Woolly Mutts

2011..the year I lost my knitting mojo.

Yup.  The knitting mojo - it is caput.  Gone.  Left the building.  Moved on to greener pastures.  Poof!  You may recall back here, a couple of weeks before Thanksgiving, I was all fired up over Hawthorne. 

All 314 cast on stitches of her.  Perfect yarn, perfect pattern...what could go wrong?  That question is still without answer, but somewhere around row 15 I realized that it was a big old mess.  Big. Old. Mess.....and I ripped.  I casted on again, this time with special stitch markers and still a fail.  WTF?  I am better than this.  I have faced off lace with multiple charts and departed victorious.  I ripped again.  This time I decided I just needed a little chart break and casted on Lady Eleanor.  I've knitted the Lady before and enjoyed it SO much and guess what?  I screwed it up.  The bell tolleth for me.  I have lost the mojo. Knitting Sisters, you know this is bad. 

So, I decided I needed to clean the cache and go back to knitting 101.  I got out a pair of straights (I can't remember the last time I knitted with straight needles.), some yukky cotton and proceeded to knit myself some dish cloths, and I'm not talking about the really cute patterned ones.  No, oh no, it was garter stitch all the way and by the grace of the knitting goddess I did not screw them up.  So, I moved on to these little washie things...

....the swirly thing shown in the pic, which was fun and also executed without tears. 

I have now moved up to Popblock from the new Knitty.

A few months ago I thought this much garter stitch would send me to the funny farm, but you know what?  It's rather peaceful.  Sure, there isn't much skill or thought involved, but this is not a competition.  It is a hobby, a love, a lifestyle.  I am a knitter.  What I knit does not constitute a knitter, the act of knitting does. Right? 

Has my mojo returned?  I'm not sure.  I'm guessing that my problem has much to do with the fact that my mind was/is constantly going in a hundred different directions.  (Managing a retail store during the holidays is not for the faint of heart.) My lack of concentration kicked the mojo in the behind.  Such is life.  And, the knitting mojo was not the only one to take a hit.  Yoga, meditation, eating right, reading....all of it has fallen to the back burner and it is way past time to change that.

So 2012, all shiny and new, I am not generally one to make resolutions on your first day, or for that matter, any day, but this year I'm gonna get the mojo back. 

So say we all!  (Any Battlestar Galactica fans out there?)

A gift of the musical sort.

I experienced something last night that I have to share with you.  I wish I had pictures.  I REALLY, really wish I could show you faces and the general atmosphere of the evening so that maybe I could better articulate all the adjectives going around in my head. 

Some back story.....every Friday night we have live music in the Listening Room of our store.  The fact that we even has a room named "Listening" is kind of extraordinary in itself, but to have the opportunity to fill that space every week is beyond fantastic.  The musical artists we generally have are of the singer-songwriter variety.  They share with us love letters, memoirs, eulogies, all carefully wrapped gifts with the note "I hope you like this".  It takes so much courage to get up in front of a room full of strangers and bare your heart, and yet they come each week and we are entertained, moved, inspired.  I think we sometimes forget what a gift live music really is.

As you may know, our store (JustGoods) is staffed mostly by volunteers.  Three of us are paid managers, but the bulk of the work force are folks who acknowledge the mission and want to be part of it.  One of those people is Hope.  Hope is 15 (I think.  She may be 16 now.).  She works every Friday afternoon and is a very capable (VERY) capable volunteer.  When I was just getting to know her she told me she plays piano.  I'm thinking...cool, she plays piano.  No really, she PLAYS piano.  Classically trained pianist, to be more exact.  Wow.  From that point on I was on a mission to hear this girl play and we were able to schedule a Friday night concert with Hope and some of her friends from the Rockford Music Academy. That concert was last night.

Regrettably, and I mean the word in its strongest sense, Rockford was a busy town last night and very few people came to watch the performance.  I know, life is busy and you have to make a choice, but people, let me just say that I'm sorry you missed it.  If you understood what magic happened last night you would be sorry, also.   Those few of you that attended know what I mean.  Magic.  Wow.

Hope organized the entire concert.  She asked her friends, timed the performances, introduced herself and the Academy.  Each student, I'd guess they were ages 13-17 or so, came dressed concert ready.  They introduced themselves and the pieces they were about to perform, some of which were personal compositions.  There were several pianists, a violin, two cellists, and two angelic voices. Every single performance was just wonderful.

