here's the story

I didn't feel like writing up the details about this over the holiday proper, nor the day I'd set aside to get my head screwed on straight(er).
But here's the poop about the NeighborGuy. Pour yourself a cup o'something yummy, because I'm about to get seriously long-winded.


The background story is such:

I live on a corner lot.
My house is on a hill.
I am a wheelchair user.
I live in a neighborhood with no curb cuts (this means that my personal driveway is my curb cut--it is the ramp that allows me to get my wheelchair from my car and up to my front door).
Oh.
And let's also add that my driveway borders the NeighborGuy's property.


Now, I don't use the curb cut of my driveway all that often. I typically leave my wheelchair in my car, use crutches to get into the house, and then waiting for me when I open the front door is another wheelchair. This is because the threshold between the landing and the doorway isn't wheelchair friendly...but nevermind that for now. Let's also nevermind for now the fact that I don't use my driveway for parking my car. There is a dead 1970 VW bus full of my camping gear parked there. So I never enter or exit my driveway with a vehicle. Only a wheelchair, and only when I am unloading my car. If I have to carry something in that is too big to be managed on crutches (ie: just about anything), then I use the wheelchair to help me get said item up to the front door's landing.

What makes accomplishing the task of unloading my car difficult at times, is when the NeighborGuy has parked blocking my driveway. This usually means he is out of room to park because he has also parked blocking his driveway, and possibly even the driveway of the neighbor on the other side of him, as well.

So. If you can picture this, this would mean that I load a heavy and/or large item onto my lap, I am not able to use both hands for pushing or breaking because they are holding the item onto my crooked lap (I only have half a lap), I roll downhill three or four houses until I can find a useable driveway, push myself back uphill (which is very hard to do with one hand and a lapfull of heavy shit, because you have to lean forward deeply make a wheelchair go uphill), before I can even get get to my own front yard.

NieghorGuy has intermittently blocked my driveway since, well....forever. And in the last two years, I have had several peaceable discussions with him about it. I have also occasionally left notes that say please and thank you on the vehicles (because it's not always his car, it might be one of the 14+ people living there, or their visitiors, right?). I have nicely explained the fact that it is illegal to park blocking a driveway in this state, and that well...it is my driveway. I have also explained that it really is an accessibility issue for me. Not that gimps deserve pity, but you think that one alone would be enough, wouldntcha???


Wellp. Obviously not.
And at about 10am Thanksgiving morning, when I needed to bring stuff in from my car and was not able to, I knocked on his door and asked politely if he could please move his car as I needed to be able to use my wheelchair to get some items inside my house.

Know what he said? That it was his uncle's car, so therefore it was not his problem (even though his uncle lives there??), that I've been a bitch ever since the white-thingy went up, that it was too early in the morning for this shit, that the canopy was never ever ever coming down...and then he slammed the door in my face. So I mumbled (yes, only a mumble) that I'd just call the sherrif and have it towed.

By the time the Sherriff showed up, about 6 of the people that live or visit the property had gotten into their cars and left rather abruptly (hmmmm *scratches head*...something to hide??).

Once the Sherrif arrived, I explained to her the situation. In fact, I even wheeled about unloading my car to show her the situation. Gathering sympathy? No. Because sometimes an ambulatory person can't really see the problem for themselves...even when they are kind, and mean well, and trying so hard to visualize a mobility situation. They just have no way of understanding things about surfaces and equipments unless they actually see it displayed for them, or try it for themselves.

I apoligized for bothering her with Hattfield/McCoy crap on Thanksgiving. I explained to the Sherrif that I am very tolerant. That I was not calling to complain about the illegal rental unit in the backyard, the illegally wired utilities, the illegal aliens living on the property, the garbage that's been placed on the side of my house that blocks the meter reader, the fact that my garbage can has been used to handle their overflow often hindering me from using my own service, the poor soggy cold doggy and the newly purchased bunny in the backyard that (imho) are treated negligently, the doughnut marks in the interstection (courtesy of my neighbor's "muscle car"--often created in the morning, and we live one block from and elementary school), the fact that NG continues to hop my fence to climb my avocado tree and strip it of fruit even though I've asked him not to, or even newly unobstructed view debate.

No, no. I was calling about none of those things (*chuckle*...I can be such a bitch. do. not. fuck. with. me...and maybe I am a tad bit passive-agressive after all...I'm only moments away from cutting little letters out of magazine print and glue-sticking a note that says, "Canopy or A Call to Immigration--You Decide").

But again, no. I wasn't calling about any of those things.
I was calling about the fact that I couldn't access my own home and had asked nicely and...
well, you get the picture.

So the Sherrif goes over there for awhile and comes back looking very confident, collected, and professional, but looking like she needed a place to sit down and maybe even a cup of tea. Something about her eyes, ya' know?? Well, as it turns out, both the NeighborGuy and his wife yelled and screamed at the Sherrif, were rude and obscene, and even tried to slam the door in her face (smart bunch, eh?). Sherrif Michelle (we are on a first name basis now) advised them that she would be patrolling the neighborhood on every shift from here 'til eternity and that if they even so much as inched over into my driveway, there would be no knock on the door, but instead an immediate tow and a mandatory 30 day impound (you go, girl).

Then she looked at me, scowled and said, "You have no idea how bad I wish that car was still parked there when I got here." (oh yes, I have some idea) She gave me a card with her phone number, what hours she is on duty, and who to call when she is off duty. We wished each other a Happy Thanksgiving and she gave me a handshake...and then leaned in for a hug. Awww :-)

About 30 minutes later or so, I went to my kitchen to do dishes, looked out the window to admire what little of my view is left, and there is NeighborGuy (can I start calling him Asshat or something??) staking me out. He is smack in the middle of his redwood deck sitting on a folding chair staring at my kitchen window donning the hate-mug with his arms folded all pissy-looking.

So I closed the blinds.

And I just could not stand the idea of TheAsshat squeezing out my sunshine, so I pulled them back up a few minutes later after I stopped feeling freaked.

Not much drama since then.

But I'm a bit scared to leave the house and have the place looking vacant.
And I'm checkin' my tires every day for carefully positioned nails.


The End.
Knitting photos later, if I can get my act together.

things that have brought big smiles in the past 2 days

* The sheriff that responded to my NeighborGuy complaint not only giving me a handshake as she left, but also a hug.

* TheMIG and I sending our first camera phone photos to each other: views from our seats at our respective Thanksgiving dinners. I'd loved to have put up both photos here, but I haven't figured out how to do that yet, and I don't think I'll figure it out by midnight when I need to get this damn thing posted.

* My kid bursting out into laughter while sleep-talking.

* Splitting a gut while reading TheMIG's first post on his new blog called, "Randumb".

* Penguins in sweaters.

* Using my new cell phone to sit in the sunshine and listen to MarvinSuicide, Cast-On, and Sticks And String.

* Going out for a Philly CheeseSteak (ranks right up there with Spaghettios as a comfort food).

* An online chat, a cup of hot tea, and armwarmers, all facilitated by TheBon.

* Knitting. Wait 'till you see what I've been knitting. Photos tomrrow morning when the light is better. More goofy silly little obsessive things. I'm having a blast. Oh, and I also cast-on the lace. Very smile inducing.

* Watching a borrowed copy of Elizabeth Zimmerman's Knitting Workshop. If you thought she was funny in print, oh my. It's really magical to hear her voice. It's quite entertaining to hear her say things like, "each stitch is like a little heart shaped thing." Or, discussing gauge, she says, "{with this wool} Four {stitches to the inch} is alright...but six is tight...and..and..three would be sleazy. So...maybe you like sleazy sweaters! They're very fashionable right now." And this additional gem about gauge: "...and it muddles me to this day. But you see, I don't have to make sweaters that fit. I just make sweaters. And then the people who they fit...wear them. I'm most fortunate. I make so many sweaters. I shouldn't tell you that, but that's the way I operate." Or, "I'm not fit to give knitting lessons! But you don't often have mathmeticians who are knitters, and viceversa {from off camera...some statement about her using a calculator} I can't even work a calculator." And why am I bothering to explain the charm of her voice with more print. You need her tone and the look on her face as she peers over her glasses at you. That was the whole point. Duh. Anyhow, good knitting company.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


I'm tired of NaBloPoopedMo, but I refuse to give in so close to the finish line.
I did not achieve my original goal of every post being creative process based post. Close. But no cigar. Just too big of an oBLOGation.

pass the cranberry sauce, hold the mojo

one pretty accurate representation of how i feel

It's been a crazy two days. Major roller coaster over here.

