About Me

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Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.

These are the knitting podcasts to which I am listening at present:
1. The Anatomy of Knitting
2. Knit Picks’ Podcast
3. Knitting Rose
4. The Savvy Girls
5. Sticks and String

All of them available on iTunes. I have gone back to the beginning on #s 1, 2, 4, and 5. When I am caught up there, I will see if there is a way to go back to the beginning on #3. iTunes picked that one up at Episode 88.

Do you have a favorite, squeaky-clean podcast you like, that you would recommend? [I deleted a couple of the early Savvy Girls podcasts, because there was some music which they warned in advance was going to be somewhat suggestive, so I stopped before I got there and moved on to the next episode.] I am enjoying, thus far, the LDS-culture-related podcast to which I have been listening, but I am not yet ready to recommend it.

In knitting news, the church knitting, something of a sampler in doll scale, grew by several rows (i.e., several millimeters) on Sunday. And the current stealth project continues to please me, very much. Although I think I might need to buy more beads next Saturday, if I get back to Fort Worth soon enough after the temple session.

In new guy news, there have been recent discussions which suggest to me that he might be inching closer to a decision. I dropped a couple of clarifying questions into his inbox late Sunday night, or possibly early yesterday morning. I had a long nap after church, and I stayed up late, and it all sort of ran together. If we could just dislodge the Other Woman (Ms. Cancer) from the voting booth, I think it would all sort out rather quickly, one way or the other.

Went to bed about 1:45a.m., yesterday. Dozed a little. Back up at 3:00, to break apart those ossified baguettes and beat 10 eggs and four cups of milk and put it all together with some herbes de provence and frozen chopped onion and the smoked cheddar. Forty minutes after I started, into the oven it went. After I shut the door on it, I thought to myself that it might have been better to cover it and let the bread soak up all that jollop before applying heat.

Notwithstanding my misgivings, it turned out quite well. I had meant to post the above before leaving for work yesterday, but it was not to be. And I spent an hour or so after work at the Sprint store, getting my phone tweaked, and completely forgot to post. I was in bed around 8:30 last night and woke up around a quarter to 5:00 this morning. Easily seven and a half hours of sleep. And as Mrs. Potts sang, I feel human again.

Pondering stuff, because pondering is what I do best. Well, other than knitting. I need some quiet time with the new guy, with no distractions other than whatever fish might be interested in becoming dinner. I’m happy to hear his stories. I have stories of my own. And they are bubbling around inside me, unsaid. I’ve heard a handful of his stories more than once. I don’t mind hearing them again. But I really need to feel heard. And I am not feeling heard at the moment. I plan to address that at lunch after the temple session on Saturday.

As Toby Keith sang, I wanna talk about me.

When the new guy’s wife was still alive, a grandchild spent the weekend with them. Every weekend. The Bitties have never spent the night with me. I can see how it would be a lovely way to have one-on-one time with each child and how it would strengthen the extended family, plus supplying much needed relief to the parental units. Nevertheless, the idea of giving up every weekend to the short people, gives me the willies. So I need to know if he would be willing to change to every other weekend, or maybe once a month or every three weeks, and if the Bitties would want to be fitted into the rotation.

And then there is the matter of my studio. I need one, pure and simple. A dedicated space. Currently there is no need for a lock, because I go see my grandchildren and not the other way around. His two oldest, and my two oldest, are reasonably respectful and understand the idea of thou shalt not touch. His two youngest, and my youngest, do not. Olfa cutters, paper cutters, scissors of all sorts, needles, pins, delicate and expensive tools. And about $3,000 worth of dolls.

We were talking, hypothetically, about what might be suitable studio space. His food storage room, even with a lock put on, would not. Especially since it is the room with the twin bed for the grandchildren, and putting a lock on the door to keep the kids out if they are sleeping in that room at night, seems counterintuitive.

Yes, I do think I am looking for reasons why this would not work, now that we are getting closer to the time when decisions will have to be made.

I need to be brave and show him my studio. I am more than willing to give up 98% of my kitchen stuff, because he has more kitchen stuff, and better kitchen stuff, than I do. Most of my furniture I can pass on to others. I’m not [at present] willing to give up the antiques I’ve bought (he hasn’t asked me to; we haven’t even discussed it, just like we haven’t talked about a lot of things I think are important). And I am not willing to give up my creative space, or winnow it down to fit into a corner somewhere, because that is where I will find my sanity when he is finishing up his time here on earth.

One of my [thoroughly worldly and somewhat cynical] friends at work has pointed out that he has everything to gain, and nothing to lose, by marrying me. On the other hand, I would be giving up privacy, and serenity, and solitude, and quiet, in exchange for being held. And even that is likely to have a short shelf life. At the moment, his eldest son and bride are occupying one bedroom. His mother is in the guest room. That’s four adults to deal with, when I’m used to being alone.

Still love him. Still happy when I’m around him. Still frustrated that a decision is several weeks down the road. Still trying not to shoot myself in the foot.

Thankfully, there is Knit Night tonight. And the current stealth project is smart enough not to argue with me.

2 comments:

Tola said...

i lived with my folks when my daughter was born, until she was 2. then i was able to get my own place. my dad would come over on Friday nights and pick her up, so she could stay the night with them, and i could sleep in. then i'd wash my laundry and take it to their house and either use the dryer or the clothesline. im still grateful for those hours to myself that they volunteered their time for.

Bonnie said...

I'm ok no matter what you do. The grandkids are not used to spending the night at your house now (they don't even know where you live) and they wouldn't miss it if they weren't in the rotation. Although I'm sure they wouldn't mind if they did get to spend Gram time with you. I'm withholding all opinions until there is a need to have them. :)