Before I really turn to mush here let me say a bit about a classically trained musician.  I am not a music snob.  I believe all music has merit and a place in every heart.  However, to be classically trained takes a level of discipline that we don't see much of in today's teens.  Hours of practice, lessons, education.  Hours of understanding what music is, how it works, and how to let it into your heart.  How to let it become passion. 

Ok, bring on the mush.  Thanks to the wonder that is Google, I found this picture of Hope and Christiana.  Hope is brunette, Christiana blond.  Hope and Christiana have been friends since they began piano at age 5.  Nearing the end of the second half of the show I was able to close the store and come to sit in the back of the audience and I was blessed out of my shoes.  Hope and Christiana played four hands on the piano duets that rocked my world.  Their friendship connection was so clear as they played in complete sync with the other.  They each sang as the other accompanied.  Hope brought out this high note that was so clear and genuine....breathtaking.  Literally.  Listening to them play I forgot to breathe.  Captivated...I was captivated.  Then...oh gosh then...Christiana brought up her cello and played while Hope accompanied on piano.  I will admit that I have a weakness for the cello.  They bleed with emotion and Christiana was superb.  I sat in my little back row seat and cried.  I was honored to be present.  Gifted.  Blessed.  It was that good. 

I'm sure they thought I was mentally impaired as I tried to explain how much their performance meant to me.  They were go gracious, thanking me for the opportunity to play.  (Good job, Moms.)  Thanking me.  Goodness. 

They made such an impression on those of us present, one of which is our concert organizer, that we are already planning a guest performance from Hope and Christiana in January and then another entire night of just the two of them in the coming months. 

I cannot wait. 

 

Miss C's Little Tree

The first time the Marvelous Miss C saw our Christmas tree was when they came to visit on Thanksgiving.  I was holding her and her reaction to it was so precious I hope I never forget it.  She took in her breath in that universal action of surprise and delight and said, "Nana, what's that?"  For the next several minutes she stood by it, touching ornaments and generally being amazed.  (I love this picture and how the tree lights reflect in the window.)

So, I did what any good Nana does when the light of her life shows interest, I bought her one just for her, along with lots of non-breakable ornaments. (Yay, Target!)

She spent quite a lot of time and thought into where each ornament should be placed.

I lay them all out on a chair and let her pick them at random.  Some ended up sharing the same branch and others moved around a little until the perfect placement was decided upon.  When she was finished there was one ornament left.

One little girl with a big red sweater and Miss C did not care for her at all.  She spent time holding her, trying to remove her socks and hat and then finally rejected her all together.  In the end, her mother put her on the back of the tree which was met with grudging approval.  How I would love to know how that little mind works.  No one can ever say she doesn't know what she wants.

Now the room where the family gathers has a small tree and my Nanas heart has another memory to file away.  There is nothing in the world like being loved by a little person. 

I am, again, alone and lonely.  Amazing Husband is winging his way to New Jersey for a week of training.  Being the busiest time of the year in retail, I couldn't even entertain the idea of going with him, but I'm telling you that if he has to go again I'm going to move mountains to join him.  One week was ok.  Two is just crummy.  I am lucky to have two large, fuzzy buddies to keep me company, though, and lots to keep me busy. 

Hope your holiday preparations are merry and bright.

 

Is it ok to chew on baby Jesus?

When I was a girl we had a nativity set very similar to the one pictured above.  It had the creche  with the angel hovering above the opening.  (I wonder if angels get tired of hovering?) Ours, however, came with a cast of thousands (not really) including Wise Men and shepherds and the majority of Noah's ship mates.  It was carefully placed beneath the tree each year by my mother.  It was rather beautiful resting in the glow of the tree lights.  It was so alluring that I got in trouble for touching it frequently and developed a level of resentment about the whole thing.  I mean really, does baby Jesus really mind if I think his view of the world would be ever so much better among the animals than stuck inside that boring barn?  I think not.

