no, it is not "officially" a physically integrated dance company. I know that over the years there have been other people with disabilities as cast members. I know of a below-the-knee amputee and at least one wheelchair user. I think in this way the company ends up being physically integrated, but I dont think that's the goal. I would say that the current project is not about integration, but that instead it's primary focus is on using naked dance as a vehicle for exploring the body, death, and impermanace (amongst other things). But with such an extremely diverse cast, one cant help but have integration be part of the project (not just integration of abled/disabled, but of many differences).

My personal defintion of the physicality of this company (and I'm not a big fan of labels), is that it is inclusive.

I think this line from the Dandelion website says it best:
"We teach and create with people of diverse sizes, shapes, ages, cultures and abilities, so that viewers of all walks of life can find themselves reflected in the work."

That's my short answer.
I have a longer answer.
I started typing this reply this morning (pre-coffee), and found myself going down a road that looks like a rant about labels within the dance community. I need to consolidate my thoughts a bit more before I open my big mouth and stick my only foot in it, but stay tuned and I'll post it :-)
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As it turns out, Eric just sent an email with a link to an article about Dandelion that was just published online. Enjoy.
http://www.ballet-dance.com/200602/articles/Naked2005.html

it's me

I have done some catching up. Based on my calculations, I ended last night about 6 rows behind on the lace, and about 24 rows behind on the stockinette portion (but's that's fast and easy knitting). Goddess-of-Knitting willing, I've got more knitting time over the weekend than I've had during this week.

I may or may not get a gold for my knitting.

But I think I should at least be awarded gold for:
* the most used paper plates (to avoid doing dishes)
* the longest run without going to the grocery store
* the largest pile of laundry ever created by a household of two (extra points for technical merit: most consecutive days a load of wet clothes has been left sitting in a washing machine)
* the most hours sitting on my ass (but I'm sure I have a bunch of contenders for that one)
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I had started to write a COMPLETELY different post this morning, and it's title was to be:
"is it just me??"

It was to be about my experience of watching last night's Olympics Figure Skating (the Men's Short Program). The announcers were dishing out this endless negative commentarty about the skaters, and it had me sinking into some kind of funk...a quasi-mini-depression. I had been half knitting and half watching, but my ears were listening....and their disapproving remarks were trickling in like a diseased interaveneous drip. The things I heard them saying, and the tone in which I heard it said, was so upsetting to me that I actually grabbed a pen and started to write things down.

What I'm used to hearing commentators say are things like, "he landed on the inside edge, so he couldnt grab the ice," or "he has still to develop maturity, but that was an excellent showing for this 19 year old's first Olympics." Technical things. Sprinkled with opinion.

What I was hearing instead were comments like, "He's more like a soccer player trying to do a tapdance, " and, "You want to wring his neck!! There is an OBLIGATION to work that talent."

Now, those two comments above actually WERE made....but I swear to you that I heard just about every single comment made last night in that same vein....said with the kind of horrible parental tone that sends people to a therapist for few years on the couch. The "it's never good enough" stuff. The inadequacy stufff. The stuff that pushed people to be over acheivers. Like the kid who gets all A's and B, and then receives the reward of "that's good, but you could always improve, dear."
(we aren't talking about me or my childhood, by the way *ahem*)

SO. Thanks to the power of TiVO, a cup of coffee, and the need to catch up with my knitting, I decided to replay last night's Men's Short Program this morning...and my plan was to jot a complete list for you of all of the evil things stated by the commentators.

Except today I didn't hear any of them.
I heard common critique and a coupl unneccessary jabs, but I didnt hear the incessant criticism that I heard last night.

SO what in the F%&# was wrong with me last night???!!!!!!!
"is it just me??"
Ummmmmmmmmmm YAH.
It's just me. LOL.
sheesh!!!!
I'm trying to figure out if it's because I'm pms-ing, if it's because I'm missing TheMIG, if it's from lace knitting frustrations, or if it's because I'm watching the Olympics instead of getting my usual nightly relief with The Daily Show and the Colbert Report.

no time for titles

Don't have time for much of a post....I'm on my way to a "Mixed Abilities" dance class taught by Eric Kupers at CalStateUniversity EastBay/Hayward. The Oakland Tribune is coming to interview him and do a photo shoot. I'm going to help fill out the shoot (it's a small class), but I'm glad to be there...I've really wanted to check out the class (I couldnt commit to it for the whole semester this go round).

