I-Pod Meme

The iPod Meme

This was a drive by tagging.

According to the rules I read over at Persistent Illusion, after you read this meme, you have to do it, too.


If your life were a soundtrack, what would the music be?

Here’s how it works:
1. open your library (iTunes, winamp, media player, iPod)
2. put it on shuffle
3. press play
4. for every section, type the song that’s playing
5. next section — press the next button
6. don’t lie and try to pretend you’re cool

opening credits: Paul Simon - The Boy in the Bubble

waking up: Snow Patrol - It's Beginning to Get to Me

first day at school: Suzanne Vega - Frank and Ava

falling in love: Switchfoot - Meant to Live

breaking up: Jack Johnson - Banana Pancakes

prom: Reda Darwish - Marhaba (KICK ASS belly dance drum solo try that in a prom dress

life’s okay: Shawn Mullins - Beautiful Wreck

mental breakdown: Pat Monahan - Cab

driving: U2 - Beautiful Day

flashback: Sonia Dada - Old Bones

getting back together: U2 - I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For

wedding: Coldplay - God Put a Smile Upon My Face

birth of child: Edgar Meyer - Old Tyme

final battle: Anna Nalick - Paper Bag

death scene: Angelique Kidjo - Salala

end credits: Indigo Girls - Least Complicated

If you read this, your NEXT!

On to the next project....

Not so fast. I want to bask in the glory of this one for a bit. She's lovely, and every thing I could ask for. I'm speaking about the lovely Lady Oriel of course! Nothing particularly pithy to say today. I'm happy that my investment of time and energy has yielded such lovely results. I have to say that the pattern was accurate and easy to read and sizing was spot on.

I would not recommend this for beginner knitters. It's an easy pattern to learn, but the increase and decreases could be a little daunting for a new knitter.

I substituted a different yarn for the silk ribbon yarn. It's my first substitution which went so well. My means for choosing another yarn was to search for one with a similar weight and yardage. I had a few choices, but only the alpaca and silk of the Elann Peruvian Baby silk was of fibers I knew I could wear close to my skin without itching. Plus the price totally rocked. 36.00 instead of 152.00

I plan to post pictures at Ravelry.

Wrapping up the year and the Lady Oriel

It's nearly the moment of truth. I placed all of the held stitches onto waste yarn for the front and back of the Lady Oriel and then blocked her, within an inch of her life. Tonight I hope to knit the front and back together and pick up all of the stitches for the neckband.

It's always a dicey proposition when you make an article of clothing. I'm not talking about generica, like hats and scarves. It's one of the reasons I stopped sewing clothes for myself. At the end, with all the work put in, does it really suit you?

As exhibit A I give you a lace jacket I knit several years back. It's gorgeous to look at and to touch. It's soft, slightly fuzzy, and very elaborate. It belongs on someone much more petite than I - the tall, lanky, white girl with the face of an old woman. I've worn it a handful of times and was never comfortable in it. After 4 months of knitting, ripping and finally finishing, it's a thing of beauty that sits in my closet. I hope the Lady Oriel isn't like that.

The entire lace jacket is knit, not a single seam sewn. The lace pattern took me sixty eleven tries to get right (and in some places it's still not right). I had to buy another skein of yarn once I was on my way because the knitting and ripping had felted the hell out of the mohair and silk yarn. I'd never heard of a life line being used in lace knitting so ripping was cause for much weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth. I just leapt in and began, and learned, and cried in frustration and relief, and purchased more yarn until I finished something that just wasn't right for me.

If that doesn't sound crazy, I don't know what does. Still at this end of the year it seems like a good metaphor for me. Just try your damnedest to complete the thing with honor. Pay attention, give it what it needs and cross the finish line. Sometimes it's the project you finish, sometimes it's the project finishing you.

The Christmas Song(s)

So I did end up knitting last night, while waiting for the Holiday concert to begin. After drinking a cup of tea late in the afternoon I was awake enough to knit. The concert was one of the best ever. I was far from counting the songs till it was done.

It began with the "Show Choir" that my daughter is part of dressed up like the Whos from Whoville. They sang a few songs from the How the Grinch Stole Christmas soundtrack. Dressed up like Whos, from Whoville.

Next my other daughter sang with her choir, and then back to oldest to sing with the small group that rehearses in the morning. Back to youngest playing in the orchestra and then both of them - one playing violin and one singing. They performed a Requiem for the father of the choir teacher. It was truly lovely. They finished with the Hallelujah chorus from Handel's Messiah.

It made me so happy I wanted to cry. I was too happy to cry so I just smiled real big inside.

The best part of the show came later when Ellie performed her interpretive dance for us in the garage. I'm telling you, she's got some Lucille Ball in her.

Lack of sleep will do that to you

I worked hard on the Lady Oriel this past two days. Last night I hit a wall. I baked cookies for our cookie exchange here at work, and then drove out to the airport to pick up my sweetie.

I finally laid my head down at 12:20 am. It wasn't pretty this morning.

The Mister snores alot when he's tired. Which is like saying that hurricanes are windy or the ocean is salty. It's so essentially him. We'd had the presence of mind to set up the bed downstairs for one of us. It's sad when you spend your first night together in a long time in separate beds - and we aren't even mad at each other. But, it exhausts him to worry that he's snoring and waking me, so he wakes himself all night.

It's this torturous, rasping sound that rises to a crescendo and never really falls back to quiet. It's the most noise I've heard anyone make with just their nose. If it wasn't so tiring to hear him laboring away like that I might laugh and enjoy it. Sisyphus himself couldn't be as worn down pushing that damn rock as the work that my sweetie performs in his sleep. Breathe in like a Tyrannosaur, breathe out like a steam engine up an incline hauling 500 fully loaded cars.

You get the idea.

Long story short, I'm tired in a whole new way. Conversation is too much of an effort. I'll just grunt in acknowledgment. I did go to the gym, but I could do that in my sleep. Oh look! I did do it in my sleep. Knitting lace is entirely out of the question. I'd only have to rip back from the abyss and cry alot.

Instead I'll go to the Choir Orchestra concert. Mind you this is High School so it's not the Toot, Whistle, Plunk and Boom of years past. (See the Yarn Harlot's post The Kid with the Viola wasn't too bad) These kids can play, and sing. Most of the time it's lovely. I'll be counting down the moments till I can climb into bed.

My Christmas Wishes

Bah Humbug aside, these can be some of my favorite days. There is no pressure to be outside and I can bake and cook to my heart's content and no one thinks the worse of me. Except me, when I eat 3 scones in one day. I know, it's pathetic, but they were sooooo good.

I've finished my shopping and sent off all of the cards I'm going to send. I've done a better job of not feeling guilty about what I have or haven't done this year. My kids are heading to their Dad's for this Christmas, in Hawai'i. That's a tougher nut to crack for me. I don't seem to have what it takes to let that one roll off of my back. Maybe that is why I've been so cranky about all things kids and Christmas. I'm feeling like the Grinch and my heart is three sizes too small.

So my Christmas wishes, aside from world peace and an end to hunger are as follows:

That my children will continue to find their way in the world in such an exemplary fashion as they have so far.

That Marc will find more peace in that belfry he calls a head. He deserves it at least as much if not more that most.

That my parents will continue healthy for a little while longer. I'm just not ready yet.

That I can begin the dig to creativity and unearth the fossilized remains in belly dance, knitting, blogging and in the kitchen.

That I can find employment that pays well while I am enjoying myself and staying busy. I know, Universe, that I've got to be a lot more specific, but right now it's all I got.

OK, ready set - GO!

The blessed colorfulness of it all

What, you might ask, could I be thinking about in this weather. After the riot of color we had this fall, how could I find anything colorful in this landscape of no leaves or flowers.

Well find it I did, and I need to take a picture of it. The Burning Bushes have their lovely red twigs still, and the berry canes are bare but PURPLE! I am not making this up. They are purple!

I'm knitting a sweater that is deep forest-y, evergreen tree, gray-green. It's lovely yarn and has been since I bought it, but I am jonesin to knit colors together. I spoke yesterday of my design to design a sweater. but my lack of brain power to work out the necessary math for the borders and peeries set my teeth to grinding. I purchased a Fair Isle book by Ann Feitelson and tried to decide which type of sweater I would knit. I took a Fair Isle class. I spent 30 dollars on Jamieson yarn. I swatched funny little borders and patterns without pressure. All in hopes that I would be magically transported to the Island of Fair Isle sweater success.

My math hating, blind spotted brain was NOT fooled. But then along came the Winter 2007 Knits magazine. From Knitting Daily came a quick glimpse of the promised land. I couldn't believe my eyes. Right there in the magazine was knitting Valhalla. Eunny Jang had read my mind and was so kind as to have designed ME a Fair Isle vest to knit.

OK, just to give you some background. I made my beloved a sweater a year or two back. This was not as easy or straighforward as it sounds. His sizing is challenging and he lives, most of the time, across the US. Long torso, short arms, round belly. So I did my best to knit something that resembled a sweater. It was three tries on the sleeves with weeks in between try-ons. Two tries for the neck until it was just right. It made me somewhat crazy and took ages longer than I wanted it to.

I don't have the patience to do that right off the bat with Fair Isle. Knit lace I'll leap into the craziest pattern ever with nary a second thought. But Fair Isle, no.

So I'll knit this lovely sweater using my own color combinations as soon as I finish the lovely Lady Oriel. I need to hustle up before I begin an affair that ends my relationship with the LLO. That would be a shame.

Knitting news: Where in I admit that I am not cut out to design anything

I'm making my daily pilgrimage through the knitting blogs I hold near and dear. The Yarn Harlot, as usual, is making me nearly hysterical with laughter.

I've been knitting slowly on the Lovely Lady Oriel. It's much easier to knit the back when the front has already been finished. This time I didn't sweat the decreases because I'd already sweat them the first time. Mostly because I didn't know if I should do the yarn over here, this time, or forgo it. There was lots of to-ing and fro-ing on the number of stitches that should have been on the needle when I finished the decreases. I subtracted too many and then added too many back when I discovered that I hadn't really subtracted too many.