Since yesterday's post, there has been poopy lawsuit news, another new-ish negative thought/feeling about being a gimp (bubbling up as a result of the briefing on my not so brief case), uber-negative interactions with the NeighborGuy (uber, as in, call the Sheriff uber)........all mixed in with big sweetness from TheMostImportantGuy, one side-splitting hilarious Thanksgiving afternoon with my family, and lots of love from friends (realtime and cyber). At least on my kind of coaster the highs are quite high. Thank goodness for that.

I want to again say thank you all so very much for you thoughts, intentions, time, love, energy, prayers, comments, emails, phone calls, etc. I hope to have some time tomorrow to send some emails and thank all of you individually, but I have to be honest....I might need a minute to catch my breath. I'm pretty damned wiped out...so if you dont hear from me right away, please dont take it personally. Tomorrow I might just need to sit and sun and melt.

(oh, and also...your email addresses don't come through to me when you comment...and I can't always find ways to email you via your profiles or blogs...so if you'd like to hear back from me--and I would like to write back to you--please send me an email at amputeehee(at)hotmail(dot)com so I have your address...okay??)


Anyhow...I need to at least expand on the poopy lawsuit news to y'all because it is mojo related.
You can hit the pause button on the mojo.
Even though the mojo was deeply appreciated (and had the added bonus of actually being internally absorbed by me), there was one part of the collaborative mojo-ness that didn't stick:

The date.

About 10 minutes after yesterday's post, my AttorneyMan called to say that Tuesday's mediation has to be rescheduled. It seems the mediator had a death in the family and must attend a funeral that day. His office apologized greatly and offered Wednesday or Thursday as a possibility, but already several of the other key players have stated they aren't available either day. A date in mid-December is being tossed around as a possibility, but we don't have a full consensus yet. Hopefully I'll know about that by next week, but I have a sinking feeling we are looking at '07.

I got the news and then cried my head off hysterically for about ten minutes, because to me this means nothing short of another month (or more) of fretting.

Once I let that surge out, I've been feeling drained, but okay. As I said today to Diana on a long overdue phone call, I'm basically just sick to death of being on this boat. But I do understand that I am in this boat. And I do understand that there isn't much else I can do but go with the flow. No point struggling to be in control or anything. I just gotta go for the ride. Just gotta take care of myself the best I can while I wait.

So please pass the dramamine.
Which means knitting.

A sock has been finished and kitchenered, some seaming on the shumps has taken place, and a swatch has been knit for the lace shawl (thank you for that, ladies...I think that was some damn fine advice).


Anyhow, so hold the mojo for now. And I hope you don't mind, but whenever the new date approaches, I'll be asking for it again. Which is kinda hard for me. I don't ask for help that often...stubborn independent hag that I am. But I'm going to ask again, because I don't think this one is something I can do myself.

thankful...

...for all of you.
(big time)

Wishing you & yours a joyous and bountiful Thanksgiving.

emotional vomit. hand me a bucket.

This is going to be one big fat purge, and it's for me.
I'm using the blog today as one big fat broom.

added after writing all of the text below:
This is unedited, not even spellchecked. It is stream of conciousness style writing. If you are new to this blog, thanks for coming, and it's okay to slink away quietly...because if you read this, you are going to think I am completely fucking insane.
Even if you have been coming here for awhile and are not so new, you also might think that I'm completely fucking insane.
That's okay (it might just be an accurate assessment).
If you've been reading for a long time, or if you know me personally...you know that this is "process stuff" and this is how I tick and truly, honestly, in the long run, I'm okay.
(But if you feel compelled to call and say hi or stop by and give me a hug...do it.)
This is how I move through my shit.
Sorry I have to do this on the blog, but I also have to make a NaBloPoMo post today, and I dont have time to both process and write...so this is what it is. It is what is.

I'm a wee bit out of touch with reality at the moment.
Or maybe it's not that I'm out of touch with reality, but that I am totally in touch with reality, and it's more like I'm overwhelmed by reality.
Which is a good argment against reality for wanting to be out of touch with it, I guess.
Lordy, who has the keys to the padded-room??
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



It is NOT all fluffy handknit toys over here.
I know that.
I'm sure YOU all know that, too.
My knitting of small, repetitive, playful, feel good items, is indicative of stress and potential insanity.
I hope my mom won't hate me for mentioning this, but recently we remenisced over a time in her own life where she faced an equally stressful period, and I would find her at the diningroom table until the wee hours cutting out teenytiny things out of magazine print to make the most beautful and detailed (read as: obsessively intricate) collages you've ever seen. I have one very big one she made and will keep it forever, and I love it, but for her, it reminds her of crazy times.
Knitting tiny things and felting little balls of wool and trying to use a spindle even though I have no idea what I'm doing is exactly that same thing for me right now.
It is very comforting to have my mom understanding me.
We haven't always understood each other. That's for sure.

Hildred called and we talked about the post I wrote. She was moved enough by it to let her family know the post was there and have them read it. One of her sons was worried my use of the term "Crone" for her. I had to explain that my spiritual background is fairly pagan and based in Native American culture, and Crone is an honorable title. A Crone is a WiseWoman.
I'm here typing and crying becaus helloooooo...if we live long enough, we ALL get old. Why does our culture not place our elders on a pedestal worthy of respect?
I want to go live in a teepee.

Yesterday at the AttorneyMan's wasn't bad thing on the surface.
But it really spun me out on some deep levels that cropped up later in the afternoon.
AttorneyMan talked a whole lot about numbers and bottom lines and annuities and things like that, and all the while he's telling me that during the mediation he will be there, and so will be AttorneyMan2, who is also representing me....and so see?? I won't be alone....excpet I am told that in the end, the decision of whether or not, or when, to settle...in the end THAT IS UP TO ME....and then suddenly I feel alone again.
Alone.
I have to say something about Alone.
I'd gone through life like the rest of us, having periods of time alone. Wanting time alone. Not wanting time alone. Having times of being alone when you'd rather have someone near. Having times when you need to go out into the forest alone for four days (I've done that twice). I even spent a chunk of time in my 20's investigating the difference between lonely and alone...and finally understanding they are not the same thing. Understanding that one can be alone in a room full of people...understanding that in my spiritual picture, I am never alone, for we are all interconnected...that kind of stuff.

About a year after the accident, I started to develop all kinds of wierd problems. Having flashbacks of the moments after the accident was the big one. There is one big thing that happened to me as part of the car accident. It was the time I was trapped in the car alone for a couple of hours, totally awake, feeling myself daying, but nobody seeing me off the side of the road. The flashbacks brought along anxiety and depression and insomnia and stuff like that.
I saw a therapist and amongst other things, did some hypnotherapy.
We found that there was one prominent truth about the time trapped in the car.
Amidst the panic, and the determination to get out or to be seen, amidst the bargaining with God/Spirit, amidst the pain and the fatigue and the calm and the chaos....I experienced a sense of alone that I don't even have the words to begins to describe.
Although I should probably try.
Sheesh. I just realized I might have a better time trying to dance it. Hmmm.
Anyhow.
For me, it was a kind of alone that goes wayyyy beyond any wordly level of alone.
It's the kind of alone where you meet your maker (which in essence, is anything but alone), but for me it was somehow terrifying in some way, becomes it was an experience that reminds me that really everything else I've been experiencing in this life is compartively trivial (which is concurrently enlighting and terrifying to me).
It's an alooooone alone.
Honestly. I have no words for it.
Once someone told me that people who have experiences like mine, neardeath experiences, all recount the same panic and fear...and then the peace they found moving towards "the light". Expcept the paramedics showed up before I got to the light, so maybe I'm just stuck knowing the panic and fear. Interesting theory.