I wish I had the time right now to reply to recent comments, especially "ashlupa" of FullRadius...but that's going to have to happen later this week. This AmpuT must talk about her prosthesis issues and, her knitting (go figure). But ashlupa, I will get to your to your question...promise!!
;-)

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Yesterday my day got derailed because I needed an "emergency" appointment at the prosthetist, which stinks because I was just there Saturday getting several things adjusted. (fyi: I spent a record 14 hours with the prosthesis on Saturday night, and about 8 hours on Sunday. Sunday also included a whoooooole lot of stair climbing.)

So, guess why I had to go for this emergency appointment!

I cracked a portion of my socket! Wheeee!

The damage is the long crack right underneath my thumb that runs from the rim to that little silver brad used to attaches the grey buckle to my socket...the other little splits to the right of the big crack are intentional...they give my socket some flexibility underneath my pubic symphasis (aka pelvic bone). I need that flexibility for comfort because during my accident my pelvis separated at the symphasis, and there is now a metal plate and screws holding those bones together. Anyhow, clearly that brad (which was installed on Saturday) created some weakness.

How I cracked the plastic: Sunday night I was backstage at the Thrill Kill Kult show (oooo...doesnt that make me sound so cool!--I've never been backstage before*giggle*). It happened when I was going up the kind of stairs that have that little overhanging lip, and the toe of my prosthesis got caught. I didn't actually fall, I just did a little jig and then dumped my LemonDrop all over Probeuluxx (from Space Vacuum from Outer Space) as he so valiantly tried to catch me.

Immediately the leg felt wobbly and after that it kept making a loud popping noise when I took a step. Upon colser inspection, I'd cracked the adjustable panel in the front of my socket. Not a huge deal, but I had to go get it fixed.

Which was a problem. Because I needed yesterday's time for knitting. Not gimping.

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Olympic Knitting Update (notes from my little knitting notebook):

Notes from Friday the 10th/Day 1.
The Olympics rules stated that we could start at 2pm.

I had dance rehearsal from 12-5, I sat in Friday commute traffic, I picked up MyFK from the sitter at 6, then we went out to dinner (cuz I was too pooped to cook). We then raced home to watch the opening ceremonies (and get me to my knitting basket).
So maybe I started around 8pm-ish.

I don't know how I did it, but I managed to do a provisional cast on for both panels of the shawl (I've only done a provisional cast on once, and just for the few stitches of a toe up sock...I'm not very experienced with it). I also somehow managed to knit 6 rows of lace on each panel. Doesn't sound like much but, a) it's my first lace, and b) I could barely see straight I was so tired.

Things I Learned On Friday:
* I'm a fool for waiting until the 4th row to use markers to indicate pattern repeats
* Wrinting each row of the lace pattern on a seperate index card is much a much easier than working from the pattern
* I have a sneaking suspicion I've bitten off more than I can chew with this project because of what else is on my calendar during these 16 days


Notes from Saturday the 11th/Day 2
I woke up in the morning in a bit of a tiz. I immediately grabbed calculator so I could do the required algebra and see if there really is any realistic way to get a gold medal.

Not that you care, but each repear of the lace pattern is 12 rows. At my gauge, I need to knit 10 repeats for a total of 120 rows. 120 very long/wide rows. Especially for a novice lace knitter like me, and especially for a mommy knitter that is constantly interrupted and distracted by her FavoriteKid.

So back to the algerbra. We started with 16 days total. Aside from knitting the body of the shawl, I also need to leave time for picking up and adding the ruffled edge, for seaming, and for blocking (the rules state the blocking has to be finished).

So, I developed this game-plan:
Starting today, day two, on days 2 through 11, I will knit 12 rows/1 repeat of the lace pattern on each of the two panels (and this should get easier very quickly as one of the panels will switch from lace to plain ol' stockinette). 10 days, 10 repeats. No sweat, right?
Then days 12-14 I do the ruffling.
Day 15 I do the seaming.
Day 16 I block.
tadaaaaa. Yes, I see gold in my future.
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SO! Here we are, the end of Day two, and do you think I've finished a pattern repeat?!
I wont even bother showing you a photo of my progress.
Because I'VE ONLY KNIT ONE ROW.
ONE. That's 1/12 of what I needed to accomplish.
*sigh*

My day was spent:
* picking up more t-shirts for TheMIG's band to bring to their gig (they are selling out!)
* at the prosthetist having several adjustments made to the leg
*driving up to Sacramento and spending the day with TheMIG's family before the show
* seeing the show, and then driving back home, arriving around 2am.
No Knitting Time.
I knew this I'd have a hard time squeezing in knitting time, I always do, but when I signed up for the Knitting Olympics, I thought they 16th (after this crazy tour weekend was over), not the 10th. Major mistake.

