It’s been a little crazy here.

After the last trick or treater on Wednesday, we went to the ER. Not to get our candy X-rayed, but to get Beloved’s leg checked out. Same wonderful triage nurse as in June, same wonderful doctor, who said to us after reading the sonogram, that it was a very good thing we had brought Beloved in. You know that calm tone of voice that parents use when something has gone wrong and they don’t want the kids to panic?

That tone of voice.

Beloved’s right leg had multiple blood clots, notwithstanding the Lovenox he has been taking for a year for the ones in his lungs. He went via ambulance to the main facility after the twins quietly gave him a lovely and loving priesthood blessing.

I got home around 2:00am yesterday, emailed my attorney and office manager that I didn’t know when I would be in, emailed the family, and slept until 9:00 or so, when we got a call from MD Anderson. I was sufficiently awake to recognize the area code and the prefix, and to tell the caller that Beloved was in the hospital, but insufficiently awake to clarify that the hospital was not MD Anderson.

Oops.

I sent more emails, made a few calls, and went to visit Beloved in the hospital. They are taking very good care of him. I like his nurses. His local oncologist had come and gone by the time I got there.

Wednesday night I left my cell phone in Lorelai’s trunk. Last night I left it in Beloved’s hospital room when I went out to see why it was taking so long to get him some pain meds. That wonderful nurse had gotten separated from her cell phone (must be an epidemic of some sort), and she took care of it right away.

I came home, sent an update out to the siblings and kids, and crashed. Thought I had set the alarm to go off at 5:15, but woke naturally a little after 6:00.

And now I am headed back to the hospital, with a meatloaf sandwich for Beloved and a KnitPicks catalogue for him to peruse for yarn colors, and then on to the office, where we have a mandatory diversity and inclusion activity at 10:00 and Attorney B has something that he needs for a hearing (or something) no later than 9:15.

My inner snark is just screaming to come out. There are two or three people at the office who don’t know how close they came, yesterday, to having their heads handed to them. I am in the process of disentangling myself from a committee that I didn’t want to be on in the first place. So far, the Tact Fairy is still very much in charge, but she definitely has more plates spinning than any sane fairy wants to manage. (Remind me to tell you of my inner dialogue regarding the office Thanksgiving celebration.)

Please keep those prayers and positive thoughts coming!

Not feeling the love.

Worry not: Beloved is in no danger; neither is the cat. I am just not feeling affectionate about Color Affection, and the worm in the apple of my knitting Eden is the yarn I built this project around: one short skein of old-school Jitterbug in a color that knits up into mud no matter how many or how few the stitches I put on my needles. It looked pretty good with the pale pink, until I added the zinger of a deep cherry third color, and now we are back to glorified mudpile. Cygnet to swan(ish) to oh my heck, Ugly Duckling.

Oye. I am sorely tempted to frog back to where the pale pink ended, and put the project in time out until I find a medium color that works. Maybe the brighter red, maybe not. I am also sorely tempted to rewind the small skein and list it as for sale or trade on Ravelry. I think I might haul out my ruana and work on it awhile, as a palate/palette cleanser. The ruana is just that much too large to go back to work with me, if I remember correctly. Progress on it ended a few hours before I said I do. Since then, other long-term projects have caught my fancy, not to mention the Sisyphean effort to finally get our stuff merged in a way that makes sense.

Work was good. I fixed a simple but tasty dinner. Beloved is about ready to come in here and crash. The dishwasher is running. While I am pleased with my desk at work, I want to have at least a taste of that level of success before I call it a day. I am tired. Half an hour of happy knitting would change tired into relaxed.

Ms. Tola? you hanging in there in Joisey?

♫Thank you, Alison!♪

She had a wonderful post on memory, with links to Rick(y) Nelson singing Garden Party. And then his sons, who were either too young or too old for my girls to fall in love with, singing it as that trio, below. I don’t know which Nelson is which, but the dark-haired one in the middle is the spitting image of his dad, on whom I had a deep and abiding little-girl crush.



This video had me all misty eyed.

Much progress on the shawlette yesterday, and this morning before breakfast. I have nearly completed the last stripe sequence in the second section, and most likely while I am at church today will add in the third color.

My guys made tremendous progress in the dining room yesterday. I spent the better part of an hour shredding documents. A good chunk of the stuff they unpacked is going home with Trucker, and we found spiral notebooks that the Beloved grandkids can use. Five or six boxes of non-family-specific genealogical research information (old manuals) are out on the curb for pickup on Tuesday. I have a backup paper slicer (for scrapbooking) and a spare blade, which I put into my original slicer. I had just not quite managed to get to the craft store to buy more blades.

Anybody besides me remember the old Gillette commercials where they sang, “How are you fixed for blades?”

I’ve had a bowl of cereal and need to fix myself some toast and grab a chunk of cheese for additional protein. We have rehearsals this morning for the Primary program that will happen in two weeks. Gotta gird my loins.

Beloved is still very tired but continues to gain ground, we think, after the transfusion last Wednesday. One of our friends at church, who was at the preparedness activity yesterday, told me to tell Beloved that he probably got Democrat blood. I roared. Then on the way home I came up with the perfect riposte: no, it has to be Republican blood, because [most] liberals are only interested in giving away other people’s assets! And it will be Tom’s turn to roar.

I love math! (80% of my kids are shuddering.)

When I got home from work last night, I looked at the amount of variegated yarn left; it began as 100g or 320 yards. The new skeins are 150g or 400 yards, just that much more plump than the preceding generation of Jitterbug. I fired up a spreadsheet while dinner cooked, and I played with numbers. When I had something that looked plausible -- how much I have used vs. what proportion would be necessary for the short rows that will soon be my pleasure to knit -- I weighed the dwindling ball. I needed to have used no more than 45%. I had used 55%.

So when I went to bed last night, I had decided there would be tinking, and I was pretty sure that I knew just how much would be necessary, which would turn Color Affection into more of a scarf than a shawlette, unless I chose to put a wider solid red border on it.

But after sleeping on it, I have decided to finish out this middle section with the variegated yarn; I think I will have just enough and maybe enough to start the third section as written. And then I will decide if I want to do the rest of the third section alternating the pale pink solid with the dark red solid, or just the dark red solid. It’s not a decision I need to make right away.

I’m home from our ward disaster preparedness activity. Which, thankfully, was not a disaster. The premise was that North Texas had had a 500-year ice storm, power was out, houses were damaged, etc. I woke up this morning, realized that I needed to be at church in an hour and a half because I had a part to play as a member of the Primary presidency (!), muttered a few childbirth words because we need to get a new inside fridge today, and there are pomegranates to slay, but I went and did my duty and even managed to have fun, especially when we were sitting in the gym, eating cold sandwiches and bags of potato chips and bottles of water, and a piece of fruit, and I got to talk with grown-ups.

(I spent my stint of service reading stories to small kids, using a flashlight, because I am not a crawl around on the floor kind of grandmother. I am a sit quietly in a chair and read books to you sort of grandma. I discovered some new favorite books that need to end up at the Bitties’ house, and rediscovered some old favorites from when my kids were little.)

More work is about to ensue. OlderTwin helped us haul off the spare boat trailer for scrap and has found us a new fridge which we can get on Monday, huzzah! So Trucker and Beloved and I are going to tackle the boxes in the dining room, and I am ridiculously hopeful that by the time Trucker leaves on Monday night, we will be able to use the dining room as a dining room, and on to the next project. Which, please Heaven, will be my closet?

An *interesting* experience.

Work went well. Life? a little more difficult. I got distinctly teary-eyed during my morning-commute prayer. (What? you don’t pray when you’re driving to work? Then you obviously don’t live and drive in North Texas!)

The teary-eyed bit is not a new thing. It has happened frequently over the years, and it doesn’t necessarily signify sadness. It happened when I was serving as Relief Society president in my old ward. It happened when one or another of the kids was plowing through a major struggle. And sometimes it happens because of a breathtakingly beautiful sunrise.

After cycling in and out of depression for eight years while married to the childrens father, I keep a very close watch on my mental health dipstick. I will not claim that all is [root] beer and skittles in the Ravelled household; Monday’s bad news is a lot to process. But really, for the moment, I am OK. And Beloved is perking right up after yesterday’s transfusion. His color is good, and his twinkle is back, and his voice sounds way more like him than recently.

The last two days I have taken my lunch at 2:00 rather than the usual 1:00 or thereabouts. I have just gotten into a flow and waited for a natural break. Made for much shorter afternoons, let me tell you! Yesterday the only other co-worker in the break room when I finally broke for lunch, was there with her copy of That Book. (She is the latest of a bunch of my co-workers to be reading Fifty Shades of Ick. And cheerfully acknowledges that it is smut. Just in case I was in any doubt.) I sat at her table, because the one where I usually sit was greasy from other people’s lunches, and I was not in the mood to wipe it down so that I could knit unscathed.

As I sat on the other end of her table, I got progressively more cranky and verklempt. It was really weird. I didn’t say anything to her, I was not thinking condemnatory thoughts about her, but I could feel myself feeling more and more sad and frustrated about Beloved’s health issues and the prognosis. Ten minutes after she finished her lunch and went back to her desk, I felt like me again.

As I pondered it on the drive home, what I came up with is this: reading the kind of stuff she was reading, does not attract angelic attention, but the opposite. I think if I had had eyes to see, there was all sorts of dark stuff swirling around her end of the table. And, because the Adversary and his minions do not have a veil of forgetfulness over them, as we mortals do, they know exactly what Beloved and I are facing, where our vulnerabilities are, and are eager to play upon them. I think some of that dark stuff swirled over to my end of the table.

I love her dearly, and I will be finding someplace else to sit at lunch today. Maybe down in the atrium amongst the trees, with sunlight trickling down from the skylights through the leaves. I played the Primary music tape (for our Primary program next month) one and a half times on the drive home, and sang along, and when I got home I only needed a bear hug from Beloved to finish putting my day aright.

 The knitting is going well. I am about halfway through the first set of stripes. Jury is out on whether there will be enough of the contrast yarn to make it through to the end. I might end up frogging back and turning this into a large-ish scarf rather than a shawlette. We shall see.

