... you might want to head on over to the next blog. It is not yet 6:30, the tub is filling, and I am ready for the weekend.
My new VT companion and I went out visiting for the first time last night. New sister in the ward, married, two sweet little kids. Upstairs. Possibly the longest flight of stairs I have climbed in a decade, but well worth the climb. The kids were shy at first; she’s 3, he will be 2 in a couple of months. When she was ready, she walked up to me, wrapped her arms around me, and laid her head against my chest. He followed suit before the end of the visit. Those kids are so smart! They figured out that I am a hugging-grandma and that my companion is a playing-aunt. She’s the one who ended up with all the toys in her lap. We were both very happy with that arrangement.
Afterward, I took my companion home, and I threw the laundry into the back seat of Lorelai. On the way home, I stopped for a late dinner of party tacos and strawberry smoothie, then went to bed. I left the folding and putting-away for this morning.
And of course, this morning I realized that my very clean new bras were still very damp, because they had spent the night in the hamper underneath my linen tunic, which also doesn’t go into the dryer. All are now hanging from the shower rod. Thankfully, I had not yet thrown out the painting bra [the one with the dead underwire, the one that I wear when I’m washing the good ones], and thankfully today is the day that we wear our black T-shirts to work in a display of Customer Service Initiative solidarity. So any discrepancies in the workings of gravity upon this middle-aged body will be somewhat camouflaged.
I hope.
That’s it, guys. I have just spent the past hour doing the folding and stowing that I was too pooped to do last night, and the tub is full, and I have about a ten minute window if I want to make the train from T&P Station. I will be sitting at switchboard all day. So I am already looking forward to 5:00 and the train ride home and the postponed dinner tonight with Brother Sushi.
There are plenty of things I am thankful for, but at the moment my brain doesn’t want to talk to my hands. I sure hope this changes by the time I pull my knitting out of my bag!
About Me
- Lynn
- Peacefully and contentedly divorced, eleven years and counting. Not looking for Brother Right, but won't rule out the possibility that he exists. [Definitely not looking for Mr. Wrong or Mr. Right Now, so just keep moving, buddy.] Dancing every chance I get. Striving to balance sufficient solitude for creativity with enough time in the company of others. Five daughters. Three granddaughters and a grandson, and another grandson under construction. Knitting is the current passion. Fiber is my thing. I tend to rotate through my interests every few years. I’m also learning to be a better cook, now that most of the kids are grown and I can afford better raw materials. Have I mentioned that I really, *really* like to knit?
Friday, July 17, 2009
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Yarnfidelity
The lust you feel when you open the catalogue and see a new colorway in a favorite yarn. No matter that you already have four projects on your needles. There is no known antidote. Even flagellating yourself with a rolled-up budget spreadsheet only takes the fever down a notch or two.
My solution is to keep the catalogue on my reading shelf in the loo, far away from the keyboard, the phone, and the debit card.
Today would have been Dad’s 104th birthday. He died 19 years ago last month. I wonder if there is birthday cake in Heaven, a brief celebration to mark a life well-lived, in the midst of all he is doing to build the Kingdom and bless this family from the other side of the veil. Middlest shared with me, when we were talking quietly one night, some of the things he did for her when she was a small child, after his passing. They are her stories, and they are sacred, so I will not share them here. But I know by the witness of the Spirit that they are true, and not idle fancies or vain imaginings.
We are all connected, and we remain connected by bonds of love even after we leave this earth, and the sealing powers which are exercised in the temple are the welding links between the generations and will continue throughout the eternities.
Some of you came here for the knitting. I am looking at the fallow end of the couch.
Infive ten fifteen minutes it will not look like this. [I forgot to allow for shredding time.] The grocery store fliers will be in the recycling totes. The dry-cleaning will be ready to go out the door. The magazines I’ve read will go into my give-away pile, and the ones I’ve yet to read will go onto that shelf in the loo. The RS stuff will be back in its tote. Why all this flurry of domesticity? Because I strongly suspect that my tape measure is buried under there, and I need to gauge the depth of the armscye to know if it is time to bind off for the shoulder on the back of Autumn Asters.