Back to yesterday in the AttorneyMan's office, I flipped through the 3" high stack which was supposedly a "breifing" of my case prepared for the mediator. I don't know WHY I skimmed through it, but I did. I saw a few things disturbing, but the one that apparently impacted the rest of my day was the a photo of me trapped in the car taken by the Highway Patrol or someone like that. The rescue crew guys were surrounding the car. All I could see of myself was my black chef pants with the white pinstripes. The ones that made me feel serious, unlike the ones with the cherries on them that I wore when I wanted to feel playful. My face was covered in a blanket to protect me from flying glass and metal (I remember that moment, a fireman was under the blanket with me whispering into my ear that it would all be okay...even though he didn't believe it, as a year later told me he had chalked me up as not surviving).
They were there.
I remember them being there, and the great sense of relief at not being alone.
And I remember letting go.
Yet.
I am alone.
And I can't handle all of this information.
So go home and I sew the arms on the knitted toy and I fix handknit sock problems.
I didn't get even one bit emotional while in the AttorneyMan's office, I don't think.
I just left and went about my business. Task oriented mommy-mom sprinkled in with obsessive crafting.

I also went for my weekly visit with James, my buddy at the convalescent hospital.
The visit with him was quite nice, but of course we were surrounded by used-up-crone people left there to die, who are experiencing that type of alone that I can't bear to describe, but everyone says they have alzheimers so they dont really know that they are alone, and I'm sorry but I just cant believe that to be true...because if the minde doesn't know it, I've got all that I'm worth sitting here telling you that their bodies know it.

Later in the afternoon, I had an argument with my ex...he was trying to cancel out on one of his days to be with MyFK this weekend...a day that I had planned to use to decompress a bit and turn my home into a spa-weekend, and be compulsive over making more little knitted thingies.
I argued with him well beyond making my point, totally justified in my reason for the argument, but misdirecting a whole lot of tension and anger because, well....I'm an ass.
I finished the phone call(s) with him, then I started to panic over all that needed to be done at home in my emotional, exhausted, single-mom state.
I panicked about feeling alone in that way, too.
TheMIG called and offered to come over and hang out for comfort's sake, and I tried to turn that into an argument, too....because what I really needed was not comfort but help, I was overwhelmed...and so he generously offered to come and do some things to help, and I somehow turned that into a "You dont understand me" thing, which is ridiciulous, because at that moment even I didn't understand me.

He came anyhow. We cuddled and watched another episode of Six Feet Under.
Then we just kind of looked into each other's eyes for moment and then I said, "I think that seeing that picture of me in the car was too hard."
"I was wearing my chef pants. I don't wear those anymore."

This morning I looked at the pile of cat toys that I knit up last week, and thought about why they are still sitting there instead of being mailed off to their respective patiently waiting kitties...and it's because I can't just put them in an envelope and send them. Nooooo, I have to be all compulsive MarthaStewart-y about it and wrap them up all nice with ribbons and bows and make a handmade card and say something witty....not to mention finding the time to get over myself long enough so that I can go to the post office.

And all I really want to do is swatch for the lace shawl I've been dying to knit.
But I feel like I need to finish the "shumps" first, but I can't seem to make myself work on them and now I am thinking it's because they are a garment to cover my amputated limb and I'm right in the middle of legal crap about why I have an amputated limb.
But my leg is cold.

And so I grab my chai this morning, go to the computer, and see that Jodi has a new post...and I see that she has lost another cat....and I know that she is not at her home (the home home)...she is somewhere else...and doesn't have the option of gaining comfort from a late night visit from her beloved like I do...and she spends a lot of time alone...and so I cried about that for awhile...because now I'm back to nobody should have to feel alone.
And now here I am.
Staring at the screen.
Thinking about how awesome it is that MyFK said he prefered to walk himself to school without me, a first...which is beautiful...but (do I even need to draw the lines for you?).
Trying to figure out if I should go replace the alarm clock I broke yesterday by accidently dumping an entire glass of wine I poured and never drank into it...or if I should swatch....or make more little toys....or wrap up and send out the toys that I have already made...and it's very quiet here.
Excpet the chirping of the crickets my son keeps in a tank for feeding his gecko.

any kind of mojo is good mojo, but...

My knitting is coming along better today, which I find interesting.

I think perhaps the knitterly bunch of you automatically tossed in some knitting mojo while you were doing the lawsuit mojo, too.
Go figure ;-)

I think I have been delivered from sock hell (more on that soon, but I'm about to miss my NaBloPoMo deadline if I prattle on too long)....and today I have a finisished object:



Mince (or so he's been dubbed by his new caretaker, TheMIG)
Yarn: Lamb's Pride Worsted...Rust, Autumn Harvest, Limeade
Needles: US #8's, Susan Bates little plastic knitting needles for kids, and US #8's wood dpns by Clover
Pattern: Squarey, found in Unusual Toys For You To Knit and Enjoy by Jess Hutch
Modifications: I couldn't find a 12" pillow form, so I stuffed him with poly-fiberfill
Started: I can't recall...after the pumpkins I think, but before the mice perhaps?
Finished: his little appendages were knit up last night and sewn on today

the wishing of luck can begin now please

LuckyCat in C-Leg Blue

From This Weekend's Jaunt Into Japantown

Tomorrow morning is a meeting with my AttorneyMan. He's going to prep me for everything that will happen one week from tomorrow. That's the mediation date. My AttorneyMan is definitely the good guy, so I'm not worried about having a meeting with him, but I am worried that there are going to be many details discussed that my currently anxiety-ridden seive-like brain will not be able to hold onto. I have visions of myself restless over the weekend trying to remember what he said about bottom lines and insurance bills and not being able to remember diddly-squat.

So TheMIG is thankfully coming with me to the meeting tomorrow to keep track of it all. (Love You)


I am a strong believer in long distance communal intention setting. If I can please ask the following favor (and I will probably ask you once again next week, sorry).....


If you are willing, please pray or cross your fingers, or do your mojo, or whatever spiritiual thing it is you do, so that:

* The schedules of something like 6 attorneys and 1 judge all miraculously line up like some cosmic event, so that we are all there for the mediation on November 28th and that it does not get postponed.

* I remain calm between now and then, and that on the day of the mediation I remember to bring lots of feel-good-keep-busy knitting and all of the other little tools I will need to feel settled.

* That this whole thing will be behind me very soon, preferably ending with this one mediation date (unlikely, I've been told... but hey, whatever... visualization and setting intention can be a powerful thing, so let's do it).

* Justice will be served.



Much thanks to all.

one more meme

As promised. For Scout.
(sorry it's a couple days late, darlin'...it was a get-away weekend!! *smile*)

1. How and when did you learn how to knit/crochet? Who taught you?

Mom, if you are reading, and I have this wrong, feel free to correct me :-)

I think I was about 7. My family was visiting Solvang, CA and I was allowed to buy one item from a toy store (most of the items in the store being "old fashioned/handcrafted"). I picked out this little book about knitting. I can practically see it in my mind. It was about 3x5 and had a lot of blue on the cover. My mom had done some knitting, and I assume she helped me with casting on, but I also think I took very well to reading the instructions and doing things myself. I specifically remember knitting soft-boiled egg cozies for my grandparents, amongst several other items. About a year later, some lady offered an after school knitting class at her home. I was the only kid that already knew how to knit, so I got to choose my own project. I chose to knit a varsity cardigan for a babydoll. It was lemon yellow with a white stripe just below the waist. I remember my mom helping me cast on, and I think she also taught me how to change colors and do the shoulder shaping. I have no idea why, but I have this image of my doing some of this knitting in the bathroom LOLOL.

I don't think I did any knitting again until my early 20's when I knit this very wide, very long garter stitch scarf (mostly to keep myself distracted during meetings). I then started on one of those afghans where every square taught some new technique. I also had a pattern library and would just swatch squares, with no real intention towards a project. I also taught my friend Karen B. to knit back then, too...I still have the little stockinette "mojo" bag she made for me to thank me for teaching her (wonder where she went...she moved out of state, and I lost her). Anyhow, also in that era, I decided to try making my first garment. A mauve colored tank top. I started it, and knowing nothing of guage, it was clearly going to turn out enormous. I shoved it in a bag, and that was that.

I didn't pick up knitting again until about 2-1/2 years or so ago at the suggestion of my accupuncturist. For the entire first year after my accident, I couldn't even lift the fingers on my right hand due to nerve damage. It was suggested that I take up some form of repetitive exercise regimen that included small hand movements. With all the therapy I was having for my pelvis and legs, plus the stretching and weights for the arm/shoulder, I couldn't bear taking on another physical therapy routine for the hands, too. So I decided to pick up the needles as my physical therapy.

My first project back in action was my kitty ears hat, and it was my first time knitting in the round, first time with dpn's, first time getting gauge for a fitted item, my first real wool, and my first i-cord. I've been pretty busy cranking out stuff ever since.