Friday. We are encouraged to wear pink, and our tennis shoes and jeans, today. The latter I can manage. I did not get out to Wally World yesterday to pick up a new pair of jeans, but if I scoot I can do that and maybe score a non-boring pink shirt to go with, inexpensively. No idea what I want for breakfast, except a whole lot of something, but I have leftover smothered steak and mashed potatoes to take for lunch. And tonight we are having salmon and steamed carrots; anything else is just the cherry on top of the sundae as far as I am concerned.

Yarn search? Successful!

I walked into the shop after work last night, asked for the nice lady who had helped me over the phone the night before, and she led me right to the perfect shade of Bing cherry that will complete my shawlette. In the meantime, I have worked four repeats of the stripe pattern with yarn #2, and it is turning out exactly as I had hoped.

Beloved’s transfusion went well yesterday. They gave him two units, plus a massive dose of diuretic to get that right leg to drain. He didn’t sleep well last night (much getting-up to deal with the natural results). His back aches, but he is currently snoozing on the bed behind me. This is his prime sleeping time. He can usually get a solid 2-3 hours, this time of day.

His brother got here safely last night and accompanied me to the grocery store, and treated us (ok, treated me) to the last three pints of Chocolate Therapy in north Texas. I know. I’ve looked. They will spend the next few days finishing up the pomegranate harvest. I told his brother that we were going to work him like a Hebrew slave while he’s here.

I found out where my favorite button store has moved to. They had a stack of business cards at the yarn shop, and they are about a block north of them, which means they are minutes away from me. This bodes well for if-and-when my sewing mojo returns.

I had another good, productive day at work yesterday. When I left the office, I had set up the most important task I will need to accomplish today, and I should get that knocked out in no time. Part of me wishes I could stay home and work around the house with the boys, but work and knitting are the only two parts of my life where I feel like I know what I am doing right now, which is a nice segue into my new calling at church.

I’m in the Primary presidency. Monday’s news crowded that out of my consciousness for awhile. Jesus wants me for the Sunbeams. And the nursery, and the kids who are older than the Sunbeams but not yet baptized, and the Cub Scouts. Feel free to chortle: I know virtually nothing about little boys. Apparently, Heaven thinks it’s time for that to change. And I am grateful to no longer need to prepare a weekly lesson.

Time for me to enter the new yarn on Ravelry, grab my bags, and scoot out the door a little early. Lorelai wants a nice drink, and the jeans I bought after Beloved proposed last year, are getting to be just that much too comfy to wear to work. If I leave now I can swing by Wally World and get a new pair and still have time for knitting before work.

Better.

Beloved has an appointment today for an infusion. What makes that different from a transfusion, I don’t know, and I don’t have time to consult the Google and Thummim. But we are thankful.

OlderTwin and wife, and Mel and Squishy, came over last night to help us lobotomize pomegranates. Notwithstanding the floor covering they laid out, the carpet looks like a battlefield. Am I upset? No, because sooner or later that carpet is going bye-bye, and in the meantime it will remind me of the love and laughter in our living room last night.

I cooked dinner. For six people. And still remembered how. Granted, Beloved had the tomato sauce simmering when I got home with the rest of the meal. But I wrangled the spaghetti (two pounds of it) and the garlic bread, and we have meals through the end of the week if we like, and just enough garlic bread for me to take with one portion for lunch today, woohoo!

The contrast color of the Jitterbug looks fantastic against the semi-solid pale dusty pink. And the yarn shop which is near the temple, has Jitterbug in stock in what sounded, over the phone, like promising colors. I am heading there after work today.

This is the part where I pick out which shirt to wear, and what accessories, and get the heck out of Dodge. Hoping for another productive day at work. My desk wasn’t too bad when I got there yesterday.

Beloved’s youngest brother will be here tonight and stay for a couple of days. Really looking forward to that. He’s good people, and the house will rock with laughter, and we’ll all be the better for it.

If no news = good news, then...

News = bad news. In this case, mostly true. We’ll start with the trivial bits first.

Yesterday morning, when I was sitting on the bed in Houston, ready to add in the second color, I reread the instructions. Which is when I discovered that I had had it wrong from the set-up row. Thankfully, Jitterbug frogs well. I took it back to the slipknot and started over. I am happy to report that while it looked pretty amazing, done wrong, it looks incredibly better, done right. I have one row left before adding the second color. I figured that would give me adequate stuck-at-lights knitting for the morning commute.

The other news is more significant. First, I will praise the good people at MD Anderson for their thoroughness as well as their jaw-dropping kindness. [While we were waiting to meet with the oncologist, a nice young man walked around with a basket of healthy snacks: graham crackers and pretzels, etc.; they certainly didn’t do that when Beloved was treating at Parkland.] When we were there two weeks ago, we mentioned Beloved’s headaches as well as his mobility issue from stepping off the curb wrong and pulling a muscle in his gluteus maximus while crawling around harvesting the leeks and beets from the garden. Expensively-educated eyebrows started flapping. So they scheduled CT’s and MRI’s for this visit. That’s what happened when YoungerTwin took him down last week.

We got the results back yesterday. They compared the new CT scans with the ones taken in August. Lungs are basically okay at this time - there are some cancer (sub centimeter nodules) cells; in his liver, one of the tumors has increased from 5.6cm (about 2”) to 6.6cm (about 2.5”). So those scans pretty much tell us what we already knew. The lungs are holding their own, and the liver is revolting, which is something at which liver excels, on principle.

The MRI of his brain raises concerns; the tech and the doctor reviewing this MRI recommend an additional scan (skull base MRI) to check some soft tissue abnormalities that will need to be investigated. My unprofessional guess? More tumors.

The MRI of his spine showed some natural degeneration due to getting older. However there is metastasis into the spine. So the pain he has been having in his lower back above the right buttock may also be due to the metastasized cancer, in addition to the muscle pull.

They can give him injections to strengthen the bone; however, a possible side effect could be necrosis of the jaw tissue. Basically, that which would strengthen his spine and hip (critical in case of a fall) has a distinct possibility of killing his jawbone. So we have a hard decision to make in that area.

His hemoglobin should be 14 or so. It was 10.7 in August and has dropped to 8 as of last week; Beloved’s metaphor: 8 cylinder engine running on 4 cylinders with some bad spark plugs. MD Anderson will be coordinating with our local oncologist to set Beloved up for a blood transfusion, which we hope will get him back up to speed.

As far as the swelling in his right leg swelling, it is evidently a deep vein thrombosis (blood clot) and possibly a partial blockage in the femoral artery but this will be addressed in the near future.

There is some good news: several of the liver enzyme levels which had been rising (not good) have dropped a little (very good), meaning that the liver is doing what it can to fight the cancer.

Another positive note is that he has gained five lbs since two weeks ago. This is very good news. I keep telling him he can have some of mine.

Remember the brouhaha with UT Southwestern a few weeks ago? They did not want to play with our HMO. The drug in their clinical trial has been approved by the FDA, and it is an oral medication, which means it could be administered locally, presumably by our wonderful, local oncologist.

As far as the Phase 1 that we thought we were in? The doctor at MD Anderson has another patient who qualifies, who has seniority on the list. Unless that patient declines to participate, Beloved will not get into the study after all. On the one hand, much of what we learned yesterday (except for taking the second blood sample) could have been taken care of over the phone; on the other hand, news like we got is best delivered in person, so it was worth the time, expense, and physical stress of making the trip.

I will close with Beloved’s words to our children: “Cancer is leading in the scoring at this point - but I never learned how to quit and am too old to learn how now - so the battle is not over. Prospects in the 2nd half look good.” As for me, I am strangely calm and peaceful. (Or maybe just calmly strange.) But I have the unmistakeable sense that everything will work out perfectly and elegantly, so I intend to enjoy each day as it comes. Thank you for your prayers and positive thoughts. Please keep them coming.

Beloved is moulting.

He was right: his hair is definitely getting thinner all over; I find it ironic that he should be losing his hair a month after his last chemo and not during chemo. We go back for consultation tomorrow to find out what his treatment schedule will be on the investigational drug.

He and YoungerTwin (I do need to find better names for the twins, and for their wives) had a good, safe trip. I drove YT home after they got back to our house yesterday afternoon, and we had a good talk.

Beloved has showered and is getting dressed. He just emitted a new noise. It was alarming. I asked if he was OK. He said he was. I said I knew most of his noises, but that was a new one.

“I always test-drive my new noises on Sunday.”

*Snort*.

Today I will get sustained and set apart for my new calling. I may not be able to tell you what it is for a couple of days, because I don’t know if Beloved’s laptop is working, and I don’t know how much zip I will have after a lightning trip to Houston and back, particularly if I do most or all of the driving.

Yesterday, tired as he was, he picked a flat and a bucket of pomegranates, and we got most of them seeded and juiced last night. The rest will have to wait until tomorrow night, because after church we are coming home, taking a quick nap (neither of us slept well last night), and then getting the heck out of Dodge.

The new knitting is coming along nicely. I will probably get into the second color while we are at MD Anderson tomorrow. I wonder if that yarn shop will be open tomorrow? I would like to pick up the third color sooner, rather than later, and it would be an excellent souvenir of the trip.

I did a little buying to go with my shopping on Friday. (Not sure if I blogged that.) Three new/replacement dressy T-shirts, another pair of leggings, and some accessories. A very modest expenditure. And I saved Beloved $37.17 on the clothing alone. [1BDH said I should make sure to point that out to Beloved.]

I need to grab my handouts for what I hope will be my last Primary lesson to teach, ever, but what I suspect will not. I will genuinely miss having these kids in class; I will not miss having to prepare a lesson every week.

Conundrum conquered?

I put a bunch of yarns together at lunchtime, trying to figure out which project and what I was going for in terms of color. I very nearly went with Noro Kureyon Sock for the first section of Color Affection, with the Jitterbug as the second color, and a bamboo blend from Oldfield Creek: Panda. The yarns all begged to play together, but there would have been very little change in value from the one to the next. It would either have been brilliant, or an utter muddle, and while Jitterbug frogs well, Kureyon does not, plus even after it has been washed it will never be as soft as Jitterbug.