This time I missed by one stitch and decided to call it good. I've also decided that there are two kinds of lace knitters. Ones who can do math and therefore design knitting patterns, and those who lose the ability to add 2 + 2 when tired or distracted. Those are my people, and their idea of designing a knitting pattern is to make multicolored stripes in a stockinette scarf. Whoo Hoo! I'm a designing fool.

Same holds true for fair isle knitting. The math and spatial skills required to embody my dream knitting into a real life project escape me in a way that only be called complete and total. Between the number of stitches needed for the proper sizing, and the number of stitches needed to knit a repeating peerie or border I become lost like Hansel and Gretel with no bread crumbs.

It hurts me that I can't wrap my brain around it. It's like a giant mental blind spot. You've tricked yourself into finding your blindspot before right? I just can't hold the two numbers in my brain long enough to have a meaningful relationship develop between the two before the fog comes in. As soon as I've got the total number of cast on stitches in my head, I then try to divide by the number of stitches needed for each repeat. My brain just refuses to go there.

So I'm happily a pattern follower. Same with recipes. Sadly, I feel that makes me a complete washout in the creativity department. I turn out lovely, serviceable and some might say delicious things, but it's somebody else's lovely and delicious. My belly dancing is the same way. It wasn't always like that. I used to be able to improvise and make stuff up from out of my head. I wonder if that person is still in there waaaay down inside. Hiding.

But I'm not giving up. Us non-designer types must number in the millions. I'm betting there are way more of us than there is them.

Happily knitting away on someone else's glory... Till soon.

My hair resembles a hot air balloon

While some people would undoubtedly take this title as a free pass to remark that "It's not just your hair that resembles a hot air balloon", I've decided to open with it anyway.

It's tough being 50 sometimes. Those days of rolling out of bed with little more to do than basic hygiene are behind me. Even a good night's sleep can't restore me to some semblance of my younger self. The lines are there on my face no matter what I eat, drink or smear on my face. Although I do have a magic cream which improves things, it's an improvement, not a miracle outright.

For a nature girl like me, it's doubly tough. Were I to begin using makeup at this late date, the results are sure to be more Bette Davis in "Whatever Happened to Baby Jane", than baby faced beauty. Coming to grips with this slow downhill slide is daunting and requires all of my menopausal superpowers to cope. I'm guessing this is why God invented chocolate and masturbation. Among other things those indulgences makes you forget, at least for a little while, that we all end up as a heap of lifeless meat and bones in the end.

My sweetie and I had a discussion last night. He's a busy guy, very much in demand for his skills with computer programs used in law offices. He spends much of his time fielding calls and nonsense 24/7/365 from a variety of law office based sources. I'm a single mother of two teenagers. I field calls and nonsense 24/7/365 from a variety of teenage sources. Those demands are built into my schedule at work. There is no argument about who wins in a pitched battle. My kids. Work, almost without exception, takes a back seat.

Sweetie man is childless. And, he's a man. Ask me what defines my success. If I can point to anything it will be the demonstrable ability my kids are showing at negotiating this cluster we call life. Ask my significant other and he will likely point at his musical ability or the kinds of projects he does at work.

Do you see where I'm going with this? Let me set this straight first. It's not that either one is bad, or less than the other. They are just sooooo DIFFERENT. So, when I speak to him about priorities and not spending so much time at work I'm not sure it translates for him to anything sensible or useful. I might as well say, well you can't spend your whole life playing music now can you. When in fact I know he could and he'd love it. Telling him not to spend so much time at work is, in many ways, just as silly. Work feeds him, and tells him he's still got it.

Which brings me back to this tough being 50 thing. How do I still know I've got it? There is no Mom Olympics where I can compete for best parenting. I'm not going to win any beauty contests, even for beautiful old souls. And looking in the mirror is daunting. I don't have THAT anymore. I think I feel like I still have it while I'm still learning. Learning a new technique for knitting, learning Italian, learning to be more compassionate, trying a new recipe, creating something new. I forget to be concerned about my looks or lack of them and I just exist in this happy state I didn't know was possible 10 years ago.

So I'll deflate my hair tonight, and laugh at myself because it's funny to see Hollywood hair on such a Woodstock face. I'll remember that I am 50 and not 20 and I'll act my age, in a manner of speaking. Hopefully, I'll make something with my hands that is useful or delicious. Hopefully I'll forget to look in the mirror and make a face. Hopefully I'll find losing THAT means finding something even more precious

The End and an Introduction

I'm having a lousy run at work this week. I'd much rather be making like a glamorous travel writer and pestering, um I mean sending you all the latest in my travel writing series "The Glamour Life in Italy" by yours truly.

I have to face facts. The vacation is over and I'm done reliving it through blogging about it. Sigh.

The trip back to the US was loooog. By the time we arrive in Seattle, we have been awake for most of 24 hours. I still have a 3 hour drive ahead of me, if no one decides to drop a load of pipe on I-5. It's here and now I realize that I am sometimes a grownup, and grownups get to call the shots. Except, apparently, in the case of American Leadership where the best we have managed lately is frat boy rule.

I weigh my options and after picking up our rental car I head for the nearest Double Tree Inn. By 10:30 pm we are out like the proverbial little light bulbs. The drive will wait until tomorrow. We wake, enjoy a BIG American Breakfast and waddle our way to the car. There is the obligatory stop in Olympia at Starbucks and then safely home where we struggle to remain upright and coherent for a few days. I'm done, finito, all over. I'll close with an advertising cliche....

Neck pillows for long plane flight - 90 dollars

Sampling every kind of pizza in Italy twice - 400 dollars

Not missing even one souvenir stand in search of the perfect gift - too many dollars

Spending quality time with your kids before they fly the nest - PRICELESS


And without further ado I introduce you to the Royal family du Pillow. Or what happens when you spend quality time with the people you love.

Wrapping up and heading home

I ask the man at the train ticket desk in Milan for a ticket on the tilting train to Zurich. The tilting train is fast and sleek. I've had to go to three different lines to get this train ticket because I want to buy it a day or two ahead of time so it won't sell out.

When I finally get through the third line and purchase the ticket I am a happy girl. Until I realize that instead of the sleek, tilting train, I have gotten the "Slow boat to China train". The sheer number of lines I would need to transit in order to rectify this is more than I can bear, and at this moment I am clutching a ticket for 4 to Zurich so we can go home. I shrug my shoulders and think - It's an adventure!

The Milan train station has numerous levels and the only difference between it and Dante's hell is the temperature. It's like a gigantic open barn, only colder and wetter. It's also undergoing a renovation. An idea whose time came right after it was built. There are pigeons galore who must be kicking themselves if they flew in to get out of the cold and wet. I'm not sure even they can find their way out.

While we wait for the train to Zurich, an older couple pulls their luggage up next to us. They are Americans, headed for Venice. The girls and I are watching the departure board for the gate to our train. Italian departure and arrival boards are retro, old school, cool. They make a little flipping noise as the numbers and letters whir around. The girls are fascinated, as am I. The one in Milan comes with a added bonus. Something is wrong with the wiring or software so that the first 3 entries on the left are always misspelled. Bergamo becomes Berfalo. Turino becomes Trhnno. You get the idea.... This takes place in between teasing Sweetie man about his habit of calling Venezia (ve-neht-zia) - Vi-nizt-a.

The woman of the older couple walks away in her bright blue rain jacket, her red hat and red rain boots. I watch her husband get progressively agitated as the time for their train gets closer and she doesn't reappear. He asks me to watch for her as he starts making a sweep through the station. He comes back, still alone. I hand him my cell phone and ask if he wants to call her, but it's an international phone and I can't make it work. We actually have to leave without knowing if they find each other. They make a lasting impression these two. As you can see I am still thinking about them.

At this point I have led our merry band of travelers across a good sized swath of Italy and I am tired. Not cranky tired, deer in the headlights tired. I think my Sweetie senses this and he immediately jumps in to help. He's ridden a fine line for sure because he's usually the take charge guy (no really!) in his world. Because it's my birthday and because it's my "trip I've been planning for years" he's been very accommodating. I'll explain this heroism here shortly.

We ride the train up to Zurich through the Alps. The last time I tried that was on a filthy train that had no heat. You want heat when traveling through the Alps. Trust me on that one. Even though this is not the tilting train, it's still lovely. We roll through towns that would make Helga the Punisher homesick if she were real. I try, very hard, to take a picture of the lakes we pass through the window of the train. The results are uniformly bad.

We arrive in Zurich which again is unknown territory for me. I don't speak German and unlike most of the places we visit, there are precious few English placards to explain what is what. I've counted on the famous Swiss engineering to make everything easy. I'm expecting a big sign with flashing lights and arrows pointing to the Irwin-Frack-Wexler destination HERE.

Add to this Oldest has to pee really, really bad. Mind you she had her chance but didn't want to use the train bathroom. It costs money to use the bathroom here, Swiss Franc money. We only have Euros money.

This is where my Sweetie swoops in for the rescue. He says - I'll go find out what we need to do and I'll come back. Which he does, after a few anxious moments, tickets (and Swiss Francs) in hand and instructions on where we need to go. He has, at this moment, the shiniest armor of any knight I've ever seen. We get on another train out to the Flughof. How can anyone say they are going to the Flughof with a straight face is beyond me. Flughof is German for airport. It's almost as funny as Einfahrt which means arriving or entering. Let me tell you we have plenty of fun with that one at each train station when the announcements are made in German. But I digress....

We arrive at the Flughof and take the hotel shuttle to the Park Inn Zurich. We discover the Park Inn is a McDonald's Hotel. Surprisingly the rooms are excellent. Clean and warm, with beds that raise and lower like a hospital bed. The shower looks like a futuristic transporter. Quite frankly I'm wishing we could go in, get clean and show up back in Portland without the hassle of flying. Sadly it's just not that kind of shower.

Switzerland is expensive, even more than Italy with the bad Euro exchange. We decide to eat at McDonald's because the kid's are really keen to, and the hassle and expense of getting out and about is a damper. When the grand total comes it's roughly 50 dollars for some burgers, fries and one beer. Talk about sticker shock. Shrug your shoulders with me people, "It's an adventure!"

Off to bed with us, tomorrow is a looong day.