2. How has this craft impacted your life? (besides financially!)

Well, for starters, my fingers work again!
And I think the real question is what area of my life has this craft NOT impacted. Seriously. I have made friends through knitting. I have created think time through knitting. I have calmed myself through knitting. I have been mentally engage and challenged by knitting. I regained a sense of my creativity during I time I was struggling with my dancing (that one is still ongoing) with knitting. I regained confidence in myself, and a sense of pride and accomplishment. I have a hobby I can share with my child. I have made things with my own hands that I have enjoyed gifting to others. I think I could go on....but again, the point is....deep impact. Almost everywhere.

3. Pick at least one person to talk about who you have met through the knit-world and why you are thankful to have met them. Feel free to get all mushy.

Hildred. I have no idea if you still drop in on my blog, lady...but if you do, I love you. And if you don't stop by here, well....I'll tell you I love you when you get back from your trip ;-)

I met Hildred at the knitting workshop held at my LYS (now closed). Even then, she and I would sometimes meet at her home for tea, knit and chat. I don't know how old Hildred is, but in the maiden-mother-crone spectrum, she's in the crone-zone, and crone is a word I use with utmost respect. Hildred is vivacious. She is one upbeat lady, and is able to put a positive (or at least humorous) spin on things, even if she finds those things annoying. She has a laugh that really is proof positive to her honest and grand sense of humor.

She is extremely giving of her time and of herself. She primarly knits using yarns from recycled thrift store sweaters to make scarves that will be sold at charity fundraisers. She's brave at trying out new stitch patterns, but has pretty much stuck to scarves...excpet every once in a while she'll whip up some amazing non-scarfy thing out of the blue.

Speaking of giving, she is a retired physical therapist, and has given me loads of advice and hands on healing/bodywork.

And I don't know if this will make sense, but....Hildred has never once treated me gimpy. She has never once treated me like a young whippersnapper. She has never treated me like I was anything other than...well...sounds cliche to say an equal...but, and equal! A contemporary. She treats me as if I am simply just another person on the planet to meet and get to know and share a little bit of ourselves with, screw all the pretentions.

Hildred, you are truly a gift to me. And yeah, I might not have met you if it weren't for the sticks and the strings.

4. Comment and let me know when you post this in your blog so I can read them all.

done!

9 random thoughts over a steaming cup of chai

This post was typed early this morning, while the house was quiet and my mind was rambling. Then things got busy, and now here I am drinking champange and wine with my beloved celebrating our meeting-a-versary in a Japanese style hotel in Japantown in SF (which, even though it's only 30 minutes from home, feels like another planet).


In actual order of brainfart:

1) Yesterday's post does count towards NaBloPoMo, because it took thought to compose...and it also counts even if only one person "got it", because it was composed for only that one person in the first place.

2) This morning finds me knitting my first stitch since last Friday.

3) I have been needle felting and fondling my stash, though. I bought a new underbed storage box to put it all (well most all..hehe) into, so it's all (mostly( in once place.

4) The shumps are almost done, but they are at a stage where I have to be willing to try them on every few rows to check for fit. Haven't had the time.

5) My two socks on the needles are sitting there with sad little frowns because both of them (Jaywalkers for me, Trekkings for TheMIG) have fit issues, and I don't have the brain power or will power to rip back.

6) It's 10 days until the mediation date for the lawsuit and I think I'd better get a refill on the ativan LOL.

7) Thanks for the comments about MyFK's artwork. For the record, when he showed it to me and asked me if I liked it, I told him I loved it and thought it was very creative (which is all true). He was also somewhat sitting in my lap, therefore in front of me, and thankfully could not see my face which was chuckling quizically. Last night I pulled the drawing out again and asked him to tell me more about it. He said the ladies were both underwater creatures. They live in shallow water, and the flowers on top of their hats are above water. The things coming out of their tummies are tentacles (I think it was TheBon scored on that one), and the one with the heels has a purse, while the one with the tennis shoes has a lunchbox. Then he produced from his stack another drawing, this time of the Underwater Guy that "lives a deeper in the water, and has a mating call that sounds like...insert throaty sound something like an ululation/zaghareet and a turkey gobble.
Lordy. *giggle* His creatures have mating calls.

8) I have to put flea meds on all the pets today.

9) I got D-S-eh-ehL…I got D-S-eh-ehL !!
(sung with an elementary school “neener-neener” voice for full impact)
Seriously. This is so cool. You know your life is going to be permanently changed when you go to visit the Harlot’s blog to read the last 3 posts you’ve been behind on, and shazaam!! The kajillion tour photos just immediately explode onto your screen.
Dudes. I’m actually catching up on everyone’s blogs! I'm almost there. I think I topped out at something like 178 feeds to be read via bloglines. Thank heavens some of them were blogger gooding and reposting stuff I'd already read. I'm under 50, and closin' in.



ok...back to TheMIG, the wine, the deep Japanese soaking tub.

three

parenting advice needed -- please help

How on earth do you support your child's creative spark when they produce this....



...and then ask you what you think about it??