I decided to swing by The Shabby Sheep on my way home from work. I nearly had heart failure when I saw that the little yellow house was closed up. No worries: they have moved to the slightly larger house next door. And they had a (new, improved, i.e. larger) skein of Jitterbug in a pale dusty pink that is just half a tick lighter than the lightest pink in the skein I had. So it will become my jumping-off point, as soon as I wind up the ball and frog the sock toe from the other skein, and I will get in a modicum of knitting before calling it a day.

I will hit the other local yarn stores to see if they have the third color I am holding in my mind. A darkish grey would be gorgeous, but safe. I am thinking more along the lines of cranberry to plum, and Jimmy Beans has a color that looks likely, but I want to hold a skein in my hand, with the work in progress, and not try to guesstimate a match over the internet.

And that, my friends, is all you are getting out of me tonight. My eyes are growing heavier by the minute, and my hands are itching to knit.

Irn Bru? P.U.!

One more thing to cross off my bucket list, that I don’t remember putting on there.

Several years ago, before I became Beloved’s beloved, his ward had a missionary from Scotland (because even the most hard-shell traditional Christians just might listen to an elder with a brogue), and when Beloved and his eldest traveled to Scotland, they tried something called Irn Bru, which is something of a national treasure Across the Pond. It’s pronounced iron brew.

Squishy found some locally at an anglophile store in or around Dallas. He and Mel brought us a couple of bottles last night. I brought one to work this morning, leaving the other for Beloved’s enjoyment. We had the monthly staff meeting this morning, and sometimes those run long, and sometimes they run long after a night in which sleep has run short.

I have no idea how the quantity of caffeine in Irn Bru stacks up against that in my guilty pleasure, Cherry Coke, but I suspect it is geometrically diabolically greater. I also suspect I will have zero difficulty remaining awake on the drive home. [Edited to add: I was correct.] Or after dinner. [Haven’t had it yet but am still quite lively.] Or, possibly, after I pull the covers over my head tonight. [Oh dear!]

Irn Bru is suspiciously orange. It would make orange Jello feel inadequate. It might even be brighter than day-glow poster board! I nursed a cup all afternoon, and there was still about three-fourths of a cup left in my glass when I was ready to head home. I unrepentantly poured it down the drain. I brought the mostly-full bottle home with me and stuffed it into the outside fridge, because our inside fridge is singing Mimi’s death aria from La Bohème and is awaiting a visit from the appliance repairman on Saturday afternoon, which I suspect is a fiendish plot to keep me from buying yarn for the next project.

My Classic Lines Cardigan is done. All stitched up. I have yet to steam it, but I tried it on, that wonderfully scary moment when you find out if your gauge swatch (assuming you made one, which I did) was wildly off or if your yarn is a pathological liar that has been waiting patiently two and a half months to erupt into hysterical laughter.

It fits. Now for the temperature outside to slide consistently downward so I can wear it.

I’ve printed off one possibility for my next project: Color Affection, which is not the rectangle I thought it was, but a long and lovely crescent written for either fingering or laceweight yarn. My other option is something from Knit, Swirl.

I spent an hour or so this morning, poring through my copy of the latter while trying not to drool on the pages. There are several versions of it which use both laceweight and a heavier yarn. I may have finally found the right project for my turquoise/brown/etc. handpainted silk birthday yarn from several years back. I have started and frogged two or three projects. Right now the yarn is sulking in my studio.

If I go with Color Affection, I will take my one skein of Jitterbug in pink/grey/lavender(ish) that refuses to become a pair of socks, and see if I can score two greys to mix with it and make it happy to be out of the skein. I would hate to think that this skein is one of those that is never going to be pretty, all knitted-up. It called my name so sweetly, back in 2009 or 2010.

Six flags over excusez-moi?

Beloved was scooping some of the cooked chicken out of the container from the fridge. He asked in a kind but genuinely puzzled tone, “What’s this green stuff on top of the chicken?”

“The leeks. I didn’t want them to go to waste.”

“I’ve never had leeks in fajitas.”

“Think of it as the French influence. You know, six flags over fajitas.” Some of you may not know that six flags  have flown over the Lone Star State. One of them was the French tricolor, but for some reason we are known for barbecue and not beignets. ♫Oh, beignets can you seeeee?♪ Nope!

Pretty decent day at work. I ran by the grocery store on my way home, to pick up supplies for handmade cards for the five people at work who are regularly, or intermittently, my bosses. The cards are done, and I made them using things most people find delicious, but which I would rather not eat, so I’m not feeling the least bit tempted to taste-test.

At this writing, I am nearly done binding off the first band on the sweater front. Beloved has Dancing with the Stars on, and I’m heading out there in just a minute, to finish the band and stitch it down and pick up stitches for the second band. Or maybe just to go flirt with the man who keeps me in fajitas. Although I’m not sure that canoodling was what the songwriter had in mind when s/he wrote: This is the night we’ve waited for, oh what a treat we have in store, we love each other more and more, with every fam’ly night.

Tomato, tomahto. I’m outta here!

My friend Alison shared this.

And it’s too good not to re-post.

Stake conference today was just amazingly wonderful. I came home instructed, edified, and even more peaceful than is the norm around here.

The elder twin and a friend were just leaving as I got home. They had come to give Beloved a blessing. He was having killer headaches and that dull ache in his midsection which my experience with hepatitis in 1979 tells me is his liver having fits.

He separated maybe a dozen and a half pomegranates and got the seeds rinsed and put into ziploc bags for later processing. I made a simple dinner: four of those giant chicken thighs simmered in a big pot with our entire harvest of leeks (about two cups’ worth chopped; the leeks we got were slim like Audrey Hepburn, not sassy like Mae West) and some herbes de Provence and freshly-ground pepper. When the chicken was done, I pulled it out and used instant mashed potatoes to make an ultra-simple potato soup. (We needed to use up what was left in the box.) Also made garlic bread, and this time I got the timing right with the broiler, so third time really was the charm, just as it is for this marriage.

Insert wink here.

I have completed reinforcing the steek on the sweater, slashed it open, picked up stitches along one front, and am about a third done knitting the first band. The Packers game is still on, out in the living room, but I needed to get up and find a slightly different sitting position, and I am about footballed out for one day.

[Aside: I walked into my studio to put the silk thread away after finishing the steek reinforcements, and I closed the door, and the hooked rug on the floor, combined with all the other textile bits stashed or strewn about the room, benevolently conspired to make the game inaudible. Just as There Are No Cats in America, there is no football in my studio. Although if I could find an SD, MSD, or Yo-SD-sized poster of Aaron Rogers or Clay Matthews, particularly the latter, I bet I could find room for that. Blessing strikes me as a Packers fan, under her Eliza R. Snow demeanor.]

Mostly done.

The raglan decreases on the sweater are done, as is the neckband, as is the weaving-in of ends. The neckband is about three-fourths stitched in place, and I still need to close up the underarms, but we are about this [ ] far from being ready to reinforce the steek, turn this pullover into a cardigan, and whip up the bindings for the front edges.

This morning we had the baptism of one of my Primary kids. Her father joined the church a few weeks ago. This, as a result of the child who walked up to her mom one day and said that she needed some money because she wanted her mom to sign her up for church. She figured it was like soccer, where you have to pay to play.

Only with your life, honey, only with every scrap of brains and heart and grit that you have, if you want it to be worthwhile. And it is.

We have the preliminary appointments set, and if I understand everything, the last one they gave us is not the first one in the series of treatments. Beloved has to be off chemo for 28 days before they can begin the new protocol, and his last chemo was September 20th. He is tired and weak and achy, and he asked today if maybe his hair is getting thinner, and maybe it is, a little.

I suspect that, without chemo to keep them down to a dull roar, all the little cancer beasties in his liver are letting the good times roll, much like the bugs in the Raid commercial before the shadow of that aerosol can falls over them. I had hepatitis in 1979. What I remember is being unutterably weary (a different sort of weariness than from depression) and having a perpetual dull ache in the midriff. He is having headaches, still, but mostly the achy middle. He came to the baptism with me this morning, but he was using my cane to help drag himself along.

The doctor said last week that if the protocol works, it will significantly improve Beloved’s quality of life as well as the quantity of time remaining. We are hopeful.

It is one thing to suffer, personally. Most of the suffering I have experienced in life, I have brought upon myself through poor choices. Some of it has been inflicted upon me by the poor choices of others. And some of it is just a byproduct of living in a fallen world. It is ever so much harder to watch one’s children suffer, or one’s spouse. I know it’s not as bad as it will get before the end, for either of us, but I think of the counsel and warning given to the Savior’s mother, that a sword would pierce her heart also.

There are days that it feels like that.  And yet, for the moment, my heart is at peace and I have no shortage of hope.

Beloved just walked in and is making getting-ready-for-bed noises, so I will close this down for the night and wish you sweet dreams and peaceful slumber. And us, as well.

Simple Gifts / Choose the Right

One of my favorite hymns is the Shaker standard, Simple Gifts.



Another is in our hymnal, Choose the Right. What does this have to do with knitting, you ask? Well, sometimes the best solution to a situation turns out to be the simplest. I have begun the neckline shaping on my sweater. It involves short-rows, and in about a row and a half I will have to do a patterned row, where I want the handpainted yarn to lie on top of the finished stitch. However, that row is now a purl row, which means that I will not be looking at the face of the sweater, but its reverse. I wondered, do I knit-back-backward, a technique I learned many years ago? It accomplishes the same thing as purling, but you get to watch the stitches travel from left to right, which is not the norm if one is a right-handed knitter. [And I have not tried it in years.]

On all previous patterned rounds, I simply placed the decorative yarn to the left of the main yarn, ensuring that it would lie on top. It took me longer than I care to admit to realize that I can purl back and get the same effect if I make sure the decorative yarn is on the right. When I turn the work so the right side is facing me, the fancy yarn will be on the left, and the stitches will look just the way I want them to look.