Notes from Sunday the 12th/Day 3

It's another day of not having enought knitting time. I'm hanging out with TheMIG while he's in town for the SF leg of his tour. He's done the bulk of the driving today though, so I could knit while we were sitting in traffic. I also stayed in the car knitting while he spent an hour shopping for drum toys at the local Guitar Center. Then I knit as much as a could between sound check and the show....check me out knitting backstage:

I'm not caught up yet, but I'm learning more about the lace pattern, and I'm learning more about how to fix mistakes as I go...so I'm picking up speed.

Here's the knitting at the end of the day:

Notes from Monday the 13th/Day 4

Today I'm supposed to have 5 hours of uninterrupted knitting time while MyFK is in school. Supposed to. But I'm at the emergency appointment with the prosthetist. I thought I'd catch up today, but it doesn't look like that's going to happen. I think perhaps I've done something to anger the Goddess of Knitting. I must do a little ritual tonight to appease her.

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It's bedtime, and here's where I'm at:

/p>

I've got two repeats on each panel, I should have three.

and here's a close up of the lace:


it's so pretty :-)

Today, Tuesday the 14th/Day 5

Who knows what knitting is going to get done today. After the Mixed Abilities/Oakland Tribune thing, I've got a playdate thing happening over here when MyFK gets out of school. If they are low maintennance, I might actually get some time. My plan is to tuck MyFK into bed, ignore all household obligations, park myself in front of the tube for the real olympics, knit lace until I cant stand it, then switch to stockinette and knit until I pass out.

the first of the emotional side dishes--dal (?)

So here’s one of the emotional topics I’ve been meaning to get on “paper” but haven’t.
I should probably call it “The Bearded Lady Syndrome” instead of "dal."
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I think there are times when some amputees might be faced with feelings of "being of less value," due to missing a body part. For me, in terms of my being a dancer, this has shown up as the self-awareness that I will probably forever more be referred to as “The Amputee Dancer” rather than just seen as “A Dancer.” I am probably going to have to work very hard to get you to see beyond my physicality.

The interesting twist for me though, is that not only do I need to face feelings of being of LESS value because of my amputation, but I also have to face feelings of BEING of value, because of my amputaion.

To explain….
I am currently a member of the core cast of Dandelion Dancetheater for the 2006 season of The Undressed Project, aka “Anicca” (pronounced ah-NEE-cha, defined as the Pali word for impermanence). I love this dance company, and I love this project. One of the primary concepts of the company’s director and choreographer, is that dance is for everybody (read as: Every Body). The cast is extremely diverse, made up of people of many cultures, shapes, sizes, ages, levels of dance experience, and abilities/disabilities.

I am also currently studying with Axis Dance Company, a physically integrated dance troupe. I have been studying with them for maybe a year and half now, and I have been encouraged by a few dancers in the company to apply for a position in the troupe, because…a) these dancers have said they’d love to work with me, and b) because the company is in need of more disabled dancers. fyi: if you are an interested dancer, they just posted a casting call this week...but expect fierce competition...from ME! hahaha

Both of these dance companies are modern or post-modern or contemporary or whatever the appropriated label is that should be applied to it (I’m not well versed on the subject of modern dance). What these two troupes are definitely not, is bellydance troupes. I am a very accomplished performer of bellydance, and teacher of bellydance….but up until recently, I have had no formal training beyond this particular dance medium. I am not a modern dancer.

Now, not one person has said this to me directly, this is only my assumption (but I believe it to be a very honest and realistic assessment, and an opinion few would argue):

If I were an able-bodied dancer, I would not be qualified to perform with either of these companies. I lack the experience and the skillset. There are trained and interested dancers ready to fill the positions. I am however, welcomed because I fit the bill of being a person with a disability (who also has at least some movement experience), and I've proven to be relatively trainable (not to mention willing to do the work).

These companies want their casts to be diverse. I therefore fulfill a need, their need for dancers with disabilities. There is a place for me because I am a novelty. I would not be a good fit at this time if I wasn't an amputee.
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This showed up in another big way for me during a Dandelion rehearsal about 3 weeks ago. We were working with a visiting artist who dresses in black and then uses body parts (like hands and feet), and a few simple props, to do something like a puppet show (think Mummenschanz). Our director wanted her assistance in helping us to create something like living statues out of our body parts, with the emphasis being on making statues that look like strange creatures, and not resembling body parts. The idea is that if you looked at the pile of people, you couldnt discern what was an elblow, what was a leg, etc. We had started working on the sculptures the week before on our own, and she was to come in and help make them look even more "creature like."