A word About Pigeons and the journey to Milan

There are lots of pigeons in St Mark's square in Venice and there are still places where you can purchase feed for said pigeons. And you can pay someone to take a picture of you feeding the pigeons while the pigeons swarm all around you in search of food. Feeding the pigeons is not for the faint of heart, or those with absorbent clothing. If I were to attempt this I'd don a hazmat suit with level 4 bio hazard filters. I do not need a case of bird flu. Or a shoulder full of bird poop.

The screams of the pigeon feeders echoes across the square. There is a woman, dressed in a mini skirt and boots that has pigeons roosting in her hair and all over her expensive looking jacket. The man of our party manages to have a quick conversation with a pigeon who is either shy about feeding frenzies, or is slow in the head and can't figure out where the food is.

Milan is where the trip turns more real. The weather changes to Portland weather, dark, wet and cold. Good for us we have our honorary webbed feet and Goretex. We wander the streets of Milan in comfort. It's a big, big city. Or it seems that way because we have been driving around in the suburbs with my Sweetie's friend C. C apologizes for the rain and I keep explaining that it's just like home, we are used to it. I don't think she believes me that it's really that awful anywhere else.

In the foreign films of my youth there were always shots of itty bitty European cars driving in madcap fashion around the streets of the city. The roads are narrow. The traffic signs a formality only. The heads of the passengers in the cars swaying to and fro as the car darts through traffic. There is always some funny music playing in the background to add to the madcap air.

I can tell you, that it seems a whole lot more madcap on screen than it does in real life. C is not a bad driver, and the car is not small. But there are Oldest, Youngest and me swaying from side to side in the back seat wishing for some funny music to distract us from the idea that death is imminent. But we survive to see the sights.

First, the Milan cathedral, whose gargoyles spit rain water at us. It's also where I almost strangle an Asian couple for trespassing into the "Do Not Enter" area of the sanctuary, and then almost certainly earning a lightning bolt and quick trip to hell by sitting down in the confessional and taking a picture. God is merciful and ignores the trespass. That's why God is God and I'm just me.

Next we visit a castle. A real castle that is in perfect condition. It has turrets and a MOAT. It's too cold for alligators in the moat, but it's the coolest thing anyway. Then we head off to a church that has been in the same place since 349 AD. Yeah, three millenia. It makes my little art history geek heart beat wildly. Milan is new territory for me. I'm as new to it as the others and it's the sort of stuff I love.

We spend Thanksgiving with C. She makes tasty food whose name I can't pronounce or spell. We stop at a supermarket to pick up the makings before hand. I've seen signs for the store in almost every city. I've been calling it Eye-purr-Co-Op (Ipercoop). C pronounces it Eeepercoop like some adorable Italian hiccup. The cheese aisle is mind boggling, the bread aisle even more so. The deli counter is the size of Rhode Island and has at least 4 million kinds of cured meats and olives. Across the top of the counter hang whole cured pork shoulders in case you need to feed half of Italy for a party. Oldest convinces me to buy some of the ricotta cheese which she eats with a spoon straight out of the container. Want ultimate proof that the food in Italy is stellar. I eat sardines, on bread, more than once.

We are sad to say good bye at the end of the evening, but we have a long journey ahead of us, which gets a little bit longer. In Italy you leave your room key with the front desk. When we arrive back at the hotel, the key we dropped off when we left after breakfast has gone missing. There is a front desk printer that has jammed and is merrily beeping away as it tries to print on the roller. A gentleman shows up behind us to check in - but there is no reservation under his name.

To say the least we are worried. I send the girls - who have a key - up to their room. I then begin speaking toddler Italian to the night desk man. I ask him about un'altra chiave (the other key)? He brightens up like I've just told him how to meet the girl of his dreams. He peppers me with questions about where this other key is. I realize I've made a tactical error. Eye-O no-know-o where-o el keyo is. I explain that I can speak some Spanish, and I do. I let him know that we left the key this morning after breakfast and can he please call someone to ask about where a spare might be. The lights go on, the printer beeping mercifully stops. He makes a phone call and pulls out spare keys one and two. We won't be sleeping in the lobby tonight.

The next morning I see the gentleman who had no room. My magic Spanish must have worked for him too. He looks rested and not at all like a man who slept in his car. We have breakfast and speak about Hillary Clinton with the hotel manager. It's a sobering conversation and one I think about over the next few days. That exchange serves to bring us back to reality. People have the same struggles in Italy that we do in the US with jobs, and not enough time to enjoy life and bad leaders. I've known this, but it really sinks in.

Tomorrow it's a train through the Alps to Zurich and then home.

Venice Queen of the Waves

Venice is a woman, make no mistake. She is a lovely, regal monarch who has presided over the affairs of Venetians for centuries. many of those years she ruled with an iron fist and was the most powerful of any kingdom, poised as she still is between east and west. She's dressed in the finest of clothes and they leave a lasting impression. Thirty years ago that impression was that some of her wardrobe was showing it's wear. The stylish shoes were run down at the heels, her cuffs were frayed. The edges of her petticoats were worn and a little gray.

I'm happy to report that there has been a makeover. This makeover is accomplished solely by boats and hand carts. No cars are allowed. What a pleasure to wander without looking over your shoulder or waiting for a WALK sign. But it boggles the mind. The garbage is hauled off in hand carts, construction equipment is brought by boats

When we rolled off the train and headed for the vaporetto - a water taxi - I waited to see the reactions of my traveling partners to Venice. I hadn't planned to go to Venice originally five years ago. But my sweetie had not been. Venice is a place that must be seen, and be seen to believed.

She's breathtaking. Blue green waters against ochre and burnt sienna buildings. I have a dim memory of many of the water level floors of buildings flooded with water. In fact one of the biggest threats to our visit is the acqua alta or high water. The travel goddess smiles on us once again and Venice is dry as a bone. The portable walkways sit stacked and dry. These walkways are a part of winter life in Venice as are big rubber Wellington boots. Lucky us! There isn't a need.

The Pensione where I go to pick up our keys to the apartment says Pensione (Hotel) Guerrato Founded 1288 Remodeled 1955. It boggles the mind. The apartment is wonderful. Tucked away between St Mark's and the Rialto bridge it's cozy warm and quiet. It gives us a perfect base to explore both. We wander the streets till long after dark and the most remarkable thing of a trip filled with superlatives transports me. A gondolier glides past in his VSB (very sexy boat). On board he has a lucky couple and .... a guitar player, and he's making like Pavarotti. He makes like Pavarotti until well out of sight, but I can still hear him, echoing off the walls and bridges.

There are precious few things I am a sucker for. My kids, my man, yarn stores and their contents and tenors of any nationality. It's the sweetest sound you could ever hear with few exceptions.

I'm very sorry to leave Venice. The rest of the trip will have the fast forward button firmly pressed down.

Posting about Pisa - Oregon Family pushes Leaning Tower to Vertical

I know I promised Venice..

How is it that I forgot about our trip to Pisa? Well I didn't I just kept thinking I would have downloaded the pictures from the trip by now. I have my pictures which are singularly boring, but the kids took some fun ones of Pisa and I wanted to take them off of their camera. In order for that to happen the camera has to be in the house and have a battery that works. For the last week it's been neither. So you will have to take my word for it.

I love the dork factor of the premise that you will go to Pisa and take a picture from a great angle which actually appears as though you have one hand on a miniaturized tower pushing it back up. We are not the only dorks to have wandered off of Dork Mountain who attempt this. As we wait to ascend the tower there is an International contingent of dorks who are in various combinations and configurations of this same photo. Kudos to the gentleman who is laying on his back using his feet.
While I steer the girls to a nice patch of sidewalk to avoid the "It is not permitted to walk on the grass" signs 40 other people stomp on this forbidden ground in search of the best shot.

I give up trying to prevent my daughters from starting an international incident and let them wander onto the green. No violations are issued.

The area immediately surrounding the tower is amazing. The word verdant had to have been invented for the grass which surrounds the Baptistry, Cathedral and Tower. Surrounding the grass is a medieval fortified wall. Aside from the Crappa Touristica carts and the hundreds of digital cameras, the place is eerily unchanged.

Once up inside the tower the level of craftsmanship is mind boggling, as is the smallness of everything. Danielle seems to pass through the archways standing straight up, the rest of us bend a little at the waist. The treads of each step are worn from the millions of feet that have climbed here. We lean first toward the center of the tower and then away as we spiral up, and up and up. At the top we are rewarded with a view of the Carrara marble fields (yep that Carrara marble) and the snow covered Apennines behind them. The view from the top the same as it was hundreds of years ago.

On the way back to the train station, I have a feeling of deja vu. The area we pass through, a colonnade with shops and restaurants is the site of a lunch almost thirty years ago on my first visit to Pisa. It's one of my sharpest memories of the previous trip, but I'm not sure why.

Next post I promise will be Venice

How do I love thee Florence, let me count the ways

I think in Verona you can visit Romeo and Juliet's balcony, which is just silly. There aren't any places like that in the Centro Storico of Florence. Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of places to acquire Crappa Touristica throughout Italy. It just hasn't been taken to the Disney level we experience in the US. The most heinous and simultaneously, funniest thing I saw was a pair of boxer shorts with THE David's glory parts emblazoned on the front in the colors of the Italian flag. Disney would be proud.

Florence is entirely different from Rome. If Rome is a classic Greek sculpture with a saucy wink and her skirt lifted for a peek, Florence is a Botticelli painting. Radiant, peaceful and full of the promise of life. You wouldn't guess that from the train station which is cold, grey and wildly unattractive, but the world outside is beautiful.

There is no dog poop here. If there is,it's beautiful, Floren-TINE, dog poop and as such it's not a bother. The hotel, again thanks to the internet, is cozy, well situated and just perfect. I'm wondering where the towels are in the bathroom while clutching several blanket sized waffle weave dish rags. That's when I realize those are the towels. I feel grateful not to have called down to the front desk to have towels sent up.

Then there is the small matter of the bidet. To me, it's an idea whose time has come. To teenagers it's a funny piece of plumbing that looks like a toilet and a sink. I've taken to calling it the butt washer. You can take the girl out of grade school but you can't take the grade school out of the girl. Ellie tries it and proclaims it odd, but refreshing.