'Til by turning, turning we come round right.

He’s doing better. Thank you!

His pain and discomfort is much diminished. He’s ambulating better. And we got great news yesterday: he’s been accepted into the clinical trial for the targeted treatment. We are still getting the proper referrals in place, but it’s all opening up in that direction, and we are tired but hopeful.

Another blessing is that his twins both have jobs where they can work from home, so they will be able to do some of the schlepping-of-Beloved to Houston and back, leaving me here at least part of the time to work and earn the money for deductibles and cat food and other inconsequentials like that. Squishy can also take a turn from time to time, but his employer needs more notice than do the twins’ bosses. This is one humongous relief, because I have X days of vacation remaining, and the first round of treatment would pretty much use them up. I am so grateful for the boys’ generosity and willingness to serve, and for the kindness of their managers.

I have one set of raglan decreases (three more decrease rounds) before I start the neck shaping on my sweater. I would give a hearty huzzah! but I woke up at 2:30 or so and have yet to go back to sleep. I tried, but he was up, and then I was still awake, so I got up and paid bills, which will make four business entities very happy indeed.

Last night after family prayer, Beloved went to bed, and I went out to the living room for a wee bit of knitting to finish winding down from the day. All of a sudden, there he was. He had come back out to tell me that he loves me (!) and make sure that I was well and truly kissed. And then he went back to bed.

Which is something that I would like to do, but I don’t see it happening before tonight. (I know that my office manager won’t want to see it happening while I am slaving over a hot keyboard.) Work went well yesterday; I am hoping for more of the same today.

I think I forgot to mention that the lovely blessing which Beloved got, spilled over onto me. There is no way, under ordinary circumstances, that I would have been able to drive half of the mileage to Houston, and 90% of it home, without Heavenly intervention. My right knee is just that bad. Some of you will remember how crippled-up I was after two round-trips to Huntsville five years ago for UIL choir camp for LittleBit. Not. Fun. But now? Only a hint of tenderness. Only the slightest bit of swelling.

So thankful.

Home and safe and hopeful.

We are back from Houston. I drove two good-sized chunks of it yesterday and virtually all of it this afternoon.  Beloved has/had an intermittent, fierce headache dancing all over the inside of his skull. We think part of it is that the frames on his new glasses are too snug. So he will get that fixed while I am at work.

We should hear in a couple of days if he has gotten into the targeted therapy at MD Anderson, but it is looking good. They have to do another CT of his head (because of the headaches) and are doing an MRI of his spine (to make sure that the pain in his derriere is strictly muscle-related, as we believe).

We have had family prayer, and he will be crawling into bed any minute now, and I will be heading out to the living room to finish depressurizing from the drive. I drank most of a 20 oz Cherry Coke on the way down last night, and I polished it off this afternoon, and to say that I am wired would be the mother of all understatements.

The lovely blessing which he got after church yesterday has spilled over onto me. Ordinarily, there is no way on this lovely green Earth that I could have driven 90% of a 250+ mile drive and been able to walk afterward. Not only am I moving around the house at a somewhat livelier than usual clip, I was the one who unloaded the car (not that there was much to unload, this time around; we ate pretty much everything we took, and I am quietly devouring the last of the gingersnaps, so the rest was mostly laundry, which is now in the hamper).

I found the one yarn shop in Houston which was theoretically open on Monday, and when I walked inside, it looked like it was being run by two good looking young guys, and I thought huzzah! but they turned out to be electricians, and the owner had just left.

I have to tell you about our room. If the battery had not been dead on his laptop, Beloved was tempted to post a description on FB. Shall we just say that it was, more or less, the equivalent of a honeymoon suite because our reservation had gotten lost in space, and that was the only nonsmoking room on the ground floor which was still available. So they upsized us. Headboard consisting of a ginormous mirror, which inspired no end of ribaldry on our part with a side order of wishing that we both felt more lively. Jacuzzi with a sign requesting that it not be turned on until all of the jets were properly underwater. Obedient sort that I am, I complied, but I think somebody must have hit something when cleaning it. because once the water hit about half-mast, there were geysers spraying out into the room from the back of the tub. A process which repeated itself with only slightly less enthusiasm as the tub drained after my (solo) soak.

I would say that the vast majority of the patrons of this clean, small, inexpensive inn are middle-aged to geriatric cancer patients/families like Beloved and Ms. Ravelled. I wonder how many of them can truly appreciate a mirrored headboard? I will add that it was not particularly comfortable to lean up against while knitting in bed. But at least we were not sleeping in Lorelai, or under a bridge.

Beloved is horizontal and fading fast. The only sounds in our room are the ticking of our clock and the tapping of my fingers on the keys. Night, all...

I *had* a clever title, but...

...in the time it took me to log on, said clever title had vanished like piddle in the sand, as EZ would have said. It has been a long, mostly lovely, and amazingly productive day, beginning around 5:00a.m. I got up, knitted for an hour or so, polished off the last of the tortellini alfredo and a handful of gingersnaps, then went back to my knitting. Every so often I would get up and go into my studio and putter. After Beloved was up and about, I started hanging pictures and stuff on the walls in there. In the course of the day I turned my work table 90 degrees; it just fits between two bookcases and against the window. I emptied one of my big Rubbermaid storage tubs. I even got out the vacuum and took a swipe at some newly-freed-up carpet, then hit a bit of the dining room (which is still, alas, mostly carpeted with storage boxes) and the living room and hall before deciding that enough was enough. I brought in the clean laundry. I have done 18 or maybe 24 rounds on the sweater, and there are maybe 350 stitches left. I just finished transferring the stitches onto my HiyaHiya 120cm needle, as the 100cm KnitPicks Harmony is almost too long to work the stitches in the round without messing up my gauge, and too short to use Magic Loop.

And in between, there was General Conference, and before that a stealth run up to the yarn store in Farmersville, or at least that was the plan. I wanted to pick up two more of the Harmony needles, one 60cm long and one 80cm long. As I approached Farmersville, I saw a banner on the welcome sign that said they were having a heritage festival. Today. I wondered if I would find any parking. Turns out, parking was the least of my problems: a very polite policeman directed me onto a side street toward a parking lot. I turned, but I kept on going. I had calculated my window of opportunity very carefully. I had just enough time to walk in the store, grab my needles, pay for them, get back into Lorelai, and scoot for home so I would be on time for the opening exercises of General Conference. I had neither the time nor the energy to park my car, walk however many blocks remained into downtown, and dodge the parade.

So, I got back onto the highway, and pretty soon I realized I was on the wrong highway, headed east toward Greenville instead of south toward Garland. I confirmed this using the GPS on my phone. (I had to upgrade my Google Maps feature first.) So I whipped a U-ey [is there an official way to spell that?] and barreled on back home, composing a letter to the city fathers and the Chamber of Commerce as I went.

Conference was amazing. You may have heard that they have lowered the age requirements for the young full-time missionaries: 18 for the young men, and 20 for the young women. As the camera panned the crowd in the Conference Center, I saw a boy about 15 whose face just lit up like Christmas at the news.

The talks were uniformly wonderful and inspiring and for the most part not guilt-inducing. And I realized that the amazing sister who is a counselor in the Primary General Presidency is also a daughter of President Monson. She has his face, his mannerisms, his phrasing. And she was wearing a gorgeous red jacket with a big purple corsage and bright red lipstick and decidedly red hair, so vibrant and lovely and the kind of role model I wish I had seen more of, back in the 1980s and 90s. (Do you remember when we thought Chieko Okasaki was a little exotic? And now we have had at least two single sisters in the General RS Presidency.)

I am tired, and Beloved is momentarily awake and watching college football, and tomorrow is going to be another long day, one that ends in Houston after a five or more hour drive. One of his sons and his fishing buddy gave him a blessing after the Priesthood session of Conference tonight. Beloved stayed home: he was in too much pain, and thankfully he is not the kind to suffer in silence, so I get to do little things to make life easier.

I know I am loved, and I know I am wanted, and while I wish he were not fighting for his life, I have not been needed in a very long time, and it is lovely to be needed in ways that I can do something about.

Yawning. Stretching. Over and out.

Laughing, but not up my sleeve.

My favorite counselor in the bishopric, he who complicated my life by extending the calling to teach in Primary when I was perfectly content to be teaching Relief Society, called my cell phone last night on my drive home from work. Could he come by and talk with me about something?

I knew he was about to further complicate my life, and he has, with plenty of help from others. I will let you know what my new calling is, once I have been sustained. Which will be in approximately three weeks, because this weekend is General Conference (first weekends in April and October, every year, just like clockwork, and I am so stoked to hear what our leaders have been inspired to share with us), and next weekend is stake conference (also twice a year, but a moveable feast like unto Easter, as it were).

I am thankful for parents who taught me to be responsible, and were mostly successful. When I was thirteen, fourteen, fifteen (you get the picture), I thought responsibility was the ugliest word in the English language. I just wanted to sit around the house and read all day. Or sew or knit or whatever. But pull my weight in the family? Pretty low on my priority list.

I have just finished reconciling our checkbooks, paying tithing on the paycheck that hit the bank a few hours ago, and paying one of our bills. I have recently taken to transferring the dibs and dabs that are leftover from the previous paycheck into savings, before paying bills out of the new paycheck. (This time it was $11.70.) I had hoped to be able to do a little shopping for the house, and for me, but that will have to wait another couple of weeks. And I will have to make the cards I was planning to buy for Bosses Day (one of the most ridiculous events in the Hallmark calendar; every day is Bosses Day, which is why they call them Bosses), but that will only enhance my reputation as the quirky, creative one in the office. (I am not the only quirky, creative one, but I am definitely the most flagrantly flamboyant one.)

So, this is shaping up to be a good day. I have worked one round on the sweater and the better part of another. Lunch is already in the fridge at work, because my attorney took several of us to lunch yesterday. Tonight is date night with my husband. We have Conference this weekend, and a birthday party for two of the granddaughters on Sunday, after which Beloved and I will head down to Houston for his appointment at MD Anderson on Monday. I have already printed a list of yarn stores in Houston, to hit on our way back home. I may not buy any souvenir yarn, but I would definitely like to see what is out there.