And no, I did not ask what those sticky-outy things are supposed to be. Maybe they are a place to hang the handbag when she needs to go hands-free.
~~~~~~~~~~

Oh, and NaBloPoMo content critiquers (is that a word?)....I did write 3 pages of rambling content (of the "checking in variety") that will probably never be posted...although you never know. Some of it is damn funny, so if I can trim it, maybe you'll get another double-whammy.

For now, be very thankful that I have spared you.

twice in one day. aren't you stoked?

Day 15.
It is exactly halfway through NaBloPoMo, and it is also the exact moment where I see the light.

I have no desire to be a daily blogger.

I can probably get through this month, and I have received the benefit of this "project" really making me think a whole lot about what it is that I write here, and my writing process. I'm digging that aspect.

But me no likey this thingy.


A fine example of what I'm trying to say here (because I am flat out of words at the moment) is yesterday's post.
I really didn't care to write what I wrote about yesterday.
It definitely was a picture into what was current for me in my life at that very moment, but it was pretty close to my telling you what I had for lunch, which supposedly we are never to do, but which I have already done.

What I really wanted to write about yesterday was something altogether different. Something about yarn, and little loops, and other people's afgans, which I hope to still do. But I couldn't write that yesterday. Yesterday I wasn't able to think straight. Clouding my mind were images of buttons and manuals and screens and menus. Because it was all that I could see, there was nothing else I could get myself to blog about. My daily events were a roadblock to what I really had to say.

Usually when I have moments like that, where I want to write about one thing, but am consumed by another, I just don't post that day. Simple.

But not this November.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The other thing driving me nuts is that I can't make the time to read the blogs I love reading so much...whether it be the lack of time, or the desire to flee from the computer as quickly as possible after creating my own post, or the guilt of taking the time to read blogs when I hear the clock ticking on my own entry that is due that day.
*sigh*

Personally, I'm with Neil* and am ready to do NaComPoMo--National Commenting on Posts Month. But I'm worried about that becoming an oBLOGation, too.



* for the record, I've only read five blogs today. BloodyCrafts because I knew it would be a picture. Inky's, because it had "meme" in the title. Carol's, because I saw from the title that it would engage me in thinking about something other than myself for 2 minutes. Fussy's because she's the hostess of nablopomo and it feels like required reading (even though I love her blog and will definitely continue to read once this is over). Neil was new read, and I only made it there because Fussy linked to it. Fussy linked to a few other blogs, and even reminded about the randomizer...but I could only manage one new click today, and Neil was it. Why? Because I haven't even caught up reading the blogs of the people I have made (cyber, albeit) friends with. There are 172 unread feeds in my bloglines. I feel like I'm missing my friends.
See what I mean?

mid-way meme

15 down, 15 to go.
tagged by Inky.

For one who rambles on endlessly in dire attempt to be "understood" this one was a challenge.
--------------------------

You.
Can.
Only.
Type.
One.
Word.
No.
Explanations.

1. Yourself: complex
2. Your boyfriend/girlfriend (spouse): tolerant
3. Your hair: greying
4. Your mother: supportive
5. Your father: humorous
6. Your Favorite Item: hairbrush
7. Your dream last night: running
8. Your Favorite drink: tea
9. Your Dream Car: camper
10. The room you are in: livingroom
11. Your Ex: dufus
12. Your fear: misunderstood
13. What you want to be in 10 years? satisfied
14. Who you hung out with last night? bunnyman
15. What You’re Not? reserved
16. Muffins: sure
17. One of Your Wish List Items: massage
18. Time: blink
19. The Last Thing You Did: therapy
20. What You Are Wearing: black
21. Your Favorite Weather: warm
22. Your Favorite Book: blank
23. The Last Thing You Ate: crackers
24. Your Life: full
25. Your Mood: anxious
26. Your best friend: occupied
27. What are you thinking about right now? leaving
28. Your car: blue
29. What are you doing at the moment? zoning
30. Your summer: dancing
31. Your relationship status: unstable
32. What is on your TV? blank
33. What is the weather like? pleasant
34. When is the last time you laughed? forget

Tag.
You.
Are.
It.

ok, so now what

a box of dsl hell

Prior to today:
* The computer has dial-up.
* The cell phone loses it's charge after 15 minutes of talk time.
* The television does this occasional thing where the whole screen scrunches down into a 3" high band of flattened images.

Seriously. What a joke.

The computer line...well...that should go without saying. I'm fed up that I'm missing out on all the YouTube fun and podcasts and whatnot. Friends keep sending me links to stuff that I can't even enjoy. Grrr.

The cell phone. The batteries were so old that they would no longer hold a charge, and the model of the phone was so old that they didn't even sell replacement batteries anymore. I was rudely hanging up on people mid-conversation, with no way to call them back. Lovely.

The television. I bought it brand new. In 1994. Last year I started noticing this green splotch on the left side every once in awhile. Then about 3 months ago though, it started doing the scrunchy 3" high screen thing. For a long time, I was able to play "Arthur Fonzarelli and the jukebox" with it. I'd walk by the tv, kind of bop it in just the right place, and it would spring back to life. MyFK thought that was one awesome trick, and so he started to hit the tv, too. Being that he doesn't know his own strength (especially when he's pissed because he favorite show is being interrupted), he was banned from being The Fonz. But that didn't stop MyFK from jumping up and down. One day he figured out that if he stood in just the right place and acted like a gorilla, the tv would occasionally come back up full screen. It has been three months of a stomping angry kid. I've dealt with it very well, and I've taught him all the important lessons about anger management, the unimportance of television and material things, and patience blah blah blah...but I think I'm done. I've done my duty.

SO. I have been extremely fed up with my archaic technology. But I haven't been able to do anything about it. The money, you know. No leperachauns, no rainbows. So I've been sitting here waiting for just the right moment--you know, the one where the stars and the planets align and a very good deal presents itself just at the moment when there is a little something extra in the till.

Enter Today:
* In the mail arrives the box o'DSL stuff. The monthly is only 5 bucks more than what I was already paying for dial-up, and the equipment is free once I mail in the rebate. The monthly fee goes up in a year, but I'll cross that bridge when I get there.

* I got a new phone. My cell company plied me with $100 towards a new phone if I renewed my contract, which had just expired...and the phone I wanted had a $50 mail-in rebate. Bingo.

* I got a new tv. Certainly not for free, but it is nothing fancy. The cheapie kind. The kind with the sticker on it that says that in February 2007 I wont even be able to use it without some convertor. Another bridge I'll cross when I get there.

And here I am tonight (please be kind in remembering I lack the geek gene):
* I can't figure out the dsl stuff. Most of the instructions for hooking it up make sense, except for the part about where to stick my filters and that other part about how I am supposed to "train" the dsl box thingy for 10 days. Me?? Train IT?? hahaha

* The phone...well, I figured out how to change the ring-tones, and I chose the one that sounds like an old fashioned 1930's handcrank phone ...hahaha. Supposedly this cellphone does everything. It even holds 2gb of music, but I'm so lame that I can't even get the damn software installed correctly. Maybe in the meantime I can get it to go next door and spit flames at the Neighbor guy's white thingy.

* The tv is hooked up and running fine. Except that I can't figure out how to program it onto the universal remote that goes along with the satellite box. I can't find the manual with all the little code things, ya know? So I called the satellite company, and customer service referred me to .pdf file....a user's manual...except that it's 165 freakin' pages long and is taking forever to download as I AM STILL ON DIAL UP, bitch!

And I can't call the satellite company back and make them lookit up because they're closed now, and even if they were open, I have to charge the cellphone now anyhow, which only came out of the box partially charged.

So whatever.

TheMIG arrives tomorrow night with his cape on (yay!).
And all will be well with the new electronica.

kit tested, mother approved

Ok. So the knitting of felted mice actually ended up becoming every bit as addictive as the silly little pumpkins. I guess that for now, making tiny, playful, instantly gratifying little dittys is working just fine for me, thank you.

It started off by my making that green one for Ms.Hazel, my mom and dad's new kitten. Before I gave it to her though, I tested it out on TheMIG's cat, Tad. It was pretty clear I was going need to make a second.



The second catnip mouse I made I tested out on my cat, Tramp, and that's when I knew I needed to make a third...



and well....as long as I was on a roll, I figured that Inky's new kitty Morticia needed some stuff, and I've also been remiss in sending gifties to Tad's brother Newman (he is the owner of mnvnjnsn, the authress of the blog Medicine Balls).

So the next thing you know, 5 mousies.






But then I remembered that Morticia and Newman have siblings. And I was about done with mousies. So with the help of my mom and MyFK, we made felted balls, needle felted on some designs, and hooked them up with door-knob elastics and streamers.


We really had a fun time making them together.
Everything was done by dinnertime on Friday night.


edited to add: I just saw the Inky's new cat wasn't a good fit and is looking for a good home. anybody out that way need a kitty? I'll make more toys!

finally, an answer without more questions

Roxy the Robot keeps TheAmpuT company

while she folds MANY piles of laundry

In regard to yesterday's question, wondering about how much housework could be done if I channelled my frustration?

The answer is: A lot.

Thanks for all of the comments. For the record, I have no desire to be that obsessive about housework. The question for myself yesterday was really one of, "is there some way of harnessing this energy".

Frustration creates a whole lot of energy (so does anger and sadness, and I've had a couple days worth of that, too).
Typically I strive to "settle down."
Calming activities...yes. Good good.
But I've actually been wondering if something fruitful could come of all the frustration if I just tapped into the wave and surfed it somehow. Use the energy for something productive, as opposed to working on having the energy dissapate. I wanted to see what would happen if I used the frustration like super-turbo batteries, running it until it ran out, and then maybe having something good to show for all the hours of feeling like shit...instead of spending tyring to diffuse things (which often takes more energy anyhow).

Today would not have my home passing any white glove test, for sure....but I got a ton of stuff done around here, including clearing out a corner that had been stuffed with crap, throwing out a huge garbage bag full of all of those papers I love to hold on to, organizing a kitchen cupboard, all the laundry and then some, and I even made a nice keepsake box of MyFK's artwork over the past few years.

I few more frustrato-producto days like yesterday and today, and things around here could actually feel quite a bit better.

Although I'd really rather not be this frustrated in the first place.
But that's a whole 'nother post.


Y'all were right about a couple of things though....all work and no play could make TheAmpuT a dull girl.

*Haven't knit a stitch since Friday (but I do have a pile of kitty toys I made on Friday, and will post about it tomorrow).
* I have 209 unread posts in my blog-line feeds. Gah.
* And I've been horrid about emails and replying to comments...but please forgive, I do read them...and thank you all very much :-)

what if

Been watching too much Six Feet Under, for sure.