We tour the sights, settle in, acclimate to the time change and I practice my toddler Italian on all. The Italian Rosetta Stone program has taught me several things and I think it pretty much has us covered. As long as it is a conversation about a horse who either is or is not eating a carrot, or if I will give discourse at great length about blue and yellow plates. For everything else there is sign language and emphatic pointing. One sweet girl begs me to speak English please - while I attempt to explain that my daughter the horse would like to eat some chocolate carrots, on a blue plate....

My other piece of language acquisition is one I plan to use as a talisman to ward off Anti-American feelings. I've learned how to say The Crazy Cowboy if anyone mentions our Fearless Leader George Bush. What we find instead is sympathy. In fact, one gentleman makes a point of telling us, look at some of the bozos we Italians have had as leaders and leaves it at that. It is the same pretty much everywhere we go. I will post the picture of the graffiti we found on the wall of a home. It's a stencil of George with devil horns with the caption below - Give me a banana - in Italian.

Actually there are two phrases I can carry off quite well "Due Cappuccini per favore, or due vini rossi! Those magical commands bring lovely, fatigue erasing, coffee or lovely, fatigue erasing, red wine. Either way we cannot miss!

Next stop Venice.

Putting the myth of Helga the Punisher to rest

I know you all know me. I can be more than a teensy bit too disciplined for my own good and the well being of others. Right away, I want to put the myth of Helga the Punisher to rest. Helga is one of my alter-egos, or multiple personalities if you will. I'm betting right now you are all imagining me in my thigh high black leather boots, a Frederick's of Hollywood designed Tyrolean maiden costume, blond braids looped over my head, cigarette holder clenched between my lips cracking a bull whip over the heads of my three fellow travelers. "You vil get up and see ze sights Schnell!"


Nothing could be further from the truth, honest, just ask 'em.

In all honesty I've planned this trip as a vacation, not the Bataan death march through cultural treasures. When the Sistine chapel closes 15 minutes after we entered because the Pope wants to throw a party, I just shrug my shoulders and smile and say "it's an adventure". When the kid's lose interest for the day in the Accademia I say who can blame them. Seeing THE David in all, and I do mean ALL, of his glory, who can top that?

This is not about ticking off the treasures of Italy the way some mountaineers bag peaks. It's about food and wine, heavenly coffee and losing yourself in this foreign place too. I feel like I've fallen face first into a pile of wonderful. I don't want to get up. So I roll around in it. With abandon. We eat gelato for breakfast - ok we didn't really do that. But the food is so good, and people eat every meal like I eat at holidays...with conversation, wine and lingering. I want to cry because I'm so happy, but I'm so happy I don't want to cry. So I just smile real big inside.

Somehow I've managed to save enough money to not worry about the little details that have thwarted my other vacations. I can say yes so much it starts to feel like I mean it. Oh, do I mean it!

So we visit Botticelli, and Titian and Veronese and Michaelangelo and cathedrals to God, but we also visit cathedrals to food and living well. Plus it's sunny during the month when it's supposed to be the rainiest. I'm thinking Global warming is looking prety sweet right now. I won't recognize until I leave Italy and enter Switzerland why it's so different here. I haven't seen a single Starbucks or McDonalds in either Rome or Florence. Nobody is any the worse for wear.

At this point of the trip we are in Florence, my most favorite place in the world, with some of my most favorite people in the world. Why has it taken me 30 years to get back here?

Part 1 - Sleepwalking Zombies, a Resurrection of sorts, and Dog poop, lot's and lot's of dog poop

The flight - aside from Oldest NOT sleeping - is uneventful. We pop through customs in a flash and roll out - with all luggage in our hands - to meet our taxi. I've traveled for business many a time, but I've never been met at the airport by a tiny placard bearing my name. I've always thought that was so cool, and indeed it was.

Our taxi driver speaks decent English in a way I will come to know quite well over the next few weeks. You can hear the translator wheels turning as he speaks with his adorable Italian accent. I've been learning Italian on the side for months now, but I'm too shy and tired to give it a try.

We are delivered to the hotel and they allow us to check in a bit early and take breakfast in the dining room. I couldn't ask for better because they have eggs in addition to about a million other tasty things I wouldn't expect. After a shower I attempt to rouse everyone to head out for the Roman Forum and Colosseum. Houston, we have a problem. Danielle has become the walking dead.

I'm of the school that jet lag is to be met head on. You adopt the time zone rhythms as soon as you arrive substituting your old ones immediately. This is great in theory except for the zombie part. I put Oldest down for a short nap. She whimpers in protest when I wake her, but it's for her own good, RIGHT?

We head out to see the sights dragging a zombie along for the ride. Here is where the resurrection part arrives. In addition to the stresses of the day before, I've been in near constant contact with Marc who has contracted the Martian Death Flu and really shouldn't travel. Thanks to sheer force of will and a pharmaceutical bill the size of the GNP of a medium sized developed country Marc has resurrected from the dead. His head did not explode when the cabin pressurized and he's actually looking sort of spry. This is an illusion fueled by the most excellent and plentiful cappuccino taken at breakfast.

Pressing on slowly we sign up for a tour of the Colosseum that is recruited when we arrive looking wilted and clueless. There are several young people who act as scavengers for the main act - a seriously funny Italian man who proceeds to make us laugh for an hour about the goings on at the Colosseum before it became a historic site. The stories are brutal and resemble current day American life in ways that make me uncomfortable to contemplate.

I am - in fact - the only one of the four of us who remembers anything about the tour or the day. The rest of the group insists that they saw nothing and went nowhere because they were sleeping.

The next day - and this is where the dog poop comes in - we head out after breakfast for an 11:00 am tour of the Vatican with Sophie our Irish tour guide. We make our way along narrow streets that seem to be filled with dog poop and itty, bitty little cars. There isn't much room for people on these streets. There is plenty of dog poop that has had a passing acquaintance with a shoe. This is not the easiest way to begin a day and we are thrilled to arrive at the Vatican in time, without additional show decoration. The tour is very informative. The kids magically (no, it's really the magic cappuccinos) now on the new time zone are enjoying themselves. We do a little retail therapy for them. Each of them come away with jacket what has that European flair. Neither of them takes the jacket off again except to shower.

They fall head over heels in love with Italy. My master plan is working.....

Roma - it's not just a Tomato anymore

OK, so I'm going to try and describe our trip in detail over the next few weeks as things gel in my mind.

Our first night of the trip was spent at the Chicago Double Tree Inn, where we sit toothbrush-less because our luggage is in transit over Boise, Idaho. And here is why. It took us 5 freaking hours to drive to Seattle because some one decided that the first, portentous day of our trip they needed to drop a load of enormous plastic pipes on the only stretch of road between Portland and Seattle. The one, the only, legendary I-5.

Prior to that we had fairly flown up the highway. We stopped in Olympia to enjoy a Starbuck's interlude in their own Starbucky backyard. Then it all comes to a creeping, crawling halt. They are predicting doom and gloom on the radio - it will take hours to open the road. I am laying a green brick on the seat of the car. My trip, my trip! I've planned and saved for years. Waahhhhh.

As we creep and crawl along it's clear that things are moving better than expected. Within an hour we pop out the other side and continue our mad dash for SeaTac airport. We drop the rental car and head for the American desk where we check in and the boarding time shows as 2 hours later than the original flight departure time.

OK, just breathe.

Lucky for us, Mr American Airlines rebooks us pronto on a flight leaving in 45 minutes. We check our bags and run for security and some how manage to scoot onto the plane before the doors close. Frankly, I am amazed. I had planned on rolling into Chicago, eating something at the airport, cruising to the hotel luggage in tow and crashing early. Big doings the next day you know.

When we arrive and head to baggage claim lo and behold only one of our bags made it. Oldest girl has nothing, and all of our toiletries are packed into, what I am lovingly calling the sarcophagus, and checked. No toothbrush, no wonderful moisturizer which lets me look my 50 years after applying, not the 95 I appear when I get off the plane. The sarcophagus - narrowly missing the 50 pound limit - is a rolling duffel the size and shape of Tut's final resting place, but not so pretty.

I am not a happy camper. I am also thinking that if this is the direction the trip is headed I am in deep yogurt. I am told I can come back and get the luggage or have it delivered within 24 hours. Uh, I am not going to BE here for 24 hours so scratch that. I opt to ride the shuttle back and grab the luggage when the flight arrives. Imagine the suspense as my luggage is literally the last stuff to come off. But it does come out. I roll back to the hotel with the sarcophagus and Oldest daughter's luggage. Victorious!

I go to bed after transforming myself back into a 50 year old with moisturizer. The alarm goes off early the next morning. The wretched spirit which had hovered over us for that first day evaporates. The trip begins in earnest.

If it's Monday it must be Portland

We did it! Flew to Italy, made like the Italians and flew back all in one piece. It was even better than I could have hoped for. The food, fabulous, the accommodations, fabulous, the sight seeing, fabulous!

The time of my life, spent with my most favorite people. I'm so thankful to have had the opportunity to have these two weeks with my kids who are soon to fly the nest.

I'll never forget it.

The rest before the push

I'm delighted to say the weekend was productive. While I didn't sleep as well as I would have liked, I was relaxed and happy. I cleaned and shopped and knit and cooked. All my favorite things to do. There was enough time to do everything. I have completed the to-do items on my list so now it's just down to writing down the items I need to throw into my bag when the time comes.

I finished the sleeves to the Lovely Lady Oriel. Blocked them too. Started the scarf and found I don't have enough yarn to do what I want to do. So I'm swatching on the fly and thinking I'm going to switch to size 17 needles. The two strand garter stitch I am using is too hard and thick to be a wrappable scarf. If I alternate the smooth yarn and the Lumpy Bumpy in stockinette it's too soft. Trying garter with just the lumpy bumpy is leaving too little yarn to make a scarf. So I'll swatch with 17 inch needles to see if the extra space makes it softer and more wrappable, plus using less yarn and allowing me to make a scarf of length.

This was supposed to be an easy project so I could have a hat for the trip. HAHA. The best laid plans of mice and men.