We had five secretaries out, yesterday, for one reason or another. I was a busy, busy girl. But it was a very good, very productive day, and the ones that I backed up will come back to a little less chaos on their desks.

Quick catch-breath

Watched the debates last night. I loathe politics and will be glad when the election is over and we can get on with life. That said, I think Mitt cleaned the President’s clock.

I got some knitting in while listening. Woke up a quarter to four this morning and knitted some more. 410 stitches on my needles.

Fired up the Vitamix and grr’d up the strawberries and bananas with a carton of key lime Greek yogurt and just enough milk to facilitate the grr’ing. Drank what I could; put most of it in a tall sippie cup in the fridge for when Beloved wakes up later this morning.

We are thinking of driving down to Houston after the birthday party for my two oldest granddaughters, rather than getting up at dark-thirty Monday morning.

I am still undecided whether to ask for a leave of absence from the temple. Maybe I will have a better feel for that after my shift tonight. In the meantime, my bags are packed, and I’m ready to go (just not leaving on a jet plane, and do know when I’ll be back again, but if I don’t stir my stumps I will need said jet plane to get to work on time).

Life is good. Beloved is awake, vertical, ventilating, and while he’s moving around more slowly than either of us would like, we are both hopeful about his getting into the targeted treatment at MD Anderson.

I have the hiccups.

I have hiccups like Gladys Knight can sing. I have hiccups like Einstein was smart. If having hiccups were an Olympic event, I would capture the gold, the silver, and the bronze, simultaneously, and then sprain something while trying to keep an appendage on each representative section of the stand.

Any of my gentle readers who are male, might find this a good time to go take out the garbage, or floss the cat’s teeth.

Once I had the hiccups while standing on the corner in downtown Boise, waiting for the light to change. This was decades before gravity had its way with my body. Guys have excellent peripheral vision. Know how I know this? Helen of Troy may have had the face that launched a thousand ships, but I had the hiccups that nearly launched a thousand fender-benders. And untold cases of neck strain.

OK, guys, you can come back now.

Beloved is way tired, and moving a lot like Grandpa McCoy if you’re old enough to remember that show. I’m not mocking, because he’s not the only one chez Ravelled to have that quintessential hitch in the gitalong. Stabilize, then mobilize, is the phrase I brought back from his family reunion. It’s a good motto to live by. Especially if you’re no longer 25.

He had a good day today and is feeling much better than yesterday, which means he is feeling light years better than he did most of Saturday.

Dinner tonight was tortellini Alfredo and garlic bread. This makes twice this week that I have been in the kitchen as something other than comic relief or chief bottle washer. We probably ought to call the Guinness people.

It is late. Dinner has nearly settled to the point where it is safe for me to go to bed. (I got a manicure after work, so we didn’t eat until after 8:00, and I have no wish to go three rounds with the Reflux Fairy tonight.) I am shutting down the popsicle stand, turning out the light, and heading to the living room for one last round on my sweater.

Night, y’all. [We are down to 442 stitches on the sweater yoke, but who’s counting?]

Blessings (not in disguise)

While Saturday was rough, chez Ravelled, and I thought it might end with a trip to the emergency room, Beloved is feeling somewhat better. When we sat together and held hands for family prayer last night, his hand was warm. It had been distinctly cool for the past several days. He did pull a muscle in his rump while out picking vegetables this afternoon. I told him I would *not* be kissing it better. He snorted.

Dinner was a combined effort tonight. All I really wanted was a humongous bowl of mashed potatoes, liberally laced with horseradish. He wanted potatoes, but not spicy. And he wanted meat. I told him I am pretty inept when it comes to cooking meat. I have eaten more meat in the last eight months than I probably had in the previous decade. But he walked me through cooking two of the fat, sassy pork chops I scored at the discount meat bin on Saturday, and I ate half of my chop and saved the other half for tomorrow’s lunch, with almost enough leftover potatoes to call it a good meal. I was a complete and utter glutton with those potatoes tonight. Seconds. Not quite enough room at the inn for thirds, hence leftover taters in my lunch tomorrow, but not a whole whale of a lot.

Work went well. I got a lot of little piddly but thoroughly necessary things done today, and a good start on opening one of our new cases, and all of my To-Do’s to-done. Hoping for more of the same tomorrow.

It was cool enough this morning that I got to wear my new red corduroy jacket. And lunch was quiet enough that I got some serious knitting done, with more of that once I got home. My brain and my fingers want to go back out to the living room and crank out another round or two. My eyes and my metabolism want to grab the jammies and hit the sack.

Toothbrush, here I come!

Ok, maybe “capsules.”

I was getting the information second-hand and filtering it through Valkyrie mode. At any rate, a formula which differs from that on the original prescription, and the insurance will pay for it.

Beloved was too tired to go to church today. He is out there making posole for dinner. [Possibly the only respectable use for the poor, tortured creature which is hominy.] No extra spices today, just mild enchilada sauce as the basis, and the pork steaks I picked up at the store yesterday. I am thankful from the bottom of my heart (and vice versa, in a few hours).

He has slept a lot today. The Packers game is on. He is only marginally paying attention to it. Younger-twin’s wife just brought the Beloved grandchildren over for a drive-by hugging. Granddaughter asked, “What’s that smell?”

Beloved said, “Posole” just as I said, “Dead frogs.” Guess which they heard? I got to tell my “dead frogs” story. The kids seemed to enjoy it.

I am now halfway through the third repeat of the second part of the raglan decreases on the sweater. Specifically, I am working the round in which the alternate color comes in and must be positioned so as to lie on top as those stitches come off the needle and join the fabric below. I got most of the way around during sacrament meeting. Thankfully, each decrease round (I am now decreasing every other row, and will be doing so a total of 38 times before the neckline shaping begins) is eight stitches shorter than the row before. Eventually I will have fewer stitches on my needle than I did while working the body up to the armscyes.

Eventually hasn’t happened yet and may not for a week or two. But that happy thought keeps me going.

Beloved’s twins will come by after work (computer emergencies which demanded their attention/presence at their respective companies) and give him a blessing. And in the meantime, there is knitting. And, quite soon, posole.

Life is good.

Ms. Ravelled goes valkyrie.

My children learned to fear the phrase, “Do you want to see Ugly Mother?” I stole it from my friend Nita, who had the temerity to die last year. She and her husband reared five sons, all of whom have grown up to be fine young men, in part because when they were creating chaos en masse as teenagers, she would raise one eyebrow ~ but not her voice ~ and utter those words. And the boys would instantly take it down to a dull roar.

Beloved did not get chemo this week, as his white count is too low. He will not get it next week, either. His blood pressure is also low. His hands are cool. He is weary, but thankfully he has been able to sleep more than usual at night. He got a two-hour chunk and a three-hour chunk on Wednesday night and a four-hour nap on Thursday. His cancer count is about half what it was at its worst last year. His potassium is low. He lost eight pounds last week because food is going straight through without giving him so much as a belch or a kiss-my-grits.

[PrivateFormerly private joke; he loathes grits.]

I called the oncologist’s office on Thursday after getting the email from Beloved, giving me the above news. His appetite is fickle. Would it be a good idea to give him Ensure or something like unto it? Mom gave that to Dad when he was battling cancer. Yes, it might help, but the sugar in it tends to increase diarrhea, plus cancer loves sugar. The dietitian called Beloved and told him: white bread, white potatoes, white rice. Stuff that ordinarily is not good for people because it has less nutritional value, but in this case is good because it hangs around in the body longer, thus giving Beloved a chance of snagging some nourishment as it flies by.

He asked me to pick up his Rx’s on my way home from work. Two were ready; there was an issue with the third one, something about the insurance not being willing to pay for it. There was an indifferent connection at the drive-through speaker (they couldn’t hear me well, but I could hear them), so I parked Lorelai and went inside. Beloved has a prescription for an anti-diarrhea drug, which is OTC, and the insurance company wouldn’t pay for it. The pharmacist was apologetic and very kind. I was livid but under control by the grace of Heaven. The doctor wanted 480 pills which would have cost us $113 and change, but since the drug was OTC, I could get it for much less out in the main area of the store.

The Rx specified two pills every two hours, maximum 16 pills per day; the Rx was for a month’s worth. I came home with five boxes of generic at .88 per box and a promise from the pharmacist that she would contact the insurance company and see if they would work with us. I thanked her and wished her a good weekend and meant it.

We got a call later last night from the pharmacy. They had gotten in touch with the insurance company, and while pills were not covered by insurance, tablets were, so if the doctor writes a new Rx for tablets, we can get a month’s worth for $10, and in the meantime we have enough to get Beloved through the weekend until the oncologist’s office reopens on Monday.

When I am out running errands later today, I will take a handwritten thank-you note to the lovely, competent, helpful pharmacist. I am so thankful for the years and years of chronic frustration when I was married to the children’s father: they taught me patience, persistence, and the ability to fuse my anger with civility, like a laser scalpel, rather than blowing up like a defective grenade.

Valkyrie mode gets things done without grieving the Spirit, when Ugly Mother and going postal, do not.

In knitting news, because that’s what some of you come here for, the sleeves are now joined to the sweater body, and I have completed the first seven decrease rounds. There are now “only” 506 stitches on my needles, and the sixth round, where I drop one strand of the main color and substitute a strand of the handpainted yarn and micromanage the stitches so the fancy yarn will lie on top? That one took about an hour. Maybe a little more, because we were watching/listening to The Avengers last night. I am now at the part where I decrease every other round, and I noticed that my gauge on the sweater body is a smidgen more relaxed than on the sleeves. I don’t think a knitting muggle will notice. And, assuming the yoke fits properly, if they do I will just smile and tell them it is a design feature.

And then there was shopping.

My dental hygienist, who is a quiet, lovely, loving, devout Catholic, and I have good discussions on practical Christianity (i.e., how to walk the talk). We had another one while she was spiffing up my teeth on Wednesday. My dentist is LDS and a good example of a righteous priesthood holder, so she is more than usually conversant with our doctrine.