Now, if you were tasked with making a creature out of a pile of body parts so that you couldn’t really tell which body part you were looking at, and you had an amputated limb in your midst, wouldn’t it make sense for you to capitalize on that resource? I mean, I knew it made sense...I was fully prepared for this to come up during rehearsals...I've offered my parts as artistic material...Yes, my stump was a key feature a few times (and mine were not the only body parts of interest that were capitalized...we are all shapes and sizes, remember?).

My amputated limb became art.
Art is a beautiful thing.
But not without layers of feelings for me.

I’m still trying to make sense of my feelings at this point. They really are a mixed bag. And it's a process. Yes, it’s grand to find usefulness, purpose, and beauty in my uniqueness. But at the same time, it’s difficult for me to be valued for being novel.
Like The Bearded Lady.
She probably would not be in the circus if she didn’t have the beard.
And she's a bit of a freak.
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I would like to say, that my emotions regarding this issue are being well tended to by my director/choreographer and my fellow dancers. There is definitely a place for all of our feelings to be shared as a part of our creative process. My feelings have been welcome. In no way do I feel exploited or used, nor do I feel required to do things that are uncomfortable to me.
But I can see that working through layers of feelings regarding my value as a dancer are definitely a part of the process and personal exploration I will be doing while working on this production.
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I haven’t completed my thought process around the comment the “anonymous/devotee” left the other day, and this post is not meant to serve as a reply. But somehow I think all of this is related.

There is something in all of this about choice.

There are some acts of perversion that require choices and consent by all interested parties.
For example:
If you posessed masochistic tendencies, and wanted complementary attributes present in a romantic relationship, the above board way to find a match in a mate would be to choose to act on those masochistic tendencies and seek out a party who had made a similar choice regarding their sadistic tendencies. For these types of folks, their perversions have become more mainstream and (unlike our friend the devotee), there are numerous resources for meeting each other. This couple's choices about their tendencies can become a match.

The difference to me with the amputee/devotee issue, is that amputation was not a choice (elective amputations for cancer and diabetes dont count as a choice in this context).

I don’t choose to seek a relationship based on my physical configuration. My amputation is not a tendency. There is no desire I have that needs to be matched by another person. If a devotee seeks me out, it is not because I made a choice.

Maybe there are other amputees out that feel differently.
For me...?
I will be valued within a relationship as a person, as a partner, not as an amputee.

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And whether you agree or disagree with the above, it’s entirely unacceptable to lie to me as a way of getting to know me.

how it relates

I know I write an awful lot about knitting for one who has a blog about being an amputee. Whatever.

What I did forget to mention in my post yesterday, is the amputation related reason for why I chose to knit this particular pattern for myself. I made this "something-to-keep-my-shoulders-warm" do-dad because it solved some amputation related logistical problems for me.

note: the pattern for the Knit Round Scarf (seems more like a capelet or poncho to me) to be worn with the reverse stockinette side out (see yesterday's photo). I've decided I like it better inside out (see above). I think the yarn looks prettier, and I also like the way it rolls when worn this way, giving it a sort of reverse stockinette neckline.

Oh yeah, how it relates, how it relates (I get all sidetracked with talk of yarn and such).....Anyhow, I spend a whole lot of time on crutches. Please note that this "poncho" is short enough to allow my crutches to clear the poncho and access my armpits. A longer poncho wont do that for me. Also, unlike a scarf, this "ponchette" (?) does not come loose, untied, or unwrapped (when I crutch around, my upper body leans forward a bit with every step, the body makes a swishy-swingy motion as I move forward, and my scarf often shakes loose). This new thing also keeps me from having long scarf ends getting tangled up between myself and the crutches. Another thing is that I often wear a backpack when I am on crutches, and this thing has clearance for the backpack straps. Another big difference between this do-dad and a scarf is that it keeps the crutching parts of my body warm between crutching around sessions (the muscles in the upper back & upper chest/scapula & sternum). Sometimes crutches are work out. Cruise the hills of San Franciso sometime, or climb some stairs with them. It's like bench pressing your whole body weight. If I then sit down in the cold, sometimes I start to cramp up.

I've only had this thing one day and I love it. All of January it's been cold and rainy here, and go figure that the day I finish this thing it is announced we will have a week of early spring with temperatures in the 70's.....but I love this thing so much that I'm throwing it on over a tank top. I've decided that when the Olympics dust settles, I'm going to knit Stephanie of Glampyre's "Boob-Tube" (the one with the lacey/open-work from the Stitch-N-Bitch Nation book), probably in a cotton. Then I'll have one I can use for spring and summer.

Knitting and being an amputee.
I know I'll continue to find a way to tie it together ;-)