Fibroadenoma whatis?

It's the best news ever. I have benign fibroadenosis and an intraductal papilloma. Both of which are benign growths. The doctor asked me to follow up with a surgeon when I return from Italy to discuss removing the papilloma. But I've got time to do that later. When I return from living my one wild and precious life.

So anyway it's less than a week till we leave and I've got a ton to do, but I'm up to the task, and so is my poor eggplant breast - so named for the bruising which I may see in my future.

A funny thing happened on the way to the mammogram

So I've had a funny lump in my right breast. Nothing detected by my mammogram in May. But it was still in the back of my mind. Why the heck is that THERE. So I scheduled another mammogram and that was today.

I thought it was going to be like other mammograms I've had. In the door, wham bam, thanks for letting me smash your boob, see ya in a year.

Not this time.

This time I got an ultra sound, and a biopsy. Something called Intraductal Papilloma. So I'm going to have biopsy results come back next week. I hope to have great news and all signs point that way. Living and breathing till then...

So is it a mid life crisis?

I'm pondering the nature of my universe, or my blog, more specifically. When I first started this project, I wasn't sure what I wanted to say. Now it just comes out, either good or bad. So I'm not feeling particularly like I'm in crisis, or that it has anything to do with turning 50.

So do I change the name of my blog? I'm not spending as much time here, so do I pack in in and delete the blog and start another? That would be a shame because this is the sole resting place of my thoughts, some new and some old that have been copied in or "recycled" as it were.

50 has been a non-issue, other than the fact that physically I notice I'm a little slower and less resilient. Not seriously degraded, but I just don't have the work till I drop and not pay a price the next day. Now working till I drop guarantees that I will at the very least ache all over for the next day or two, or be exhausted the next day. I can get around that by cultivating well placed breathing spaces in the day, but they aren't a convenience any longer. They are a necessity.

Knitting away on the Oriel Lace blouse and I'm almost done with the sleeves. I knit them at the same time to avoid the dreaded SSS or second sleeve syndrome. Next is to start the back so I only have the one pair of needles to carry. Yes carry, as in my luggage - to Italy! Only 10 more days till we leave.

I've got to get the itinerary out!!

Pretty Monopoly Money

I'm amazed at how picture perfect the Euro is. While our greenbacks have a certain pedestrian comfort in their sameness, the Euro is flashy. Filled with line drawings of spectacular architectural elements and brightly colored to boot. The different denominations are sized according to worth. Those damn Europeans have a logical means of measuring and weighing AND some very cute and logical moolah.

Slowly finding my way through the list of things. Made a dent last night and found an "epilator" at Freddie's which is not too pricey. I think I'll invest, considering that a leg waxing will easily cost more than the epilator for both - even at the beauty school.

Nothing concrete for the weekend. Kids go off to a game tonight and I'm happy to sit in front of the TV and knit tonight.

My big news is that someone wanted to use my picture of a finished piece of knitting I had done on Ravelry. The cables and lace scarf! I of course said yes, because it tickled me pink that it was worthy of use. Despite the fact that it's usage is most likely due to no one else having a picture. Still there are several people who are knitting the scarf - it's a free pattern after all. So maybe I'll make some new friends on Ravelry. I have to admit the idea is a little daunting. I'm so bad at making friends.

About two weeks to go

I can't believe how fast the days are going now. Tomorrow is two weeks till we leave and I still have many things to looks into before we go. I could travel without doing any of them, but it will make life easier if I do.

But all I feel like doing is cooking and knitting. Sigh!

I made some headway on the sleeves for the Lovely Lady Oriel, but unfortunately it was in the wrong direction. I had miscued on the pattern and repeated the same area twice instead of incrementing. It had to be slooowwwly backed out stitch by stitch because I've ripped the lady before and it took me longer to figure out where I was and work again than it did to unknit it. I need to finish these sleeves so I can begin the back, not so many needle changes there. I want to travel fairly light in Italy.

So I've decided a few things - boarding the bird instead of having Kristin keep her. It's just too much for her (the bird not Kristin) since she's been sickly. And I'm feeding her fresh food twice a day to try and build up her Vitamin A stores in addition to giving her the thyroid tablets.

I'm not as nervous about going away because I'm not leaving the kids behind this time. If anything befalls them it's likely to befall me as well because we will be together. Potential disasters surrounding the rest of my stuff is manageable. I'm insured, though I hope not to need it.

So compression stockings, hair removers for my legs (my Epilady died a few months ago and shaving is not making me happy!!!) waterproofer for my shoes and I need to buy some Euros.

Still manageable, but the weekend will be busy.

The fastest weekend in the West

So let me tell you about cooking. I decided to start prepping my children for the Italy trip (T-Minus 26 days and counting) by cooking some items from the Rome and Florence cookbooks I have received as gifts. My sister had sent along a goodie box full of Italian items from . Polenta, pasta, fregole (Sardinia cous cous) tomatoes, yummy stuff!

So the first night I found a recipe for Fregole with pancetta and pecorino. I also used the Roasted chicken with lemon from the Williams Sonoma cookbook. It called for roasting the chicken stuffed with lemons and then using the roasted chicken drippings and juice of the roasted lemons to make a sauce.

I think my daughter put it best. It was a huge flavor explosion. The meal was rich so we ate slowly and took small amounts. That was Saturday.

Sunday we ended up with no dinner plans and I had a hankering to make a marinara sauce I'd seen on America's Test Kitchen. So I did. Let me tell you that was the best sauce I have ever made. Think, rich and fast by comparison to others I've made. Those guys (America's Test Kitchen)do all the anal retentive stuff for me that I don't have time to do. The pasta from Italy is so different and cooks up so rich and plump and succulent. It's hard to describe.

So the weekend was a rousing success for cooking. No knitting to speak of, I worked on my Italian a little more. Restful, but not nearly restful enough. Sweetie Man flies home tomorrow and I'm going to make the best of the next few weekends to get my diet and exercise in order and spend more time sleeping. Sometimes it's a hard adjustment for fall and winter weather. My winter body is stubborn about working. Kind of like the old cranked cars. You have to try several times to get them started.

On the Mend - The end of braces as we know them

For the most part - aside from the extended 4 hour interlude of nose blowing and hacking ans spitting I'm better. That interlude happens about 40 minutes after I get up and continues through my drive to work and the first couple of hours of work. It's loud, and uncomfortable. And decidedly gross.

The oldest of my progeny has gotten her braces off. Her smile is so beautiful and perfect. The difference between before and after is startling. There is no way to understand that her teeth didn't look bad before. They were very straight, but her bite was ever so slightly off. But not anymore. Now if I could just be done with paying for them - the braces that is. The kids I'll never be done with paying for ;-)

The lovely Lady Oriel is proceeding along. I've knit maybe a fourth of the sleeves. The shaping is done with the needle sizes, not increasing and decreasing. New world for me.

I've been reading several of my favorite blogs lately. The theme seems to be finishing and also ripping out things that weren't quite right. I've especially enjoyed reading the Yarn Harlot's blog where she describes not being able to knit anything in a straight line. It's always knit and rip and knit and rip. She said it was also when she was bone tired at night that it went this way. Well all I can say is Thank God I'm not the only one and if it happens to the Harlot, who am I to think it won't happen to me? Hmmmm

Well I'm out of here for now.

The Whole Stinkin Crew is Sick

Even the bird, who is sitting at the Veterinarian's office now. Marc went back to bed for a nap this morning. I had two back to back meetings and then off I went to drop off the bird and head into the office. While my nose gently drips - I can hear George Harrison twirling in his grave.

Being sick is tiresome. I hate how it takes me out of myself and my life. I don't feel like I want to spare that time, but I'm guessing it's Mother Nature's way of telling me that something is not quite right. And it hasn't been. I've been moody and snappish on account of petty resentments and not so petty worries that weigh on me. I'm continuing to improve my ability to handle these little storms, so this one took me by surprise. I didn't hear back from the hotel in Florence or the tour company in Rome and I let it get to me. The bird being ill also stresses me out. I don't want her to be a deceased parakeet, but I also do not want to spend hundreds of dollars getting her back to health like last time.

Long story short, the tour company got fired and I moved onto another more responsive one, the hotel finally responded, with Uffizi and Accademia reservations as requested, and the train tickets from Milan to Zurich can wait until we arrive in Milan.

Now if the bird would only be so easy.

Here is a pretty picture of my WIP

Officially Sick

Although I worked almost a full day I am really not feeling well. To help me feel better my Sweetie bought me a magnifying lamp. One of those things which should help me to be able to work without my glass and to take the guess work out of some of my fine handiwork.

I was able to get my WIP, FO's and stash into Ravelry last night, with pictures even! It's fun. And with the magnifier I can think of other projects which I could accomplish now, since I can see the fine handiwork with it. But not today.

Right now, I'm in bed with my jammies on eating soup and drinking tea to get my throat to hurt less. I need a nap in the worst way. Like maybe now...

Down, Dirty and Disheveled

I'm feeling a little under the weather, and annoyed. I cooked like a fool on Sunday but didn't get to knit. I knitted on Saturday but didn't cook. I'm out of sorts and touchy. It's fall coming on in all of it's unkempt, windblown chilliness. Despite all of the preparations I made to ease myself into Fall, it's as if I were entering a cold swimming pool on a cool, windy day. Immersing myself an inch at a time, alternating holding my breath, wincing and hyperventilating. I'm a major wuss when it comes to cold.

Don't get me started on the dark.

Add a sick parakeet into the mix and I'm ready to pack it in. Winter isn't even here yet.

Allow me to avert my gaze from my navel for a moment and focus on the world outside. Oh, look! People are going on living their lives having fun. I wonder if I can do that too. Let's see, I'm heading to Europe next month for two weeks. I'm healthy and strong, my kids are well. I think I'm just going to have to suck it up.

Got my Ravelry invite yesterday. Signed in and started entering projects. I don't know if this is another place for me to torture myself at not being good enough, but I'm game to try it, and it links to my blog - how very nice!

Friday again, thank GOD!