She makes the whole every-four-months procedure painless as well as inevitable, and we both come away from it lifted and strengthened.

Then I took my happy clean teeth straight to In N Out for a burger and fries and a vanilla milkshake. No rash, no rumblies in the tumblies (but then I didn’t supersize anything, either), and no major organs fell off, or out. Thence to the new outlet mall. I found brown footless leggings in a wonderful cocoa brown, at 30% off at the Lane Bryant outlet. Looked at purses at the Coach outlet (didn’t find anything I really liked, which is good because it wasn’t in the budget, while the leggings were, more or less; now to finish mending that skirt!). Noted the presence of an OshKosh outlet (incipient grandson will get more than one outfit from that establishment unless I miss my guess). And LeCreuset. And a generic kitchen shop with way too much Hamilton Beach. My mother was not a fan of Hamilton Beach. Their quality standards may have improved since my mother gave me her opinion 40+ years ago.

Did not check out the food court. See In N Out, above. Plus, Beloved’s cooking has spoiled me for a lot of my former haunts. I eat much better, healthier, and cheaper at home. ♥

The Harlot was here? Last night? And I missed her?

*aughhhhhhhhhh!*

In which Ms. Ravelled learns that not only did she miss the most recent lecture by the ever-amazing Yarn Harlot, but there is a new yarn store a few blocks from the duplex in which she used to live, until she married Beloved.

 *aughhhhhhhhhh!*

In less noisy news, it appears that I like shark. Rather a lot. Is it OK to put it on my bucket list just to have the pleasure of marking it done?

I have something less than ten rounds to go, before I start adding sleeves to the sweater body in progress. I will be heading back out to the living room in a few minutes.

I will watch the odd football game with Beloved. I am starting to ask thoughtful questions about football, if thoughtful and football are not entirely and utterly oxymoronic. I draw the line at Survivor. If I want terror and drama, I will examine the balance in my check register the day before payday, or contemplate a world without cashmere. Or dark chocolate.

I voted with my feet. My feet brought my hands to the computer, which took me to Google Reader, which led me to the realization that very few people at the tribal feast last night would have understood, had I stood them up to go listen to the Yarn Harlot.

*aughhhhhhhhhh!*

Time to go knit, in hopes of taking the edge off.

*aughhhhhhhhhh!*

Rusty. And at least one other dwarf you never heard of.

There is a reason women my age don’t get pregnant. Beloved and his youngest grandson are fishing this morning. The plan was for M the Marauder to spend the night camped out on our living room floor so the boys could get up way earlier than dark-thirty and head to a friend’s and thence to the lake.

Family prayer? check.
Last drink of water? check.
Last trip to the loo? check.

First there was the drumming on the Captain America shield. I went out and explained, politely and firmly, that if it continued, I would be taking up the shield until morning, because I have to go to work, and I needed to get to sleep, and if I don’t get enough sleep I get cranky.

Then there was the crying, which I just managed to hear over the hissing of my CPAP. So I went out to investigate, talked a little, listened a lot, sang a few songs, and he still missed his brothers and sister and mom and dad and wanted to go home. I went back and rousted Beloved and told him it was his turn.

Upshot was that M’s mom drove back down here and retrieved him, and one or the other parental unit brought him back this morning, and the boys are off fishing, and instead of falling asleep around 9:30 as planned, I was awake until nearly midnight (for the third night in a row, but at least the other two nights were fun).

And I want to pay a couple of bills this morning, but I have no idea where the check blanks might be, and I got maybe four hours of sleep (because the alarm went off earlier than usual) and I am well and truly cranky. I took a melatonin last night, my first, and I don’t know if it was that or the pork and beans at dinner, but my ankles started itching suspiciously, so I slathered them with eczema cream, nuked a mug of milk, and came back to bed.

I feel as if I had been stuffed in a bag and beaten with a baseball bat. My eyes ache, my joints are stiff. Beloved did not sleep well; ergo I did not sleep well, and I finally understand why the husbands and wives in 1960s sitcoms slept in separate beds but that is not an option.

And I realized, halfway in, that I had begun the final round of increases on the waist shaping, one round too soon. I just said to heck with it (more or less) and forged on ahead.

It’s gonna be a Cherry Coke day.

So I wasn’t hallucinating?

As I was driving home the other day, I passed (or maybe was passed by) a car whose rear looked like this. Crossed flags like a Corvette. Shape like a Corvette. But across the back it said Callaway in bright chrome letters that looked like a professional installation. Here in North Texas, Callaway’s is a nursery. That black jobbie was the fastest, sleekest tree I’ve ever seen!

Oops, CallOway’s.

The next mystery to solve is a window decal I saw another morning on the back of a black SUV. It had something that might have been a scarab, might have been a samovar, might have been a Rubenesque ballerina sitting in a chair with her arms gracefully reaching for the ceiling in an approximation of fifth position.

It’s been a pretty amazing weekend. Beloved is on his way home from a deep sea fishing trip with his sons, their thoughtful, collective birthday gift to him this year. They left yesterday afternoon around 3:00. He expects to roll in around 2:30a.m. I expect to be asleep.

He says they caught eleven sharks and two kingfish. I guess the queenfish were all hanging out at Club Med? Shark has never exactly been on my bucket list, but if he fixes it, I will eat it, and it will probably be delicious. But I bet it won’t taste like chicken.

I baked a little over three dozen two-bite brownies to take to Secondborn’s last night for girls night out. Although technically I supposed it would have been more accurate to call it girls night in. Some of us put together a Lego version of Gringotts Bank from Harry Potter. We watched a brief music video, which led to a discussion of Dr. Horrible’s Sing Along Blog. Fourthborn sent me the link. I watched it after clothes-shopping but before grocery shopping. I had no idea that Neal Patrick Harris could sing! The harmonies are just delicious.

Mel and I got back to Garland (in separate cars) around midnight, and I was in bed before 1:00. I know. But what I did not know is that Beloved had accidentally set the alarm to go off at 7:00 this morning. I came mighty close to taking his name in vain while flailing about in an effort to silence the beast. Turnabout is fair play. I have no idea if he will be up for sacrament meeting tomorrow, but I will be there, same bat time, same bat station. And that alarm will go off right on schedule...

So what did I do today? Finished two separate pages on my financial spreadsheet, made a list of the October birthday cards to get (and bought them), had a nice chat on the phone with one of my new sisters out in California, and a great visit with BestFriend, who had an errand that brought her over to my side of the world, and I prevailed upon her to swing by before she headed back for home and housework and hubby. She got a tour of the kitchen, living room, dining room, and guest bathroom (of which she approves highly). And she has forgiven me for accidentally boob-dialing her number last night, not once but twice. This is what happens when I tuck my phone in my bra, and Fourthborn gets me to laughing uncontrollably. She [Fourthborn] had had an interesting day, nowhere near as fun as mine had been, and we went through the drive-in at Arby’s. The bag declared its contents to be Good Mood Food. Struck us funny. And if we hadn’t laughed, would have struck us again.

I have been wanting another lightweight jacket. So I did a whale of a lot of window shopping, and I tried on about a dozen things at CJ Banks and looked for but did not find anything at Lane Bryant and Kohl’s. Came home with a berry red corduroy jacket at 40% off. I think it will be stunning with my brown net skirt, once I finish repairing it, and if I can find a pair of lace-hemmed brown leggings to wear under the skirt.

I also drove up to Sprouts and came home with chick food. Healthy chick food, mind you, but chick food nonetheless. Baby croissants and salad mix and grape tomatoes and baby carrots and red seedless grapes and clementines and (shh, don’t tell Beloved!) pomegranate ice cream with dark chocolate chips. At great personal sacrifice, I am saving that for dessert tomorrow night. I also bought a pint of the mango Noosa yogurt I love so much, and I am going to enjoy some now. I’ve already had a nice salad, and my innards are smiling so hard that I feel as if I had gone dancing.

Speaking of which, sortof, I slept very well last night (although I did miss my husband, and I’m not just saying that because he reads the blog). No sheet wars. No restless leg syndrome. Thursday night it was like being in bed with “Moses Supposes”. He has yet to kick me, but it certainly makes for a lively night. ♥

The Family: A Proclamation to the World

There is, among some LDS bloggers, an ongoing celebration of this revelation given in 1995 (hence the button to the left of this page). Here are mes deux centimes for a cool and possibly rainy Tuesday morning.

“We, the First Presidency and the Council of the Twelve Apostles of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, solemnly proclaim that marriage between a man and a woman is ordained of God and that the family is central to the Creator’s plan for the eternal destiny of His children.” Hence our defense of traditional families. Don’t blame us. Take it up with the Almighty.

“All human beings—male and female—are created in the image of God. Each is a beloved spirit son or daughter of heavenly parents, and, as such, each has a divine nature and destiny. Gender is an essential characteristic of individual premortal, mortal, and eternal identity and purpose.” This is where it gets personal. I gave birth to five lovely daughters, one of whom is in the process of turning herself into a handsome son. It is a tender subject. I have been granted a measure of peace over it. That will have to do, for now.

“In the premortal realm, spirit sons and daughters knew and worshipped God as their Eternal Father and accepted His plan by which His children could obtain a physical body and gain earthly experience to progress toward perfection and ultimately realize their divine destiny as heirs of eternal life. The divine plan of happiness enables family relationships to be perpetuated beyond the grave. Sacred ordinances and covenants available in holy temples make it possible for individuals to return to the presence of God and for families to be united eternally.” I bear you my witness that the sacred work which we do in the temples, is very real. I have not been privileged to see any of my ancestors whom I have served in the House of the Lord, but I have felt their presence and their gratitude.

“The first commandment that God gave to Adam and Eve pertained to their potential for parenthood as husband and wife. We declare that God’s commandment for His children to multiply and replenish the earth remains in force. We further declare that God has commanded that the sacred powers of procreation are to be employed only between man and woman, lawfully wedded as husband and wife.” It was a lovely, sacred experience to witness Beloved’s firstborn and his bride make covenants which will bind them to God and to one another for the eternities. Their son, who will arrive next February, will be born in the covenant of eternal marriage. I look forward with great hope to the day, not far ahead, when I will be sealed to Beloved.