Knit-thinking lots about (the character) Ruth Fischer. She tends to do a lot of scrubbing and polishing when she's frustrated.


Wondering what my own house might look like if I "harnessed the energy".

de~coffee~nated

the lonely brew station

Today marks 14 days without coffee.

I didn't quit.
I just ran out of vanilla creamer.
I didn't make it to the market for a couple of days.
When I got there, they didn't have any.

I have not been without caffeine, just sans coffee.
Instead I have been drinking some fabulous teas.
Fancy oolongs, greens, hand tied jasmines, some flavored blends, genmai cha (green w/toasted rice).
Just today, I revived my passion for a hearty cup of chai.

I had been thinking about switching to decaf for months.
Coffee does not create anxiety (my life does that all on it's own).
But I began to notice that coffee was definitely fueling the anxiety.
The anxious symptoms were predictably appearing about 30 mins after a cup o'joe.

Here I am, two weeks later.
Not decaffeinated.
Just decoffeenated.
A couple of sluggish days and only one headache.

I feel better.
I wonder what would happen if I cut out all the caffeine.
It wouldn't be the first time in my life I've done that.



But I miss vanilla creamer.

a message from greatspirit thru helen

Frank and Helen, lovebirds and residents

of the convalescent hospital I volunteer at

TheAmpuT: Awww, you guys look sooooo cute and happy!! Now, did you two know each other before you came to live here?

Frank: (wistfully, while rubbing her fingers) Ohhhhh no, we met here!

Helen: (waving her finger and beaming) If you pay attention, you can find love everywhere.

Well, I've been doing the knit-think-knit-think-knit-think thang today.

I have a lot more knitting to show for it than thinking, though.

Kitten Knittin'
Yarn: Brown Sheep Lamb's Pride Worsted (M120 Limeade), and scraps of Koigy for the eyes and whiskers
Needles: 2 Plymouth/wood US#7 dpns
Pattern: Felted Catnip Mouse, found here
Modifications: none
Notes: I felted this by hand in the kitchen sink. Easy breezy.
Started+Finished: 11/08/06

Knitting this was a snap. Maybe an hour from casting-on to being felted. I have a feeling I'll be whipping up a few more of these tonight and tomrrow. There are many new kittens out there needing toys *grin*. This first mousey, however, is destined to go to my mom and dad's new kitten, Hazel.

She's adorable, has extra front toes, is much smaller than she appears here, and was an SPCA rescue kitty.

More knitting....
In that picture up top, the background fabric that mousey was sitting on, that stripey thing there, that is a Jess Hutch toy.
I can't show the finished item yet as it yet it is a gift. But it is damn cute. As is all her stuff.

I'm also working on the shumps (the pajama shorts for my stump). They're almost done, actually. I hit another little roadblock upon seaming the crotch. I decided that those four seams were coming together in a place that would probably be not so cuddly and comfly, ya' know?? I decided that I really wanted to add a crotch gusset there. So I knit one up and sewed it in, but it looked like a linebacker's ballsack. A wee bit too much extra fabric and I look like I've got something very unnattractive going on under my skivvies. Gah. I'm working on v2.0 now. I think I've got it right this time.

And lastly, in relation to knitting, I am in sock hell right now.
I have been for weeks.
Both pairs on the needles are looking at me with the, "ha ha neeener neener maybe you should just frog me" face. Hate that. Haven't decided what to do about it.
--------------------

No spaghettios today, but guess what.

Yesterday I heard the NeighborGuy doing some yardwork out front, so I dashed out there to ask him about the WhiteThingy. (if you need a recap, click here).

I said, "Hey, remember a few weeks ago when you said you'd lower that white tent thing?"
He said, "Oh, yeah. It's as low as it goes. It can't go any lower than that."
I said, "No it isn't. It's clicked up to it's highest setting!"
"Well, my wife's unlce came by when it was beginning to blow away, and he used duct tape to tape it to the patio railing, and now I can't lower it because the tape is in the way."
"I know that. You told me you'd cut it off and lower it and retape it. It's just tape."
(goddang dufus)

So then I whipped out the photos. Yup. I actually did it.

"Dude. Here's the before photo...see that little dark spot down there, that's the old blue awning...and now here, this is a photo of the new white one."

"Oooohhhhh maaannnnn!!!!! Wellllll.....IIIII dunnooooo....I don't really think I can do it. Let me think for a minute."

And then he left (to go look at it, or so I thought) and never came back out. And so far he hasn't lowered it.
Ass.
I've already looked into county policies about obstruction of view, but I have no leg to stand on (HA--well I do have one) because it is considerred a "temporary structure." Even though it's been there for almost 17 months, it's temporary.

Jess suggested I should take all those shoes I'm not wearing anymore and have some sort of target practice. Several realtime friends have suggested I just flick a half-lit cigarette in that direction.

Not bad ideas. I am taking them into considerration.

I'm thinking the next step is to show up at his doorstep with some scissors, a role of fresh duct tape, and a bottle of tequila. Maybe he'll let me in and do some shots while I fix the problem for him myself.

too tired to title

the knitted wicker furniture at M.W.'s house

Writing this post today has been one suckass experience. Every attempt to sit and type about some topic other than what sent me into the Land O'Franco-American has ended in writer's block.
So now that it's close to my midnight NaBloPoMo deadline, I have nothing left I can do but write about yesterday. It feels like I'm getting out the shop-vac to hose up the emotional vomit.

I kinda felt like yesterday's pictorial was a bit of a cop-out as a NaBloPoMo entry...but only kinda. It did meet my personal goal of being process oriented, that much I can say for sure.

I only ate 1 can of Spaghettios. But I ate it as breakfast, basically.
Right after leaving a message for my therapist.

I have a therapist. Not the PT kind, although I have those, too. This is the talking kind. I see her on an as-needed basis. She thankfully squeeched me in for an emergency appointment yesterday and we now have two more dates lined up this month. Seems I have moved from as-needed to I'z-needin'.

I'm under a lot of stress right now related to the lawsuit/accident. Honest to god, I really really can't wait for this all to be over with. I am not fooling myself into believing that the case will one day be over and that later that night the faeries will sprinkle pixie dust and wands will be waved and I will wake up the next day and all will be right with the world (please-please-please). I'm not that deluded (cherry on top?). But I am hopeful (and I do believe in faeries, I do, I do) and I do hold fast to the possibilty (fantasy?) that I will make a big leap forward once this chapter of my life is over. I'm really holding on to the notion that the case will end, a door will close, and another one will open. I don't even mind if the new door doesn't open right away and I'm stuck in a hallway for a bit. Whatever. Fine by me. But I am very ready for this door to close. I am sick to death of all the details being all up in my face. And I really hate feeling like I'm stuck-on-stupid over something that happened 2-1/2 years ago.
------------------

The accident created many things that were therapy worthy...flashbacks, insomnia, anxiety, issues of self-worth, body image stuff, and I've dealt with every one of them...although it would seem that lawsuit shit is like peeling another layer of the onion.

There is another big thing the accident created, and that is Relatus-Interuptus.

You see, TheMIG and I met only 3 months before the accident. Our relationship was kind of propelled from zero-to-sixty in like, ohhhh...3 seconds. We kind of skimmed right over the phases that a developing relationship would go through.

Needless to say, we have some issues. I think that the stress I am feeling right now is making them more difficult to deal with than if they came up at some other time, but there isn't much I can do about the stress level right now.
----------------------------------

So the big question I've been asking myself over the last few hours (aren't you all just dying for a knitting post yet??) is why I get into a fight or flight response when someone is trying to organize my thoughts for me.

When I am having fffffeeeeeelings, I can usually articulate them, but not always in a way that is organized. My feelings can babble, like a brooke. Meander, like a stream. Roar, like rapids (wanna get in a canoe and go for a ride?? wheee!!).

Given some time, some yarn and some needles, I can usually go and knit-think-knit-think-knit for a bit and come back with something useful. It might not be perfectly linear, but when I can do it, it is something that even a left-brainer can make some sense out of.

But if someone (and by someone, I mean someone I am emotionally invested in) wants me to organize the thoughts faster than I am ready, or if they want to organize them for me so they can, oh....maybe check for understanding and carry on a conversation with me....I freak.
Fight. Or. Flight.

If I even get any sense at all that someone is organizing my feelings, I freak. It makes me feel like they are taking notes, making bullet points, and creating a power point presentation (and sometimes they are...at least two out of those three). So as soon as I get a whiff of the organizing, I yell or hang up or run out of the room or want to leave everything behind...until I start breathing again.

And I'm not sure why that happens. So I'm going to go crawl into bed with my knitting and some tea and see if I can figure out why the fuck I am so terrified by someone wanting to help me be understood.

take two of these and call me in the morning

I can already tell.
It's going to be one of those days.

moonbeams and magnets

Saturday Night Sky

(it doesn't show well, but there was a rainbow halo around the moon last night)

Comments on Comments
I did not have any difficulty writing the last two entries, but sitting with myself after posting them was kind of like having ants in my pants.

Thank you very much for your comments, and I especially would like to say thanks for the honesty. Pretty brave to be so open. Sometimes what we think and feel is not always deemed PC.

For the record, I don’t believe that any of us are always PC.
I think we just try to act like we are.

I believe we all have a thoughts that are not even close to being PC.

We all have prejudices.

We try to act like we don’t have prejudices.
But we do.

(don’t lie--you know that you do)

I used to tell people all the time that I wasn't prejudiced until I started listening to what I was thinking rather than what I was actually saying out loud.

I comprehend that much about getting along in life is about understanding the societal norms and figuring out when to keep our mouths shut.

But I also think that not being honest about the fact that we do have prejudices is one sure-fire way to never have our thinking expand or change.

I mean, really…if we lie about what it is we are really thinking, how can we embrace or change our thinking?

We can’t learn something new about ourselves by hiding the things about ourselves that already exist.
---------------------------------------------

Magnet Still On My Fridge, circa Two-Legged Era—it says: Must…Buy…Shoes…
(I can't seem to toss this, either)

More About The Shoes

The shoes you saw the other day are all from pairs I have bought since becoming an amputee. I still wear the left shoe of all of those pairs.

They are post-accident shoes.

My pre-accident shoes DID sit in the closet for about a year, unworn.

Most of them have heels that make no logical sense to wear while crutching, nor will they work with my prosthesis, which likes things nice and flat.

I did finally move those shoes into a plastic bin, which was tossed into the cramped and messy garage.

I went out there looking for something else a couple of weeks ago, looked at the shoes (which are so many you can’t even get the lid on the bin) and walked away.

I tell myself that there are so many that I would need help to dispose of them.

It’s too big of a job.

Yet, I’ve never asked for help.

I guess I’m just not ready yet. (?)

To ask for help, or to get rid of them, or both…I’m not sure.

They are obviously some tie to my former life.

Now that I think about it, they might actually be the last tie.

Maybe that’s the problem.