Well, I was wrong about the tape measure. It wasn’t on the couch. I pulled up all the tuckings-in on the slipcover. Nada. I suppose the next item on the list is to get down on my hands and knees with a flashlight and see if it is under the couch.
But the flashlight is out in the car. [I do know where the car is!] And thankfully, I also know where the ruler is that belonged to my sister when she was a girl; it tells me that I need to work two more rows before I can begin binding off the shoulders.
And some people think that knitting is boring... This morning I have had mystery, archaeology, and recycling, all before breakfast!
My solution is to keep the catalogue on my reading shelf in the loo, far away from the keyboard, the phone, and the debit card.
Today would have been Dad’s 104th birthday. He died 19 years ago last month. I wonder if there is birthday cake in Heaven, a brief celebration to mark a life well-lived, in the midst of all he is doing to build the Kingdom and bless this family from the other side of the veil. Middlest shared with me, when we were talking quietly one night, some of the things he did for her when she was a small child, after his passing. They are her stories, and they are sacred, so I will not share them here. But I know by the witness of the Spirit that they are true, and not idle fancies or vain imaginings.
We are all connected, and we remain connected by bonds of love even after we leave this earth, and the sealing powers which are exercised in the temple are the welding links between the generations and will continue throughout the eternities.
Some of you came here for the knitting. I am looking at the fallow end of the couch.
In
Well, I was wrong about the tape measure. It wasn’t on the couch. I pulled up all the tuckings-in on the slipcover. Nada. I suppose the next item on the list is to get down on my hands and knees with a flashlight and see if it is under the couch.
But the flashlight is out in the car. [I do know where the car is!] And thankfully, I also know where the ruler is that belonged to my sister when she was a girl; it tells me that I need to work two more rows before I can begin binding off the shoulders.
And some people think that knitting is boring... This morning I have had mystery, archaeology, and recycling, all before breakfast!
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Oh, My Darlings: Clementines!
Love them. I was talking with a friend last night. We both like oranges, but neither of us likes all the fuss and peeling to get to the good stuff. With clementines, there’s very little bother. A bit of skin, hardly any stringy bits to peel off, and only the occasional seed. Breakfast yesterday was two slices of pizza in the car and two clementines once I’d gotten to work. Lunch was a bowl of granola with a sliced banana. I will probably do the same again today.
I took that hour of comp time yesterday and got my nails done before heading over to Knit Night. I hit the bookstore a little before 6:00, walking in right after Monica and her daughter to see Rebecca and hers. Thanks to the grace of my young friend, I got one of the soft chairs and a promise of assistance if I couldn’t climb up out of it under my own steam at the end of the evening.
I’d grabbed a small mango smoothie on the way to the NailDude’s, so around 7:30 my stomach was saying, “Hey, that was all very well and good, but what about dinner?” Before I left the bookstore, I called Middlest on my cell phone, and sixteen of us sang “Happy Birthday to You” in at least a dozen keys.
I have nine more rows of colorwork before I begin the solid bit at the top of the back, and I will probably begin the shoulder and neck shaping while on the train this morning. I just finished weaving in last night’s ends. I don’t like doing that on the train; I’d rather do it at lunch, when I have that nice long table to support the fabric, or while sitting on the couch here at home.
I almost called 1BDH last night to tease him, “It’s Tuesday night, and surprise! No flats!”
I have a modicum of church work to do tonight. No presidency meeting this week. And then maybe I can catch up my laundry? We are rapidly approaching critical mass, chez Ravelled.
Work, praise be, is going well. Over the past two days I have sent out over 80 vacation letters for two attorneys. I have three letters to send out today, and a tape to transcribe, and a few invoices to pay for my favorite legal secretary. But first, there is more cold pizza in the fridge, to enjoy while the tub fills...
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Time Management Theory
I remarked to a friend recently that I am hard-pressed to understand how the two prior RS presidents found time to date. It just does not compute! Now knitting? Knitting adds up.
I was going to show you a progress shot; the shaping on the back is about half-finished. But I thought I’d show you this instead. They followed me home. Four little tiles, complete with black ribbons with which to hang them. I’m not sure where they are going to end up. Maybe in the hall where Dad’s polo mallet is hanging now. My office manager has a booth out at the flea market in Canton, TX; she was selling these half price. You can’t read it here, but the background on each tile is white writing on ecru, all en français. Zut alors, how could I resist?