“We declare the means by which mortal life is created to be divinely appointed. We affirm the sanctity of life and of its importance in God’s eternal plan.” In other words, sex is (or is intended to be) holy and sacred, as well as pleasurable and fun. Some of the sweetest and most awe-some experiences of my life, were when we were inviting little ones to come join our family.

“Husband and wife have a solemn responsibility to love and care for each other and for their children. “Children are an heritage of the Lord” (Psalm 127:3). Parents have a sacred duty to rear their children in love and righteousness, to provide for their physical and spiritual needs, and to teach them to love and serve one another, observe the commandments of God, and be law-abiding citizens wherever they live. Husbands and wives—mothers and fathers—will be held accountable before God for the discharge of these obligations.” And for too long I used this paragraph to justify my anger toward the children’s father. He has once more regained temple worthiness and is hoping to be able to serve as a temple worker. If that happens, it will be Heavenly Father’s will, which is infinitely and eternally more important than my own. And if it does, our children and their children will be blessed (whether they like it or not) by having two of us serving in the House of the Lord.

“The family is ordained of God. Marriage between man and woman is essential to His eternal plan. Children are entitled to birth within the bonds of matrimony, and to be reared by a father and a mother who honor marital vows with complete fidelity. Happiness in family life is most likely to be achieved when founded upon the teachings of the Lord Jesus Christ. Successful marriages and families are established and maintained on principles of faith, prayer, repentance, forgiveness, respect, love, compassion, work, and wholesome recreational activities. By divine design, fathers are to preside over their families in love and righteousness and are responsible to provide the necessities of life and protection for their families. Mothers are primarily responsible for the nurture of their children. In these sacred responsibilities, fathers and mothers are obligated to help one another as equal partners. Disability, death, or other circumstances may necessitate individual adaptation. Extended families should lend support when needed.” It is funny how time and circumstances can change one’s attitude. Mine in particular. Had I been the primary breadwinner when I was married to the children’s father, I would have been cranky. Seriously cranky. But now, when I bring home two paychecks a month, and Beloved has a monthly disability check that roughly equals my take-home pay (because of insurance premiums, savings accounts, and debt retirement), and he is the one who primarily keeps our home running smoothly, I can only hum along with a verse of one of my favorite hymns: “Time doth softly, sweetly glide, when theres love ... at ... home.”

“We warn that individuals who violate covenants of chastity, who abuse spouse or offspring, or who fail to fulfill family responsibilities will one day stand accountable before God. Further, we warn that the disintegration of the family will bring upon individuals, communities, and nations the calamities foretold by ancient and modern prophets.” I have seen those calamities in my own family, following my divorce from the children’s father.

“We call upon responsible citizens and officers of government everywhere to promote those measures designed to maintain and strengthen the family as the fundamental unit of society.” Ergo, the Defense of Marriage Act, Prop 8, and other laws and ordinances as (unfortunately) necessary.

I should have left the house 15 minutes ago. There will be serious bending of the 12th Article of Faith on my commute to work this morning. I am such a work in progress...

Yesterday.

Truly sublime. Beloved’s eldest and his wife were sealed in the temple for eternity. What this means, in practical terms, is that if they honor their covenants to one another and to God, their marriage will last beyond “as long as you both shall live” or “until death do you part”. Yes, there is that kind of authority here on the Earth, in these days. This hearkens back to the Savior’s instruction to Peter that whatsoever he sealed on Earth would be sealed in Heaven (i.e., God would ratify that sealing) and whatsoever he loosed on Earth would be loosed in Heaven (i.e., my upcoming sealing cancellation to the chldren’s father so that I may be sealed to Beloved).

We went out for lunch afterward, to a chain restaurant near the temple. Beloved had a cup of chili which he says was the best restaurant chili he’s had and nearly as good as his own. I got the Southwest egg rolls, handed him one section, inhaled two more, and threw the remaining ones into a to-go box and dumped the rest of the sauce over them, as we had to be at the hospital in 20 minutes to get his chemo pump taken off.

Br. Sushi and another dear friend came to dinner tonight before heading on to the singles’ dance at our stake center. Beloved and I are heartily glad to be out of the singles’ program (especially glad that he was finally released as a stake singles’ representative), although I miss the dances, and he misses socializing with our friends in the program. I also miss my friends, don’t get me wrong, but I truly love to dance, and I miss feeling the music flow up from the floor through my feet and into my heart.

Beloved baked a German chocolate cake on Friday. He made the frosting yesterday, and I frosted it while he napped. He had thrown a pork roast into the crockpot. We had mashed sweet potatoes with butter, nutmeg, and real maple syrup. We also had sourdough bread and the vegetable jollop we both like. And lots and lots of visiting. I got almost all of the dishes into the dishwasher and run, and a couple of pots are still soaking in the sink. I’ll take care of that after breakfast.

I am really excited about teaching my Primary lesson today. We are still mining some of my favorite parts in the Book of Mormon, and so I can teach with conviction, personal experience, and testimony. Plus, there is a bit of food involved, which is nearly as much fun as the lessons which involve coloring, etc. (I hope I am not going to the warm place because my favorite part of teaching is making the handouts. I love it when the lesson has something for the kids to take home, or to work on during class. Although my heart was warmed in a good way when we were talking during last week’s lesson, and most of the kids said they loved to read ~ me too ~ but one of the girls said what she liked best was making things ~ me too.)

Speaking of making things, I passed halfway on the sweater body last night. In a couple of rounds I will start the increases which will restore the number of stitches on my needle to what I cast on at the hem. When we get home from church, I will juggle knitting with napping. I most devoutly hope that I get a longer nap today than I did yesterday.

UT Southwestern stoutly maintains that even if my HMO is willing to grant an out of network exception, they are not willing to play ball. Which ticks Beloved off, but which is just fine with me although I cannot explain why, other than I just don’t like them or feel good about them. And in far more exciting news, Beloved has another appointment at MD Anderson in a few weeks for a 20 minute consultation that we have been told is likely to last closer to three hours, and if that goes well he will go back for 10 to 14 days of treatment for the uprising of the metastasis to his liver. They call it a targeted therapy.

So we will do another lightning run down to Houston, leaving crazy-early in the day, having the appointment, and driving back the same day. My knee is up to that if I am sharing the driving, although I make no promises as to how effective I will be at work the next day. If he gets accepted, we will have to work out how much, if any, time I will spend down there with him. I’m definitely not up for driving down and back again, separately, and I don’t know if he would be up to picking me up at the airport if I were to fly down on an off day. But that’s all next month, and we will just take it a day at a time until then.

The evaluations are over at work, as near as I can determine, so I should be hearing later this week if I get part or all of the new attorney’s docket. With the things I learned while the others were observing my work, I have streamlined my workflow (and one of them is already quite impressed with it as it stood). I think I can. I think I can. I think I can.

Beloved is out of the shower, which means that breakfast is forthcoming, and it’s time for me to empty the dishwasher while he dresses so that he will have a clear field and I can shower while he cooks. We are getting this down to an art form.

We are also taking both cars to work, as we did last week, in case sacrament meeting is all he is up for. He is crazy-tired, but oh so kind and thoughtful and funny and a delight to be with. ♥

Oh barium me not on the lone prairie...

I’m sorry, I just couldn’t resist. We have some answers on Beloved’s recent symptoms: all of them side effects of the chemo. The fatigue, the shortness of breath, and as we learned from his eye exam yesterday, cataracts which are forming and will need to be dealt with. The retina scan shows healthy tissue, huzzah!

The swelling in his right leg has yet to go down. He has a new outbreak of slits on the soles of his feet from last week’s chemo. He made an interesting assortment of noises in his sleep last night, none of them of the ooh, baby, baby variety.

And in half an hour we hop in Lorelai and I take him for this week’s chemo.

In happier news, we tried a new restaurant last night. I spotted it when I was running errands on Saturday. O’live; they feature Lebanese fusion, whatever that is. It was better than average food, and we spent about twice what I would have liked. The felafels were small discs about the size of a BabyBel cheese, and browned to the point of almost being burnt. But their innards were delicious. The dolmas were meh; I like a lot more rice in mine, and these were skinny little things, about the size of my forefinger. I like the ones from Central Market a lot better, and you get more bite for your buck. I tried something new: manakish, a small flatbread pizza that is basically thyme and olive oil on a pita, with sesame seeds. It was really interesting, in a more-good-than-bad way. Beloved had the lamb shish kebab. I ate a bite of his lamb. It was not as gross as the lamb-burger we ate when the children’s father was at BYU and we couldn’t afford hamburger at $1.00 a pound, so we bought ground lamb at $.50 a pound, and I was pregnant with Firstborn. Beloved thought that some of his lamb tasted suspiciously like beef. There was some gristle. I got some in my bite, and he got more in his.

The service was excellent. We were the only ones there. The decor is lovely, and the background music is restful, and we will go back, but next time we’ll go for appetizers. Or dessert. Or a meal with no appetizers. Meanwhile, I have two slices of manakish that will go to work with me as part of lunch.

In other health news, Beloved has an appointment next Wednesday at UT Southwestern with the doctor for that clinical trial. I looked the doctor up on my HMO. He’s not a part of it. So I will be making phone calls this morning, assuming my workload permits.

My sweater is perking right along. Pure joy. Six more rounds until I do the last decrease for the waist shaping, and then after a pause there will be corresponding increases so that I return to the original number of stitches.

Beloved is almost ready for me to slather aloe on the booboo’s on his feet, so I had better proof and go. My bags are packed, all except for my lunch, and I have no idea what I want to wear today.

Progress notes.

There has been bread-baking this weekend; more is underway. We scored some excellent bread at the birthday bash last Monday, and Squishy sent Beloved the link. He is in the process of making a double batch of sourdough, to be followed shortly thereafter by a double batch of the other recipe. Crisp crust, nice browning, and wonderfully tender crumb. Not to mention the flavor, oh gracious the flavor!