During the time when the nativity reigned supreme beneath the tree we also had a cat.  If I remember correctly it was the cat my brother gave me, Smokey.  Smokey enjoyed the holidays.  She loved to lay beneath the tree (which must be a cat thing, because our cats do the same thing.) and gaze up at the lights.  She also loved to sleep inside the creche.  Many, many times I would hear my name called, in that way that makes kids want to hide beneath the bed, and come forth to find all the manger attendants strewn across the floor.  It took a week or so for the real culprit of manger mayhem to be found dozing amongst the fake hay with her tail sticking out the side.  I was absolved of guilt, but decided to leave better off alone and find safer things to play with.

So yesterday at work there was a big discussion about nativities for small children and how I MUST purchase one for my granddaughter. 

Apparently, as proved by the above photo, Fisher Price has found yet another creative use for polyethylene; baby Jesus and his posse.  As you can see, it comes complete with hovering angel, palm trees and wise guys.  I don't see shepherds and wonder just who is looking after that sheep. Maybe they are on break.

I have to say I have mixed feelings about this.  Of course, there is the whole nativity trauma that can cloud my judegment, but should the holy family really be plastic?  Or even, really, playthings?  Being plastic would alleviate the whole "don't break that" sceanrio, but what happened to the sacredness of this holy birth?  I think maybe learning to respect the beauty of the nativity might be preferrable to having baby Jesus get his head chewed on, cause you know that little people are gonna pop those little fatties right in their mouths.  They are plastic, afterall.

In my ten weeks of classes on world religions the most profound thing I learned was to have a sincere respect for other religions and their icons.  Professor Prashar told a great story of walking home from work with his father in India.  On their journey they past many temples and shrines of various faiths and at each one his father would remove his shoes, fold his hands together  and say a prayer.  He was a Hindu and for them, honoring each spiritual path is of great importance.  The peacefulness of this small gesture is quite beautiful to me. As a Buddhist, it helped me to embrace Christmas in a more sacred way.

I will not be purchasing a plastic nativity for my sweet angel, Cambria.  If Christmas is all about honoring Christ's birth, the center of the christian faith, then I think there might be better ways to do so than providing the children a plastic baby Jesus to chew on, but hey, that's just me.

 

The attitude

The Thanksgiving holiday has come and gone.  I spend a great deal of time being grateful.  Meditation helps me keep centered in that attitude, but one of my better qualities is the wisdom to recognize how much I have to be thankful for.  There are the huge ones like a roof overhead and food on the table; heat and cool and a room full of yarn.  Loved ones here and those that have now passed, but left behind a legacy of memory.  Hands to hold and hugs to cherish, kisses before I sleep at night.   There are also many, many little things that in truth, are the foundation of my life.  Here are just a few of what I give thanks for every day:

*Stars at night, snowflakes, falling leaves, rocks on the beach.  Butterflies and dragonflies and bats and birds. Chipmunks with peanut stuffed cheeks and squirrels who become stranded in trees and have no trouble giving the dogs and loud piece of their minds.  Nature itself and all it's beautiful faces.

*Itunes, Roku, Pandora, Blackberry, Netflix, DVR, Doctor Who.

*The fact that I wake up each morning  with my best friend, a person with whom I am always, always safe and welcomed.  A man who will listen to me and hear what I'm saying and always tell me the truth about everything. 

*That in my job peace, justice, and ethical practice are an imperative and not an option.  And, that I have the joy and privilege to work with these two extraordinary women.

*That I am able to knit.  I think that people would spend much less time fretting and fussing about stupidness if they could knit.  It keeps my hands busy, challenges my brain, and makes me happy.  Yarn is some incredibly happy stuff.  (Can I get an Amen? :-) )

*My knees still work.  Sure, they creak and crunch and occasionally hurt like the devil, but they still function and, for the most part, don't keep me from doing anything I want to do.  Running a marathon or climbing 9 gazillion steps to the top of some ruin weren't high on my list even when the knees could have supported such craziness.  (no offense to all runners or climbers.)

*Phone calls.  This is sort of an odd one because I really dislike the phone, but now and then I get a call that makes all the bad ones worth it.  Like the friend who called to be sure I had a place to spend Thanksgiving and inviting me along with her family, or when my son called last night just to make sure I was ok since Tom has been out of town.  That one really got me all verklempt.  When my daughter calls to tell me all the new things Miss Cambria is doing, or another friend calls and says, "lets have a field trip!".  All lovely moments and keep me from complete phone hate.