Last but certainly not least? Happy birthday, Middlest!
I was going to show you a progress shot; the shaping on the back is about half-finished. But I thought I’d show you this instead. They followed me home. Four little tiles, complete with black ribbons with which to hang them. I’m not sure where they are going to end up. Maybe in the hall where Dad’s polo mallet is hanging now. My office manager has a booth out at the flea market in Canton, TX; she was selling these half price. You can’t read it here, but the background on each tile is white writing on ecru, all en français. Zut alors, how could I resist?
Last but certainly not least? Happy birthday, Middlest!
Monday, July 13, 2009
Foot + Mouth = Repentance
I used to tell the girls when they were little that there was no use lying to me, because either I would figure it out by the look in their eyes, or if it was really critical, the Spirit would tell me directly. I told them that the Holy Spirit was a tattletale, which might not be the most reverent way of expressing it but is certainly within His job description.
[Yes, I am quite aware that there is plenty of stuff that I do not know about what they got into, but either it was relatively minor and I would have blown it up all out of proportion, or it was essential to their exercise of agency and therefore between God and them, or maybe it was necessary for my mental health not to know.]
One of the least-fun aspects of mortality is when the Spirit tells me that I have hurt or offended a friend, and I need to go apologize. I took one such friend aside yesterday and did just that. She asked me how I knew, if somebody had said something to me, and I told her no, that the Spirit told me and that I was sorry and that I wished it were easier for me to hear the Spirit say, “Oh, no no no! Don’t say that!” than it is for me to hear Him say, “You hurt her feelings. Go apologize.”
I am still very much a work in progress. I get frustrated with myself when the progress is so slow. Knitting progress is considerably easier to measure. Behold!
[Yes, I am quite aware that there is plenty of stuff that I do not know about what they got into, but either it was relatively minor and I would have blown it up all out of proportion, or it was essential to their exercise of agency and therefore between God and them, or maybe it was necessary for my mental health not to know.]
One of the least-fun aspects of mortality is when the Spirit tells me that I have hurt or offended a friend, and I need to go apologize. I took one such friend aside yesterday and did just that. She asked me how I knew, if somebody had said something to me, and I told her no, that the Spirit told me and that I was sorry and that I wished it were easier for me to hear the Spirit say, “Oh, no no no! Don’t say that!” than it is for me to hear Him say, “You hurt her feelings. Go apologize.”
I am still very much a work in progress. I get frustrated with myself when the progress is so slow. Knitting progress is considerably easier to measure. Behold!
Sunday, July 12, 2009
A Sweetly Busy and Productive Day
Any day that includes service in the temple is by definition a good day. After attending my friend’s wedding, I stayed behind while they left to take pictures and finish preparations for the reception [there was a funeral on Friday night in their meetinghouse, and it ran long, so they didn’t get everything set up that night as planned]. I did some ordinance work, stopped at JITB long enough to grab a large mango smoothie and a tall water, then ran my own errands.
A little blurry, but the big red box holds my printer paper. I’m thinking of getting another one to hold manuals, labels, and ink cartridges. The smaller red box holds bills to be paid. If that doesn’t prove to be an effective way to corral all the incoming paper, I’ll use this box for something else. I have printed off pretty labels but have yet to trim and insert them. Both boxes were on sale, another plus. I almost have my desk cleared off. Almost.
And I think that when I take apart that broken cheapie white bookcase, I will ask 1BDH or Brother Sushi to trim the shelves to fit that tower bookcase. [From my field trip to various hardware stores and home centers in search of metal ones, I already know where to get more white plastic shelf brackets.] It would be cool to customize cubby heights to fit the various containers I’ve accumulated.
When I went to the Container Store, I looked for more of the inexpensive leather-covered bookends like I bought last month, but they were out. Still available online, and I am wishing that I had bought some of the green ones for Fourthborn when I had the chance, because the only three remaining options are cranberry, chocolate, and black. Perfect for me, not so much for her. [Green is her red.]