I have done my own noodling-about in the kitchen. When in the mood, I like to make salads. I spent half an hour yesterday, carefully peeling half a dozen clementines to throw into our salad for dinner. Beloved browned a couple of chicken breasts in butter, and we killed the pasta leftover from Friday night. And now I am in the mood for coconut macaroons. One of those random temptations that entered my brain on the drive home, to be thwarted by a brief power outage.

Our AC gave went comatose on us yesterday. The lines froze up. Thankfully, our home teacher is an AC dude. They came over this afternoon for the previously-scheduled mutual HT and VT lessons, dragging a canister of coolant behind them. Turns out that the vacuuming-of-the-filter which Beloved did, just before they got here, took care of the major part of the problem. We are once more cooler than cool.

I have an explanation for this rash of symptoms Beloved is experiencing. The shortness of breath, weakness, sores in his mouth, lack of energy, et al, are all side effects of one or another of his chemo drugs. He was told that they might happen, fifteen months ago when he began chemo. But they are just now starting to catch up with him. The only amusing and non-annoying side effect is that his hair is getting darker, beginning at the back of his head. And his eyebrows are growing lush and curly.

I have completed the first hip/waist decreases on the sweater body, and on the next round I will do the next batch. I have done 18 rounds since I blogged on Friday morning. And hung two pictures in the guest bathroom. I am trying to decide where to hang a third. I would really love to know where in the middle bedroom that new Pottery Barn shower curtain might be.

Beloved is calling the oncologist tomorrow and making arrangements to have his swollen (but less-so) right leg Doppler'ed to make sure there is no blood clot causing the swelling. With as much Lovenox as he is taking, the chance of a blood clot is really quite small. But I’d love for them to figure out what’s up, and fix it if fixing is possible. I’m wondering if maybe he has a stress fracture like the one I had several years ago.

And I will be calling the eye doctor to make an appointment for him. I ought to make one for myself while I am at it. It’s been almost a year now: October 29.

We have (mostly, he has) watched a whale of a lot of football this weekend. Three college games yesterday. My hearing played tricks on me again. The announcer referred to the Florida Gators. What I heard was fornicators. Definitely put a hiccup in the next few stitches on my needles, as I was laughing so hard.

And on that note, I think I will print off the macaroon recipe and go feed the dishwasher.

Friday. Whew!

My friend Alison posted this link to a fence knitted in Shetland lace. Go on, click on it, you know you want to. Stunning. Almost it persuadeth me to go outside and brave the chiggers...

I can’t believe it’s Friday already. This is my third or fourth short week in a row, and I am ready for some regular boring weeks in which to rest up. Work is going well. I’m getting good, useful feedback from the two secretaries who have been assigned to assess my workflow to see if I’m ready to take on (part or all of) the caseload of our new attorney. I’ve made some minor changes to how I do things, and those changes probably saved me 15-20 minutes when opening a new case yesterday. It will take awhile before the changes feel like the new normal (whatever that is), but in the meantime there is that happy glow of accomplishment.

Payday. I’ve written one check and paid a bill and discussed our cash flow with Beloved, who was momentarily awake. I love being on the same page as the man I love. As Billy Joel sings, that hasn’t happened for the longest time. [Love that song.]

Slow but steady progress on my knitting. I am partway through the 24th round on the sweater body. I am so glad that I stopped and stitched up the hem. There’s a whole lot less flopping and twitching of the stitches on the needles, and way fewer dangling ends. I am not quite to the point where the knitted fabric no longer tries to form ruffles and twist around the needle cable; that will probably require another two to four inches before the mass of the stitches ensures that a tube is the only possible configuration. I do love that crisp, clean edge at the hem.

Beloved is not serving at the temple this morning. He has had a swollen leg for the past couple of days, and his oncologist told him to stay off it until it returns to normal. He had grand plans, last night, of mopping the kitchen floor and vacuuming the carpet while I am at work (he mopped our bathroom floor yesterday). I told him to choose one, or the other, and reminded him that he has a perfectly good wife who is quite capable of picking up the mop or wrangling the vacuum. He can sort through as many boxes as he would like from a seated position, with the bad leg elevated. Bless him, he is not quite as fond of it’s easier to get forgiveness than permission as the children’s father. He also has new, stronger meds to help him manage some of the side effects of the chemo. He’s tired, and he’s not sleeping well, and he doesn’t have much of an appetite, and he is losing weight (but not at the scary rate he was last year); as ever, his attitude is gallant and stellar.

He bought a cantaloupe the other day that is not quite up to the others we have enjoyed. I have a banana that is starting to look as high-mileage as Willie Nelson, courtesy of one of my coworkers, and if I scurry, there will be time to stop at the grocery store on my way to work and pick up some strawberries for a huge fruit salad. The cantaloupe chunks that I took for lunch yesterday are still in the fridge, because they were just meh. If I throw enough other ripe or overripe fruit in with them, I think I can sneak them past my taste buds.

I ate a bowl of cereal about 4:00a.m. Woke a little before 3:00 and couldn’t get back to sleep. When in doubt, eat, right? While I ate, I read a few pages in a book by Chieko Okazaki, who was a counselor in the Relief Society General Presidency in the 1990’s and has since passed away. Wonderful woman. She was, I think, the first non-white-bread sister in that position, and we all loved her for her cheerful, encouraging stories. We have inherited one of her books from Beloved’s mother, and it is like sitting down with an old friend. I loved her because she was not your typical RS sister in the uniform of the 1980’s: floral dress with white lace collar and perfect pumps. She was different, a little exotic, not afraid to wear bright colors, and refreshingly real.

I stuffed a lot of myself into boxes when I joined the church, and seeing Sr. Okazaki I began to realize that I could still be me and be righteous and it really didn’t matter what somebody else thought. (I was on the receiving end of a whole lot of judging in the 80’s and 90’s.)

Now I know that the only opinions that truly matter are my Heavenly Father’s and, possibly, my husband’s. Sorry, kids, you had your day ;)

A-hem!

No, I am not clearing my throat. Yesterday I spent virtually all of my knitting time in stitching up the hem on this new sweater. Three hundred fifty-eight stitches. Finish work like this is something I generally dread, and now I have this bit of it out of the way. I just finished a pattern row and am anticipating the next five rounds of essentially mindless knitting.

Work went well yesterday. I finished one small project, dealt with Friday’s mail, transcribed a report for my attorney, and basically kept my shoulder to the wheel and my nose to the grindstone. It’s a little hard to type in that position, but I’m used to it, right?

Beloved is fishing with his best buddy. It has been too long since he went; I think this day will do wonders to improve his already way-better-than-average morale. As they say, a bad day fishing is better than a good day [something; I forget what]. He didn’t sleep all that well, and he’s a little short of breath. We think it’s just fall allergies, but I asked him to run that by his doctor on Thursday. I think we should check him for asthma, and maybe a sleep study, although the vision of him wrangling a CPAP mask and the chemo pump and the multiple trips to the loo during the night, is a darkly humorous one.

Y’all? if you are not already old, you will get there soon enough. Take care of the body you have. You won’t be getting another, at least not until the resurrection. A little wisdom and forethought (wisdom being one of those things we acquire through lack of forethought) may not guarantee you a problem-free middle age, but it just might minimize some of the indignities that come with aging. And if not, at least you will have the comfort of knowing you did the best you could with the information, and body, that you had.

I have a sudden craving for broccoli. That’s a little scary.

I spent a little time this morning preparing to pay bills on Friday. I think (I hope) that this month will have fewer spendy surprises than last. I have already picked up all but one of the gift cards we need, and I’ll take care of that one this weekend. All the birthday cards but one are signed and addressed and awaiting either a stamp or a personal visit. So this is what being a grownup feels like?

I realized with some amusement that one of the tote bags that Beloved’s mother left us is the right size and color to serve as my fall/winter purse. Last night I transferred her skincare products out of it (and the samples into my bathroom) and tossed my daily junk into it and put the old purse into the trash. That purse was $10 well spent. Now I just need to save up to buy a nice, sensible leather purse, the kind I used to be able to buy for $5 when I was a kid, but which now cost $150.

Gilda was right: it’s always something.

But hark! what brat through yonder window breaks?

Birthday lunch over at Mel’s folks’ this afternoon. Half a dozen different kinds of bratwurst, all grilled to perfection. Ate mine on a bolillo roll the size of a toddler’s football, a generous half cup of potato salad, and two bottles of water, at which point there was no more room at the inn, Mary.

We delegated the tie-dyeing of two of Beloved’s short-sleeved dress shirts to Squishy, came home, and took a nap. Mel and Squishy have gnomed our flower bed, right by the front door. But the best gift Beloved got [at least in this woman’s opinion] was the card they gave him: Grim Reaper is out cold on the floor, a small red dog standing over him, holding a baseball bat, and looking triumphant; inside it says “don’t let the b@st@rd win!” At which I let out a most undignified yelp of glee.

We have been busy bees all weekend. Baking and eating and visiting and churching and napping and visiting and eating and baking and visiting and ... you get the idea. This morning I emptied that small bookcase out in the hall, transferred its contents to other bookcases, and set it atop the desk on my side of the bed. After we got home from Mel’s folks’ house, I spent 15 or 20 minutes finding new homes for all the stuff I had removed from the floor, desk, entrance to the closet, etc., in order to get at the top of the desk, so we could take the aforementioned nap.

Dinner was one large root beer float apiece, and half a slice of French silk pie. Dessert, methinks, will be the first Indiana Jones movie. Beloved shares his birthday with Squishy, and on the day that P went into labor, Beloved took the twins to go see Indy.

Firstborn, don’t faint. The Scentsy burner that you gave me, now has a proper place.

I have a small dishpan of papers to sort and alphabetize for filing, and then I’m going to knit through the rest of the movie. In about five more rounds, I will have enough length in the body of the sweater that I can go ahead and stitch up the hem without interfering with live stitches. Beloved says there is one last small thing to do in the guest bathroom, and then we can start clearing the decks to create my walk-in closet. Life is good.