~~~~~~Picnic time. Here come the ants :-)

more on that

Let's not forget my prediction: My experiment with creating posts using the techniques I use to create a dance piece is bound to get interesting.

When I first sat down and worked on yesterday's post, there was a lot of content. A whole lot. After much processing (and even a dry-run with TheMIG), it ended up just as you see it. A photo and a couple of sentences. That's it. It was just supposed to hang there. Like art.

Think about when you look at an art installation, or when you watch a performance. As a witness you might never really comprehend the artist's intention. But that's not always what it's about, is it? (Just in case: No) Part of it the art experience is that you get to interpret what you see.

Yesterday's post was intended to make you think. Because yesterdays incident made ME think.

Anyhow, now that I'm seeing yesterday's comment-page potentially becoming a slap-fest (and I don't like that) , here's your "post-performance, meet the artist" moment.
----------------------------

This is a rewind for you of what actually transpired yesterday between me and the developmentally disabled GroceryBagger. In real time this went very fast, and feelings were intertwinded with thoughts and words, so this as close to verbatim as I can get for you. But it's pretty damn accurate:

Bagger says: "I feel so sorry for you. You only have one leg."

I think to myself: YOU feel sorry for ME??! That's interesting. I was just feeling sorry for YOU!

Then I think: This is a trip. I'm often telling people, "Ohhh...it's just a leg." I'm just glad to be alive and have my mind in tact, and here you are GroceryBagger, and your mind is NOT in tact but you've got this great job (looove TraderJoe's) and you are working hard and you seem to be doing just fine. (I'm often grateful for my "in tact" mind, by the way--part of my accident trauma involved major blood loss and flatlining twice. Extensive neurological screening was part of my rehab. Supposedly, I'm "fine"...hehe).

Then I think to myself: This is probably the most sincere sympathy/empathy I will get all day (because on the average, at least 3 people will say something to me), and this comment is genuine and honestly sweet. Too bad they aren't all like this.

But in response, all I SAY to her is: "Oooooh, it's not so bad."

And she says: "Well, I really am sorry."

And I say: "Thank you. It's really okay, though. In the end, we ALL have something about ourselves that isn't perfect."

And then I drive off thinking to myself: I can't believe how quick I am to get all up in other people's business and judge them and make assumptions about who they are and guesses at what I think they are thinking and feeling...and I do this assumption thing all the time, even though I'm in the midst a lifelong lesson in about being personally sick to death of people making assumptions about me. Interesting.
------------------------------


I had another thing like yesterday happen to me a couple of months ago.

My cousins had come to town and a bunch of us went to a winery in Napa to do some wine tasting before lunch. My cousins have many talents, but one of them is that they are awesome with kids, the wife-half of the duo having been a teacher and administrative educator, and the hubby-half having an affinity for the kind of magic tricks that you can do anywhere and amaze all your friends (and his tricks are not just for kids, because I'm pushing 40 and I'm still entranced by his skill and charm).

Anyhow, this day at the winery was set up for families with a bar-b-que and live music, and something else (was it a motorcycle show??--hmmm, maybe I did lose a few braincells). It's a small and casual little winery, so outside of the tasting room, there were kids playing about, including my own...the rest of us were inside sampling. The HubbyCousin left those of us who were tasting to poke around.

When he came back, there was a little girl running alongside him. I think she was ohhhh maybe 8-ish. She came up to our little group that was standing in a semi-circle sipping and chatting, and started introducing herself (kind of in a stiff, formal way that made me think she has been taught "on our planet, this is how people greet each other for the first time"). It quickly became clear that she had a developmental disabiltiy.

When she gets around to me she says, "Why are you on crutches?"

To which I reply "Well, cuz I only have one leg, see?" and as I look downward to indicate the obvious, her eyes widen and tears start streaming down her face. She was howling that is was sooooo bad, and soooo horrible, and weeping....and then noticing the scars on my arm, and wailing about that, too....and if I recall, I think she even threw her arms around me (an odd detail to be unsure about, but it was an intense moment, and I can't be certain).

It was tough.

So I start to run through my standard dialog for kids which includes all the things kids really want to know in 6 short sentences:
It was a car accident.
It didn't hurt.
It was a surgery, where they put you asleep so you don't feel anything--do you know what a surgery is?
I sometimes wear a robot leg, and sometimes I don't.
I'm okay.
I do everything you do, only maybe a bit differently, and I'm even a dancer.

I tried to tell her that I was fine, and that yes it is sad, but that it really is okay....and the other adults in the bunch were helping calming her down, too. Someone finally suggested that we all go back outside so she could play some more, and she basically just kind of stopped crying, wiped her face, spun on her heels and left. I moment later, we all moved outside to watch the band. Shecame over to our table to try and get HubbyCousin to teach her a magic trick, and then she almost sat on my lap and started showing me what she could do.

The whole experience was very odd to me because while I just did not know what to do with myself at that moment of outburst, but I fully appreciated the genuinity of that moment with her. It made me think a lot about how grief is so different in other cultures. You know, the cultures that actually let you lament when someone dies. You get to wail. Since ummm, that's really how you feel and it's part of the grief process. Man, it's just all very fascinating to me what is socially acceptable to think or say or do when wer are having an intense emotion or experience. Especially since we all have intense emotions and experiences.
----------------------------------

And so alllll of this begs my next knit-think-knit-think question:
Why will I accept the comment from the person with a develpmental disability as sincere and honest, just because they lack the ability to censor themselves...while on the other hand, if JoeAverage is having an intense emotional response to seeing me, he had better not say anything to me, or I shall deem him a rude asshole.

Interesting. Aint it?

most interesting part of my day

"Right Shoes Waving Goodbye"

July 2006

As said to me today, by the developmentally disabled bag-person helping me out with my groceries:

"I feel so sorry for you. You only have one leg."

love thy view

For all the things about TheShanty that make me cringe on a daily basis, there is one thing about my home that is guaranteed to bring me a smile.

The view from my kitchen window.



If I am doing what I am supposed to be doing on a every day (thing like cooking and washing dishes), I am blessed with several opportunities to gaze at a small patch of San Francisco Bay, Alcatraz, Angel Island, and one of the towers of the Golden Gate Bridge. I love it. Even if there are power lines criss-crossing through it. This view (and it's much better in person) makes attacking the never ending dish pile a much more bearable chore.

As beautiful as my tiny little window to the world is, between where I stand at the sink, and where the view is, lies my neighbor's house. I have to put blinders on to create a sightline past the neighbor's yard to enjoy this wonderful sight. One wrong tilt of the head and I have an entirely different experience--from looking at something wonderous and everchanging, to peering into the set of Sanford & Son.

Two summers ago, this next door neighbor built a nice redwood deck in his yard so that I could watch all of his compadres stand around the bar-b-que drinking Coronas, staring at grilling cow parts while waiting for juices to form.