Just to prove that there has been actual knitting progress chez Ravelled, here is a beauty shot of the back of Autumn Asters.
Going back to the topic of my friend’s wedding, it wasn’t as difficult to be there as I had feared. A little tender, a little wistful maybe. Thankfully C., also single, also a Relief Society president, was sitting next to me, and we are both at a peaceful place on the topic of remarriage and on the status of our eternal connection with our respective children. Those promises and blessings which come as part of the covenants we make are sure and powerful. As long as we remain faithful and honor our covenants, the children we have borne are still sealed to us.
The reception was great fun. I sat between C. and another C. [Girls, do you remember Dane’s two best friends in high school? Their moms.] The first C’s three daughters also sat at our table, with the spouses of the two who are married. Much laughter. Uproarious laughter. Eye-wiping laughter.
And great cake. I had a smallish slice of each.
Time for me to figure out how to sluice off, read two lessons, eat breakfast, and get out the door in one hour. First meeting is at 7:00am, and I’m picking up a friend on the way to church. Good times. Truly, truly good times. I am so blessed...
A little blurry, but the big red box holds my printer paper. I’m thinking of getting another one to hold manuals, labels, and ink cartridges. The smaller red box holds bills to be paid. If that doesn’t prove to be an effective way to corral all the incoming paper, I’ll use this box for something else. I have printed off pretty labels but have yet to trim and insert them. Both boxes were on sale, another plus. I almost have my desk cleared off. Almost.
And I think that when I take apart that broken cheapie white bookcase, I will ask 1BDH or Brother Sushi to trim the shelves to fit that tower bookcase. [From my field trip to various hardware stores and home centers in search of metal ones, I already know where to get more white plastic shelf brackets.] It would be cool to customize cubby heights to fit the various containers I’ve accumulated.
When I went to the Container Store, I looked for more of the inexpensive leather-covered bookends like I bought last month, but they were out. Still available online, and I am wishing that I had bought some of the green ones for Fourthborn when I had the chance, because the only three remaining options are cranberry, chocolate, and black. Perfect for me, not so much for her. [Green is her red.]
Just to prove that there has been actual knitting progress chez Ravelled, here is a beauty shot of the back of Autumn Asters.
Going back to the topic of my friend’s wedding, it wasn’t as difficult to be there as I had feared. A little tender, a little wistful maybe. Thankfully C., also single, also a Relief Society president, was sitting next to me, and we are both at a peaceful place on the topic of remarriage and on the status of our eternal connection with our respective children. Those promises and blessings which come as part of the covenants we make are sure and powerful. As long as we remain faithful and honor our covenants, the children we have borne are still sealed to us.
The reception was great fun. I sat between C. and another C. [Girls, do you remember Dane’s two best friends in high school? Their moms.] The first C’s three daughters also sat at our table, with the spouses of the two who are married. Much laughter. Uproarious laughter. Eye-wiping laughter.
And great cake. I had a smallish slice of each.
Time for me to figure out how to sluice off, read two lessons, eat breakfast, and get out the door in one hour. First meeting is at 7:00am, and I’m picking up a friend on the way to church. Good times. Truly, truly good times. I am so blessed...
Saturday, July 11, 2009
106°F?
That’s what the guy on the train said it was around 6:00 last night. That is not what I call progress, people! [i.e., not much of a decrease from the 107°F we had a couple of weeks ago.] And we still haven’t made it to August; I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, probably before the summer week is out: Texas in August is as close to Hell as I ever hope to come.
But in exchange for our ridiculously hot summers [if I wanted temperatures worthy of Death Valley (96°F there at 7:49pm, 117°F for the high; 100°F here at 7:40pm, 104°F for the high; 98°F in Dallas at 7:52pm, 103°F for the high ~ I rest my case!), I would be living in Death Valley], we have bluebonnets in the spring, chicken fried steak, and some of the nicest folks you would ever want to meet.
Right now they’re some of the hottest, sweatiest people you would ever want to meet, present company included, though I cooled down quickly after getting home last night. I have temporarily given up walking from the office building to the train station; I snag a bus and count myself blessed. Once the mercury dips to the low 90’s and stays there, I’ll resume my good habit. I do love to walk, and four blocks is just long enough to help me begin making the switch from work-life to home-life or church-life.