I've been a bad, bad blogger. Not keeping up my end of the blogosphere for sure. But I have managed to finish up the front of the Oriel Lace blouse. WHOO HOO! A big three cheers for me. I will begin the sleeves as soon as humanly possible. I intend to knit them at the same time on a pair of circular needles. This will allow me to control what I do row by row, since I think sleeves and socks can suffer from the same thing - second sleeve dilemma.

I'm well and truly tired today. Been tying up the loose ends for the trip to Italy. W ehave hotels for everything but Milan. I need to book tours, but am not hearing back from the tour company in Rome. One more thing I am concerned about is the ticket between Milan and Zurich, but I think Darling Boy will find out some info for us from his friend who lives in Milan.

Off to a great weekend. Hope you all enjoy the same.

I'm soooooo TWISTED

I've been busy this weekend. In fact I need a weekend to recover from my weekend. It was a blur of cooking, eating said cooking and knitting at Twisted. Can I tell you.... I loooove this place. It's cute, and fun and has lovely yarn in it - yeah duh it's a yarn store. Theyhad tables where people were knitting, visiting and sipping tea. It's a knitter's paradise I tell ya.

The fun part was a class I took in Fair Isle knitting. I now know the difference between Continental and American knitting and why they call it "throwing yarn". Why did I not know this before. Continental is so much easier.

So anyway. I'm knitting along in class and I turn over my work to see this most amazing thing - nice, flat, even little strands of yarn on the wrong side of my work. Truly a lovely sight to behold. All three of us in the class making like knitting super stars.

I will definitely be back to this knitting mecca. I'd like to choose more yarn to make a fair isle sweater or two or three.

The lovely lady Oriel

So I have a wonderful new hair cut that I love and the Oriel Lace blouse is coming along nicely. I'm hoping to get the front finished this weekend and begin work on the back. I would love to say I will have this done for Italy, but I'm not sure I can pull it off so quickly. But maybe.....

I went ahead and ordered the lovely Born riding boots - but the only color they had in my size was black. So black it is. I wanted dark brown, but if black is all they have. Black is what I'll get. It helped that I had a 20 dollars off coupon from another purchase I made.

Plans for Italy continue apace. More on that later.

Sad State of Affairs

I'm having trouble processing the news that my friend, who gave notice today, is leaving. I've been open to a lot more emotion recently than I used to be. Trying to keep myself connected to people instead of withdrawing. It hurts, kinds alot. I think it's healthy, but it's also hard. Especially when I am hormonal and feeling unworthy and lost. I do feel lost and unworthy. That's the worst and hardest part.

I'm not sure how to recover from this. I don't know if this is post 50 let down, or what, but it isn't fun. For now I am gooing to just sit with the feelings and hopefully the way out is through.

My First Comment

And it's from a stinking spammer. Funny how I've taken such great pains to be hidden and mysterious with this blog, and when I see a comment I'm all excited. Ooooh, somebody is reading my stuff. Oh well. Back to obscurity just the way I like it.

I've continued well along on the Oriel lace blouse. Knitting the pattern with decreases wasn't as tricky as I thought it would be. I found myself arriving at the appointed row 20 with the correct number of stitches for the first half of the waist shaping. I have to say this was knitting on faith at it's finest. Still it amazes me how far I have come in learning to read charts and "Knit on with confidence and hope, through all crises". I found I was missing a stitch today, I identified the culprit and added a stitch. Voila, no more stitch counts being wonky.

This weekend is going to be fun. The lineup is vegging tonight. Belly Dance Class tomorrow, shopping at Washington Square with birthday gift card loot, massage and workout at my favorite club on Sunday (again birthday loot!) I can't wait!!!!

First Post 50 Post

Is that using post too many times? So the big day has come and gone and I'm still happy with life. I had a wonderful time this past 4 day weekend. We went to Hood River (a beautiful town and I didn't take any stinkin' pictures). Worked on the house, on my birthday! It's OK I wanted to. I painted the porch rails with sealant/stain and Marc installed a butcher block countertop. Beautiful! On Sunday we went off to the coast and hung out in beautiful and crowded Cannon Beach.

Made a stop at Knot Another Hat in Hood River - yummy yarn, but all I took away were some knitting needles. Also made a stop at Coastal Yarn. Since I am butt deep in the Oriel Lace blouse I just quietly lusted and went on my way.

I've got this little sparkler to show off as well.

Knitting is a form of Obssesive Compulsive Disorder

True! I am obsessed with the Oriel Lace Blouse. It took me awhile to get rolling. It's still a little bit of a crunch to get my brain wrapped around some of the chart. For the most part though, I'm good.

Got to work today and "some people" had decorated my cubicle for me. Black streamers, balloons, a card. CAKE even! It was awesome fun to get to be the birthday girl. It makes turning 50 almost painless. Almost!

Life is short, eat dessert first!

Hello, it's been awhile since I've posted. Who am I talking to? Myself. No one visits my blog and I love it that way! I've been fully in pursuit of the 4 essential practices for a happy life post 50. Do things that scare you, might make you stay up too late, might make you gain weight and, um... and. Yeah, getting old sucks. I found the post. There are only 3 essential practices. Quick make something up!

Any way I've done some scary stuff and some fattening stuff and some staying up late stuff and I'm still here. Funny thing! I'm still here, not as tired or fat as I thought I'd be.

Socks are done! I finished them at the North West Strings Summit. Tucked their little threads in at home. Wore them around the house. They are so cool. I may not ever wear them outside the house, but I think they will work for those days when slippers are not feasible (couch knitting days).

I cast on for the Oriel lace blouse swatch. I am not using the same yarn because the pricing was just silly. I found a similar weight alpaca/ silk yarn that was not a ribbon yarn. The swatch knit up beautifully but I am slightly off on the gauge. I did block it and it improved some. But still I think I am OK to begin. I'm going to knit up the front and then block and see how it looks on me. Then I'll try one sleeve provided it fits properly. The pattern is super easy. Nothing like the lace jacket I knit a few years ago.

Pictures still await I know, but my Sweetie's shorts needed a button put on and I had this TIME to actually swatch something. Pictures will come soon.

Adventuring I will go

In another (perhaps lame) attempt at stretching myself in honor of my 50th I am going to a weekend long Blue Grass music concert. The Northwest String Summit. Why would I subject myself to this you might ask? Well mostly because my sweetie plays the mandolin. I'm excited to go, but also dreading it. I don't sit for long periods of time and do nothing very often. It makes me really, really nervous to do that. For one I think of all the things I could be doing - like scrubbing the grout or folding laundry. Well funny thing but I've done all that already. The house is clean and will be fine for a few days. I also seem to have a fear of staying up too late. For some people, like my sweetie, that seems to be the whole point of life. Even my kids thinks it's great to stay up late. I must not have that gene. I think they got it from their Dad.

So I'm going to take some knitting. So I can finish my sock and perhaps cast on for the Oriel Lace Blouse.

Tick Tock, TICK TOCK!

I hear it louder and louder now. Seems like I might not have ever gotten here, but I did. It's almost my 50th. I'm excited and scared. I'm more than half way through my life, I'm pretty sure of that. I am glad I challenged myself to try some new things. It's made me happy to do that, a little scared and uncomfortable at times, but happy.

Working away on the sock hoping to get to the sweater soon. I want to post pictures, I know I've been promising that for a while. Sigh! The thing about doing scary and uncomfortable things is that it leaves so little time for the rest of life. Things like laundry and cleaning up.

So I'm a lot happier than I was at 20, 30 or 40. 50 ish has been good to me. I miss my youthful looks, but 8 weeks of Efudex and several weeks of Tretinoin has worked a certain magic on my face. I look my age but I don't look old, old, old. That's a good thing.

I'm sooooo tired

My daughter gave me a pillow with the following on the front of it.

I am Woman, I am Strong, I am sooo tired and really that just says it all for me. I don't know how people do so many extra things. I do everything to try and boost my energy. I work out, I eat right, I try to sleep long enough. I take my vitamins. But still I feel like I can't keep up with my sweetie or my kids. It's pathetic. Long before we are done with the day I am fully baked. Stick a fork in me.

Not sure how I am going to get beyond that, or get them to accept that I can't fold the laundry and clean up the dishes and water all the plants and clean the house in my spare time and still keep up. It's too exhausting.

Plus I want time to knit. I love to knit. My second sock is almost done. I'm so proud of myself that I have finished the project which I abandoned over a year ago. Maybe there is hope for me yet. Once that sock is done I am off to work on the Oriel Lace Blouse from the Summer 2007 Knits magazine. I'm both scared and excited at the same time. It will be a handful for sure.

I need to post some pictures of work I have done. It's exciting because I've finished a few simple projects this year. Way to go woman!

Just cuz you are crayzee, don't expect me to come along for the ride

I used to be certifiable. Really. CWAAAAAZEE. Obsessive Compulsive, bulemic, anorexic. Name it. I was it. After 10's of thousands of dollars in therapy I sometimes approximate sanity quite closely. I cultivate an air of serenity like some folks grow tomatoes in less than optimal conditions. Some who knew me way back when are thrilled with my progress. Some who know me know, but not then aren't sure they see anything really wrong with me. They just haven't poked far enough into the muck, and frankly they don't need to. Polite conversation is enough.

I hide this side of myself more than I used to. Once upon a time many years ago I would flaunt my craziness. I wore a big diamond crazy tiara and paraded around town with my cart full of sad, sad stories of lost love and child abuse. I pushed many a shopping cart full of woe is me tales and detritus I picked up from every slight. I was a connoisseur of beaten down inner child, nobody loves me, my mother is a witch stories.

So I'm going along my orderly row of sanity. Pulling a weed of anxiety here, knocking some guilt off of the leaves there. I pour a little water on thirsty thoughts and dreams of creating lovely things. And then I fall in love. And my beloved, we'll he's kinda, well, he's a nutter.

A lovable nutter to be certain. Full of love and passion and a hefty dose of himself. Never had kids. This makes for an interesting interaction when he's particularly nuts. It's painful, honestly, because I can't help him peek out over the edge of the hole he's in. And I've been down in that hole peeping out and I know it hurts. I PRETEND like I'm sane enough that I actually believe it. I pass for sane. I try to be a good support system, but sometimes the noises in the dark scary place are for me, not just for him.