Actually, I didn't mind that. The neighbors are a lively, but decent bunch, so it was actually entertaining and educational. I could prattle about the kitchen, and at the same time do some people watching, eavesdrop, brush up on my spanish....and hey, I could even still watch the fog roll in, too.

Last winter however, when the weather started to turn, NeighborGuy put up a blue tent-thingy. I'm not sure what you call it. It's not just a tarp, and it's too craptastic to deserve the title of gazebo or cabana. Canopy? Whatever. In the photo above, it's actually set up in the foreground. As you can see, it does not obstruct my beloved view.
But it is blue.
It is very very blue. It's a very "man made" plastic friggin' shade of blue, and it was totally clashing with the template of the sunsets and the changing foliage. I hated the blue-ness of it for a very long time.

In addition to my hating the blue-thingy, I hated what became of the porch once he installed it. Bar-b-que season ended, and as the fiesta season came to a close, the unused contents of NeighborGuy's livingroom started oozing out onto the porch to live under his tent-thingy. Old rocking horses, a broken sit and spin, a stair master, throw rugs draped over railings, and more...all were there for the entire season. And all winter long, I was grinding my teeth to a smooth surface watching all the family's unneccessaries get soggier and soggier.

By spring....well, somehow by spring I had finally taught myself how to look out the window and not look downward, but only outward so that my gaze went over the crap and the blue-thingy, and all I saw was my beautiful view. Learning to do this saved me a trip to the dentist and a case of tmj.

See? I rose above. I made it work.

And as a reward for my silent patience, after winter ended, the next spring the NeighborGuy bought a little trailer so he could haul all of that rain damaged crap to the dump. Weekend by weekend the crap went away, the redwood deck was refinished, the grill made reappeared, as did his amigos y familia and the cases of Corona.

Then last this past summer came to a close. About 5 feeks ago, it started feeling like Fall was in the air. I watched from my sudsy little perch as NeighborGuy took down the ugly ass blue-thingy to replace it with a much nicer canvas white-thingy. Ahaa! Another reward for my zenful acceptance! An improvement! "The white blends in so much better," I thought to myself as I watched it being raised, "It doesn't clash! It matches the clouds!"

Well, yes it does, but.....



The damn thing is several feet taller at the center point that its predecessor.

And it is. Right. In. The middle. Of my view.
My. View.
The one and only thing about my house that makes me smile. (To add insult to injury sometime later in the week, a bright red Elmo appeared on his rooftop to keep the matchbox cars company, I guess. Lovely. I just adore seeing outcast toys while I make my morning brew).



Seeing know way to "gaze above" my irritation as I had previously, I decided to talk to NeighborGuy about it. You see, this white-thingy has an adjustable height. I can see the little clicky widgets on the support poles (how can I miss those detials, I am forced to look at the thing 18 million times a day). NeighborGuy has the white-thingy jacked up to it's highest possible notch (of course), which seems completely unneccessary, given that he is 5'7" and the Mrs. is 5'2" and well, they aren't really using it for much more than storing crap again this winter, are they?? I mean, a whole new batch of crap is already oozing outside as I type this.


Ok. So. As I was saying. The tent went up 5 weeks ago. I digressed backin to grinding my teeth for about 2 weeks until I could find a nice way to talk to NeighborGuy. Once I got myself ready to play nice, I waited to catch NeighborGuy outside. I very nicely spoke of my dilemma, and he replies, "Oh...I'll tell you what I'll do for you! I'll lower it a bit, and everything will be okay." I was relieved to have him be so accommodating. We've already had a Hatfields+McCoys encounter over all of those empty Coronas filling up MY garbage can because he'd already filled BOTH of our recylcing bins, and was left not having anywhere to put my own garbage.

Well, he made that promise to lower the white-thingy 3 weeks ago, and the white-thingy still has not been lowered. I don't remember who the hell I said this to this past week, but every single time I have to go to the kitchen sink now (which happens MANY times a day) it get a full body twitch that feels absolutely cancer inducing.
Not.
Good.

I've been thinking I actyually need to invite the NeighborGuy over into my kitchen so he can look out the window for himself. I've even been tempted to just print out the two photos above and caption it with "before" and "after" and maybe toss in a "WTF??!" and leave it taped to his door. But I'm trying to get calm and nice-nice again so I can just casually ask him about it again the next time I bump into him outside.
*sigh*

This morning I woke up to the sound of rain. I just couldn't wait to drag my arse to the kitchen (sarcasm!), and look out the window to see all of NeighborGuy's wet soggy crap. I went to fill the kettle and that's when I saw this (try to ignore the down comforter left out in the rain--look at the sagging white-thingy!!!):

Hahahaha.
Maybe mother nature is going to go to bat for me.

edited to add: since writing this, my neighbor has already pushed the sagging puddles up from underneath with a broom to make the water run off, but noow he's gone to work, and I'm doing a rain dance so it will fill up again before he comes home.
-----------------------

Now, what is this I was saying about NaBloPoMo and writing stuff of substance?

Well, here's the thing with all of this. Very recently (liiiiiike as recently as my recent "break up" with my dance company/choreographer), I was told I was passive aggressive.

This was absoulutely news to me. You see, I don't believe I am passive aggressive at all. If you ask me, when I get pissed, I think I'm just flat out aggressive.

I've spent a couple of sessions "on the couch," and man...I am very proud of myself when I am able to think before I speak when it comes to anger. I pat myself on the head. It doesn't happen often. I truly am more inclinded to blow up.

So If I'm doing anything at all that might smack of passivity, it might be my chilling out for a minute (some times so many minutes it equates to days), so that I can find a way to express my (still angry) feelings more rationally and with luuuuv (hear the birds tweeting yet?).

Seriously. I think I am one of the least emotionally passive people I know (and I'm dying to hear from those of you who know me in the flesh if you think differently--here's your free ticket to ride--have at it).

But dancing around the kitchen today watching NeighborGuys tent fall down instead of talking to him has kinda got me wondering now. Maybe I am passive aggressive??? I dunno. I'd rather do the rain dance than pop an ativan over the white-thingy. And I'd rather do the dance than make myself sick over it, too.
(tweet tweet).

and so it begins...

NaBloPoMo.
A month of daily blogging. My little experiment with myself to see what spurts out and how quickly I can clean it up and make it presentable.

My goal is to have at least one entry per day that is something I can sink my teeth into. I want each day to post something noteworthy (to me), and I understand these might be things that do not seem all that salient (to you), if you are stopping by. You might just have many fun-filled days trying to figure out why on earth something seems of merit--but rest assured, if it's here this month--it's because it's important to me.

The random inserts of fluff shall continue. I will not deny myself the posting of the occasional giggle-inducing, time-wasting quiz, nor will I ever be able to completely squelch my natural inclination to prattle on. But my goal is to have a daily mindful post, even I choose not to write, but "say it with pictures".


Blog Fodder.
In reading other blogs, I've seen that some bloggers are crafting plans of attack for their blog fodder (haha: NaBloPoMoFo). I considerred writing out a list of 30 topics to follow, and I even examined the possibility of creating some sort of theme for the month. But I've decided to work on this more organically, following portions of the process I use to create a dance piece.

Now, I don't create a performance piece on a daily basis. It often takes months. So this whole notion of using this creative process for daily blogging could get real messy.
Watch for flying crap.
But the idea is for me to begin writing each day with something that really inspires me, to explore myself more deeply, to improvise with the topic a bit, and then clean it up and post it.

We'll just call them showings of works in progress or something, so I can feel better about it.


Things I Fear May Hinder My Success.
* Blogger.
I probably don't have to say much more than that.

* The Month of Minimum Days.
If y'all remember from last year, in our school district, November means 3 National Holidays, 1 Day off for the teachers to prep for conferences, and 9 minimum days. This means that during November, MyFK will only have 9 full-length school days. I actually think is more full days than last year, but either way--less computer time for mommy for sure.

* Big Legal Activity.
November also means meetings with my attorney and (cross your fingers it doesn't get rescheduled again) a mediation date. I have a pretty good hunch that might mean added stress, although I'm not trying to create that reality by projecting. (ohmmmmmm)

* Knitting.
I can think and knit, but I can't type and knit. At least not yet.
And I need to knit. Need.

* Reading Other Blogs.
There are people whose blogs I enjoy that are part of this wild ride with me...and I bet I find a few more blogs I enjoy as a result of this...which means more posts to read...which means less time to blog.
Interesting little predicament.



~~But I am the Queen of biting off more than I can chew.