I have 7” worked on the back of Autumn Asters; I am 2” from the beginning of the armscye. At the moment, my yarn is not arguing with me. At the moment, the stitches flow sweetly, one after another, and my biggest problem is making myself stop knitting long enough to bathe and eat. It’s a nice problem to have, except maybe unless you have to be within six feet of me!
Don’t worry; I have a tub drawn, and I will hop in as soon as I publish this post. I am heading over to the temple for the wedding of one of my friends. When I get back to Fort Worth, I will wrap their present for the reception tonight, and I will head over to the nursing home [again] to pick up the books I forgot to pick up on Thursday, and to pay the fine on my card. I cannot believe that after eleven years of being divorced, I have incurred a late fee for books that he is reading. [Not his fault in the slightest; he let Firstborn know on Wednesday that the books needed to go back.] But still. I think this batch I delivered on Thursday may well be the last one; I know that I am my brother’s keeper. I get that. And I know that he is still my brother, if no longer my sweetheart. But I think that all I owe him at this point is civility, and gratitude for the children we brought into the world. I do not think that I need to be taking a rotation in getting him books from the library.
Girls, that thunk you just heard was me, laying the foundation for a boundary.
I think it’s going to be an interesting day. I believe in marriage, particularly in marriage for the eternities, though some of you may find that ironic in the extreme. And I am happy to support my friend, who has had far worse luck with men than I have had; her last husband was definitely a keeper, but he died instantly in a head-on collision about ten years ago. Nevertheless, weddings make me un peu triste.
It’s not about me. It’s not about me. It’s not about me. Repeat as necessary.
But in exchange for our ridiculously hot summers [if I wanted temperatures worthy of Death Valley (96°F there at 7:49pm, 117°F for the high; 100°F here at 7:40pm, 104°F for the high; 98°F in Dallas at 7:52pm, 103°F for the high ~ I rest my case!), I would be living in Death Valley], we have bluebonnets in the spring, chicken fried steak, and some of the nicest folks you would ever want to meet.
Right now they’re some of the hottest, sweatiest people you would ever want to meet, present company included, though I cooled down quickly after getting home last night. I have temporarily given up walking from the office building to the train station; I snag a bus and count myself blessed. Once the mercury dips to the low 90’s and stays there, I’ll resume my good habit. I do love to walk, and four blocks is just long enough to help me begin making the switch from work-life to home-life or church-life.
I have 7” worked on the back of Autumn Asters; I am 2” from the beginning of the armscye. At the moment, my yarn is not arguing with me. At the moment, the stitches flow sweetly, one after another, and my biggest problem is making myself stop knitting long enough to bathe and eat. It’s a nice problem to have, except maybe unless you have to be within six feet of me!
Don’t worry; I have a tub drawn, and I will hop in as soon as I publish this post. I am heading over to the temple for the wedding of one of my friends. When I get back to Fort Worth, I will wrap their present for the reception tonight, and I will head over to the nursing home [again] to pick up the books I forgot to pick up on Thursday, and to pay the fine on my card. I cannot believe that after eleven years of being divorced, I have incurred a late fee for books that he is reading. [Not his fault in the slightest; he let Firstborn know on Wednesday that the books needed to go back.] But still. I think this batch I delivered on Thursday may well be the last one; I know that I am my brother’s keeper. I get that. And I know that he is still my brother, if no longer my sweetheart. But I think that all I owe him at this point is civility, and gratitude for the children we brought into the world. I do not think that I need to be taking a rotation in getting him books from the library.
Girls, that thunk you just heard was me, laying the foundation for a boundary.
I think it’s going to be an interesting day. I believe in marriage, particularly in marriage for the eternities, though some of you may find that ironic in the extreme. And I am happy to support my friend, who has had far worse luck with men than I have had; her last husband was definitely a keeper, but he died instantly in a head-on collision about ten years ago. Nevertheless, weddings make me un peu triste.
It’s not about me. It’s not about me. It’s not about me. Repeat as necessary.
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