Stay tuned

My Beautiful Children

I can't say it enough. My children saved my life. Not any plainer I can put it than that. They saved me from myself and I'll always be grateful to them. I was feeling a little low last night. They were so wonderful and supportive of me. We got to hang out until the house cooled down and the air conditioner could be turned off because it was cooler outside than in. I just like hanging out with them.

And they are so beautiful.

If I Catch the Rat Bastard

Life is still good, but somebody has been using my credit card number for purchases that I didn't make. I think this happened at Costco, but I can't prove it. To make a short story long, I called Overstock.com to have the charges reversed (over 400.00) and then called American Express to begin a fraud claim and have my card re-issued.

It's a good thing that I am usually cautious about my credit purchases and that I track my purchases and bank accounts online. It might have been weeks and lots of other purchases otherwise.

I don't understand the people who pull this shit. Where do they think they get off doing this. No one is going to use my hard earned credit without my permission. Well actually they did and do.

I'm not letting my credit card out of my sight again. Even when I pay for gas at Costco. I'm going to get out of the car and swipe it myself.

Sucks. A lot.

Life is Good

I can't help but say it. Life is good. I got to do some massaging and some knitting and some cleaning and some cooking and some organizing. All of these things are things I loooooove to do. I got to eat the yummy stuff I made, got myself a bunch of CEUs so I can re-license as a therapist, got a good start on the second sock AND organized myself down to my last moving box. My mortgage papers all have a place to live and so do my knitting, weaving and spinning magazines.

I'm about where I was before the Wal-Mart debacle. Time on my hands and looking to fill it. I'm going to stray from the path this time and head back into what I love instead of searching out something new (like belly dancing). I'm going to crack open those water color pencils and paper and draw me some stuff. Knit till I don't want to knit anymore. Maybe get the old spinning wheel out. In a word or two - Indulge myself.

Next stop is the recipe storage. I just want to go one place to grab them, and I aim high to make myself one.

Wrapping up on Friday

Payday too. I will be attending a Myofascial Release Basics class on Saturday, all day. That will allow me to renew my Massage License for two more years. I have to start plotting my next course to take.

Things have been lovely at home. Everyone settled in. I was able to make a simple dinner, clean up, water the yard and knit. Since progeny #1 can drive I have all this time to get "the other stuff" done at night. Checkbook balancing, cooking, laundry. For the first time in months it doesn't feel rushed. I have helpers to walk the dog and wash the bird cage. I could get used to this.

Finished the last of the Efudex on my chest Wednesday night. Technically I think I should have applied twice on Thursday but I just decided I'd had enough. The spot on my eye peeled off and I'm still peeling. The rest of my skin is - dare I say it - wonderful. I look my age but I don't look old. While my face still sags a slight bit - and I'm OK with that - I no longer have crosshatched crows feet extending out from my eyes onto the tops of my cheeks. My face has lines but the skin is tight. Like I'd slept well for the last 15 years. It doesn't have a pulled tight quality as much as it has a filled in quality when compared to before. The color is rosy, not sallow, and the brown spots have faded in most places to nothing. The redness from the Efudex is almost gone. It's truly a miracle.

I also finished my sock. It's lovely.

My Little Fam is back under one roof

So I picked the progeny up early yesterday. They got to fly 1st class from Honoruru on account of them being unaccompanied minors. Northwest sets their lower limit at 15, so the youngest couldn't travel unaccompanied even though oldest sibling is 16. They require an escort to be 18.

It was not good news and delayed them a day on the way out, but they were fine on the way back and 1st class is awesome for a red-eye that long.

Immediately upon arriving the oldest went to the orthodontist and was told the braces don't come off till October. Hysterical crying and whining ensued. I feel overwhelmed by the lack of perspective ( OK, I'm delusional here, we are talking about a 16 year old). After much weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth - just like a Wild Thing - we settle in to watch a movie after getting some tasty Schmizza Pizza.

It made me tired already. I hope this isn't the tone of things to come. I'm not sure I can bear it.

A Busy Little Bee

That was me, buzzing around the house. I'm my happiest there. I got the cars cleaned up - vacuumed out, wiped down. Swept out the garage, steam cleaned the baseboards in the house. Made pesto from the last weeks basil which had sprouted (oh that's why it hasn't wilted). Found a replacement hanging basket for the Fredie's basket which crapped out last week. It was on sale for cheap so I also picked up another Mint Frost Heuchera. I'm going to put it into the spot where I moved the green and white hosta that was baked to a crackly crunch in the afternoon sun.

I finished turning the heel on the "SOCK". Actually I turned it twice. I ripped out the first try because it was butt ugly. I turned the second one on the MAX train out to the workshop. HIPS with Yasmine. She was a wonderful teacher and dancer. I was able to keep up without getting frustrated which was a real change for me. Usually I get upset with myself and then all is lost. That wasn't the case Saturday. This was a revelation. I didn't have to be perfect.

So a great weekend all in all. But the really big news is I GET MY KIDS BACK TOMORROW. They are flying on the red eye tonight. I'm so relieved. I'm going to give them a huge hug, drive them home and let them rest. I want to hang out with them, but I have work to do. if only there was someway to get paid for sewing, knitting, reading and gardening.

I Could Get Used to This

The Lake House rates a B+ from me for Keanu kisses. I had the plot figured out early on but I didn't care. I knit myself silly and then took the dog for a walk. Life is good. So I am adding one thing to my list of criteria for my birthday month. The truly madly deeply part will also apply to things that scare the crap outta me.

The belly dance class I attend on a semi-regular basis is pre-empted tomorrow due to Tribal Quest Northwest. So instead of sighing heavily, dropping my head, turning around and walking away from the door looking like I'd lost my best friend, I did the unexpected. I signed up for a workshop. HIPS with Yasmine.

So what am I scared of? That I'll be the suckiest in class. That I won't be able to follow? Taht people will laugh. That I will waste my money? All of those things are a possibility, but who cares. It's my money and I'm a grownup. I can do as I please.

So if it's fattening, makes me stay up too late cuz it's fun or it's something I always wanted to do but was too scared - bring it on!

Peach Cobbler and the Meaning of Life

So I've decided to do one thing each day - ok at least one thing each day - that I really, really truly, deeply, madly want to do. No excuses for whether it makes me a) stay up too late or b) gain weight.

Last night was baking peach cobbler and staying up past my bedtime to knit (and allow the house to cool down enough to open the windows). I have to say it felt pretty darn great. Except when the alarm went off this morning. I was sleeping very, very deeply. So deeply that in my dream I heard the alarm racket and my dream hands were holding a dream gadget that required I turn off the racket. Except it wasn't a dream gadget, it was the clock and all of the dream gadget tinkering I was doing was not having any effect on the racket.

In essence, I laughed myself awake.

Tonight I'm going to watch The Lake House. I've been told it's pretty sucky in some ways but that Sandra and Keanu together again is pretty wonderful. I'm going to knit some more, and have a smoothie for dinner because it sounds good and it's easy.

Nyah, nyah nyah!

The week and month tick tock down

This is my 50th birthday count down. Today the fact of being a 1/2 century old is freaking me out. Not like I'm unhappy I made it this far, it's just weird to contemplate. The week is almost over. My week of nobody in the house but me. And summer is hitting it's peak and getting ready to slide into fall. It's really hot today. I'm going to have to hide out for a few hours at home before I can open the windows.

So this next month I want to pay attention to the things that drive me. While summer ends and I celebrate a half century of living. Who knows what I will find out?

I Really Suck at This

Life thing. I am really bad at it. As evidenced by my short post yesterday I'm obviously having a melt down of some sort. The person responsible for getting my melt down mojo working will remain nameless.

I've been cranky and out of sorts all day. Some of that has to do with staying up waaay too late to finish watching Apocolypto and knitting. The knitting part was great, glad to get to the end of the movie because it comepletely sucked me in. Say what you will about Mel Gibson, but the movie was gorgeous and incredibly real. Bloody though. I watched many parts from behind my fingers waiting for the yucky part to be done.

I've been perusing all of these web sites that have these talented women making lovely things from fiber. Knitters, spinners, hand dyers, painters. Me, I'm just a WANNABE. And I just never seem to have the time to put into making something exquisite on my own anymore. It's all from a pattern. That's so sad.

Tomorrow it's one month till my 50th b-day. Big milestone. Half a century. Hope I don't get hit by a bus as some sort of karmic humor lesson. The retinoids are working already. My left cheek no longer looks like the face of a 60 year old. It matches my right cheek. I look my age, but I don't look old.

I have my own Beauty

Just because other people don't see it, doesn't mean it isn't there. I'm a good compassionate loving person. I have great worth. Just because I am alive. I'll see my kids in a week and I can't wait.

All will be well.

FRIDAY!

It's Payday, Friday and Jeans Day all rolled into one. My favorite kind of Friday! I've been waiting for the weekend to show up. Maybe I'll get to knit some this weekend. I want to finish my sock.

Went to a lecture on Anti-Inflammatory diets last night. I have to admit I could have given the lecture with all of the research I've done. Still I learned a few things - like New Seasons Market needs to provide more comfy chairs than the poor excuses they had last night. Those were not chairs, they were cleverly disguised torture devices from Medieval times. Hard, wooden. Impossible to find a soft cushy place for my bony butt.

Italy is only a little more than three months away. My 50th is slightly more than a month. I'm so excited. I bought myself some yarn to knit a going to Italy sweater. How retarded is that?

Disappointing Doctor Appointment

I've got two more weeks of applying this nasty efudex cream to my chest. I can't wait for it to be over with. The raised spot by the corner of my eye is still undetermined. I've made an appointment for Oct 29th so the dermatologist can look at it, instead of the PA.

On the bright side I can begin using the retinoids again. That should have my face looking less wrinkly in the next few weeks. I am very happy about that. I should be ready for Italy and looking quite fetching.

Finally finished the toe of the toe up sock done with the Eastern/Turkish cast-on. It was ugly, but I finally prevailed after 40 some odd false starts. Persistence is everything for me with new knitting techniques. I sometimes just have to do the thing over and over again. I'm now to the point that I am doing a 2x2 rib until I get to the heel. Things already fit better and should go FAST.

My big news was getting to go out to a concert last night. We went to see Los Lobos at the Zoo. We even had back stage passes so we were close enough to touch the musicians. The music was insanely good. Latin/Mexican music always makes you want to move your hips and this was no exception. I really enjoyed myself, but I have to admit it took me some time to get into not being at home and picking up/cleaning. I've got to wonder what the hell is wrong with me that I think that way. The night was warm and perfect and the company superb. Why was I stressing about not being at home takin care of biz? I'm weird!

I Couldn't Possily Care Less

About work, that is. There are lots o' things I care lot's about. Work isn't one of them as it turns out. Working on the dastardly and elusive Turkish cast-on. Sheesh. I can get the cast-on part, but the resulting knitting it disgustingly sad. Well, let me re-state that. I got the cast-on part from a tutorial at Knitty (another nice lady knitter from the Portland area)which does the Interweave Knits Summer issue one better. I think one knitter called the instructions in the magazine "austere". That was an understatement.

So anyway. The Knitty site said that she thought the world could use a "more humane" Turkish or Eastern cast-on. Truly this is more humane. I didn't feel like I was all thumbs, only 65%. Thankfully, the Knitty end result was far fewer odd bits that threatened to open into holes when the increases begin for the sock toe. I'm going to need a crowbar, backhoe and a pickle to get the rest right. Or maybe just a tiny crochet hook.

More Mid LIfe Crisis

I spent most of this weekend feeling out of sorts. It made me chafe a bit to think I've wasted any more time being tired and not feeling well. I wish I could take a cue from people who don't have much time left and just move it. Wake up and smell the coffee. Or as Emo Phillips says, smell the coffin.

So my skin is officially back to normal aside from a few spots that flush extra red when I work out or rub my skin. Spent most of the weekend either getting or preparing food. The Beaverton Farmer's Market was a blast. Served ourselves up some really delicious fresh food.

Made a trip into Portland to pick up some double pointed needles for a sock project. This is actually the second time I've used this yarn for "a sock project". The first time through the sock heel was backward. I made the mate correctly, saw the error and tore out the first sock. Then the project sat lost while I moved last summer. I found another sock pattern which will fit better and requires a tricky cast on called Eastern or Turkish cast on. It makes for a nice toe that isn't sewn together on the end. Yep, you guessed it, I tore both the half reknitted and finished sock out and will start again. The yarn store was going out of business and had everything 30% off. If I'd had a little more money I would have bought some stash replacement. But I still have all of the yarn my friend Kris gave me and it's just too hard to let go of. I'm slowly making small things for a compassionate knitting project. It's nice to have yarn that can quickly be made into a hat or scarf. Something I can easily put my hands on and go without remembering the pattern. Once that's gone, who knows what I'll do.

But I want to do something. Wake up and smell the coffin.

Half way through

My progeny are half way through their extended stay with their dad. I've battled through thinking that he doesn't deserve to have them, because it's not true. But just because it isn't true doesn't mean I don't think it. Their dad decided to give up the landline for his cell and now I have a really hard time getting a hold of them. Where they are staying doesn't have good cell coverage. I try not to snarl when they have to call me because I can't call them. It just frustrates me.

Today someone said how good my skin looked. It made me feel really great. I'm just about two weeks past the finish of applying the cream to my face and it's so much better looking now. Not red, just a pale pink although I continue to peel lightly.

My Sweetie flew in last night. It was so good to see him and just have me and him time to hang out. We've got another three weeks or so of hanging out. I think it's going to be great.

Last word on the knitting. I think I'm just going to work on ripping out the socks I started many moons ago and use a new pattern to finish them. A pattern that might actually fit, and a pattern that might get done.

The Urge to Knit Part II

Just found out the yarn for the project I am currently obsessing over will cost in the neighborhood of 150 dollars. While I'd love to have that kind of dough to do that kind of sweater - I just don't. I'm not the only person in this boat. In fact I think there is a whole barge full of us. I surfed the web to see if I could come up with a suitable replacement yarn. Again, I'm not the only one on this search. The pattern for the Oriel Lace Blouse has caught many knitters imaginations.

I may have to punt and do a modern Aryan in Merino and Silk and be happy. I think that I will be able to find a substitute someday. On that day it will be full speed ahead. There seems to be classes of knitters. Some love patterns, some love color and some magical people can combine both. Me, I can't carry color to save my life. Maybe that's precisely the reason I should try it.

The Urge to Knit

Another great weekend. Not much going on. I slept well, except last night. I stayed up too late because I wasn't tired. Well, I did have a nap at 4:00, but besides that, I was too excited about the things I was cooking up (food from the farmer's market). I was also excited about having the time to do things slowly. I made pesto from a lovely pile of basil I bought. I boiled beets for tonight's dinner. I roasted a chicken - ditto - for tonight. I made a snack of crunchy french bread, fresh sliced tomato, basil and fresh mozzarella. So many good tastes, so many calories.

I visited Powell's, the cathedral of literature. Worked out. Slept in. Went to a la-di-dah yarn store for inspiration. The weather was cool. 20 degrees below the approximation of hell we had earlier in the week. Cleaned the house a little. Walked the dog. Smiled at people I don't know. Life is good!

Oh yeah, this was titled The Urge to Knit. I have bought myself a nice knitting magazine. Said magazine has several interesting projects. I am jonesing to knit again. Will I have the time? Will I make the time?

A Reason to Celebrate

It's Friday and payday. My friend has gotten her double biopsy results back. All is normal - and wonderful. My other friend with lymphoma has gotten a preliminary report back stating that there is no sign of the tumor in her jaw. My Sweetie's best friend's son has received an all clear on his scan as well. His testicular cancer had spread into his abdomen. For awhile it looked as though his only choices were a bowel and bladder resection or repeating a chemotherapy protocol that had not worked for him in the past.

All of this is great news. For awhile there I felt as though each day brought more dire news concerning another loved one with cancer. The last. littlest patient still has the verdict out. My Mother's next door neighbor had a baby in February and she has cancer of the brain stem. Things are not looking quite so rosy for that family, so my heart goes out to them. I can't even imagine what that Mom and Dad must be going through.

Me, I'm still peeling and hopefully pre-cancer free too.

It's a Good Thing No One Else is Reading This

Please be warned there is a huge pity party coming your way in this post.

I spent most of the last hour stopping myself from either laughing or crying. I'm not sure what possessed me, but I decided to try sunscreen and tinted moisturizer today. I left the Aquaphor at home. Big Mistake. I walked back from the gym completely unaware that the combination of dry, flaky, peeling skin, sunscreen and tinted moisturizer had dried and now resembled a shag rug hanging off of my chin. I am not making this up, and this is not an exaggeration in any way.

I set about peeling off what remained. It's sort of like peeling back sunburned skin that has flaked. I think I'll stick with the Aquaphor for another day or two.

I can exfoliate! I can!

Today is the first day I chose to try and exfoliate some of the dead stuff off of my face with stronger means. Pre-Efudex I used a buff puff to take off dead skin cells each morning in the shower. Today was the first time Post-Efudex. It totally rocked. And instead of staying a shade of newly flambed lobster, the redness remained happy pink and then faded. When my skin dried there were several areas of tight dry skin that remained. I'm sure those will flake in the next few days and I'll be left with pink smooth skin that will tolerate sun screen again.

I think that the infusion of Omega 3 and 6 was a great idea. Add to that my eating fresh yummy veggies and fruits and my eyes are clear and my skin looks healthy. I need to remember that the salmon and sushi are vital beauty treatments, not just food. They are essential to my beauty regimen. (Insert a snort of derision here)

Here's to more flaking. More bad stuff I do not need is leaving my body.

When exactly do I get less red and itchy?

OK, it's also 99 plus degree outside. Just slightly less than hell or Palm Springs. I'm less red, but still awfully pink. Part of the problem is that only parts of my face were affected. So, much of my skin is pasty white with big red scabby polka dots on it. Add to this the "Fetching" bee keeper veil combo that is my hat and scarf. I can't bear the thought of sunscreen yet and I must be protected from the sun which is blazing to beat the tar out of the UV meter. Add to that I am actually painting myself in diaper cream. I got to work with big white splotches of it covering my delicate pink skin. The stupid cortisone did nothing. It was supposed to blanch the redness and stop the itching. The diaper cream is doing that as well as providing a small amount of UV protection on the healing skin.

I seriously do have a UV meter. It's a little card that measures the intrinsic UVness of the moment. I use it while driving to prevent myself from throwing caution to the winds and whipping off the lovely sun hat, scarf ensemble.

The itchiness has subsided (except in the heat). I'm able to peel off the gummy flakes of skin that have become saturated in diaper cream and the goopy stuff known as Aquaphor. I have lots more to peel on my chin and cheeks. My nose I have been able to exfoliate over the last day. So I'm now looking forward to day 10 which falls around next Monday I think. I should see some real improvement by then. My next milestone will be 2 weeks.

I am still glad I did this. I can see the many spots that were waiting to turn on me. And funny thing. I can't even see the scar from the surgery anymore because the other symptoms are so much more noticeable. The scar has softened and that makes it look much less puckery and sad.

DO NOT USE SUN AS A COSMETIC!

I am SOOOOOO done

Got the word yesterday that I have come to the end of the Efudex treatment on my face. And not a moment too soon I might add. While I never looked like Mr TopicalChemo dude, I had definitely reached the end of my patience with the itching and unsightly appearance. I think I just peel and scab a little now and then wait for the redness to fade in 4-6 weeks. Then I start Tazorac which is an industrial strength Retinoid. That will continue the process of getting the old skin off and letting newer, healthy skin emerge.

This is the first weekend alone in a long time and I'm going to take it slow. Kids are gone, sweetie is gone. I will enjoy myself. Without itching like crazy

4th of July firework are a memory, but a very good one. The sounds of the Waterfont Blues festival in the background. The many bridges across the Willamette. The little fireworks displays making a lovely backdrop to the main attraction. Hanging out with my beloved late at night - it's still 80+ degrees. It doesn't get much better than that.