*This face

and this one

Samten and Cooper, two of the best friends a person could have.  There is nothing quite like dog love.

*The fact that my mother made me take piano lessons for YEARS even though I begged her to let me stop.  It changed and enhanced the way I look at and listen to music today.

*Finally, the most glorious gift....this little face:

Being a grandparent is not something that can be explained.  It's simply perfect.  Each time she reaches out her arms to me is like the sun coming out.  Every little smile and laugh and baby kiss is more precious than gold.  It's all of the fun with little of the responsibility.  It's love love love.

*The internets that give me this opportunity to write and all of you that take a minute to read.

Wishing you all a life full of grateful moments.

 

Ways I can cheat my way into being Irish.

Happy St. Paddy's day 2010!  Isn't this the day when everyone is Irish?  I'm reasonably certain that there isn't much, if any, Irish blood in my heritage, although these days you never know.  Have you seen that Oprah program where the guest was a pioneer of DNA study and could trace your ancestry through your DNA?  Fascinating.  Anyway, today we shall all be Irish and below is my list of ways I qualify:

*I had an Irish uncle, Patrick Murray, bless his soul, who told me raunchy Irish jokes and let me have sips of his Irish coffee.  Never met anyone who was as much fun or as irresponsible as Uncle Pat.

*My Mother's father was from Wales.  That puts us in the general geographic area, right?

*My eyes are green and my hair is red. (Let's just ignore that the red comes from a bottle.)

*I used to have (alright, still have) a crush on Daniel Day-Lewis who is at least half Irish and lives in Wicklow.  (Or did the last time he was stalked by a fellow DD-L admirer.  She even broke off a piece of his holly bush to bring home to me.)

*My yoga mat is green.  Ok, that's a BIG stretch.  tee hee

*I used to play a Celtic Harp.  I still have it, though it needs new strings. Perhaps when CJ is old enough to have musical interest we'll get it out and brush up on the skills.  It's been way too long.  The video below is the first song I learned to play on my harp, along with some breath taking Irish scenery.  Hope you all have a day full of 4 leaf clovers!

What goes up..

Today has been annual purge-the-house-of-Christmas day.  I'm always of mixed feelings on this day.  I hate to see the lights and pretties go, but then again, ready to regroup and get on with a new year.  Amazing Husband and I are lucky enough to have the week between Christmas and the New Year off, so it is time to get out of vacation mode and back to real life. Along with holiday removal, AH has begun cleaning out the basement of years of stash instead of pitch.  Brave man, that one.

I've also cleaned out my email boxes; work and personal, and pared down my blog reader.  I must get more disciplined at dealing with email as it arrives and the getting rid of it.  I've decided that I spend way to much time on minutia and not enough on the things I really want to be doing. (Like knit or read.) So, she who does not generally resolve is taking a few steps in that direction.

The one thing I haven't done yet is venture into the room next door.  It's actually my favorite room of the house, but during all the holiday mania my room has become the place that everything gets thrown.  There is at least a week of non-essential mail, baby pack-n-play, baby bouncy chair, baby play gym, wrapping paper, boxes...every time I open that door I want to scream.  But, it has to be done, right? Right!

Speaking of baby....just in case there are a few of you who don't follow me on facebook, here is a picture of Baby CJ and her Mommy taken on Christmas:

Sweet, huh? :-)

Any Doctor Who fans out there?  If not, may I suggest you run to your Netflix Watch Instantly que and begin with season 1.  Good stuff, this.  Nobody does scifi like the Brits.  Anyway, tonight we bid farewell to the tenth Doctor and get our first look at Doctor eleven.  I have no idea what I did before we discovered BBC America!

Dec 7 and all is well. (It's gonna snow!)

Wise friends gave me warning that this particular holiday season, the first spent without my mother, would be difficult.  I listened, because that is what good friends do, so it came as no shock to find that all the things that I find joy in at this time of year are bittersweet.  No one loved Christmas or snow like my mother and she shared that appreciation with me every Winter of my life.  No snowfall happened without a phone call, and in her later years as her eyesight failed she would call just to check and see if maybe it might be snowing.  She couldn't see the snow, but that didn't stop her from wishing it would. 

As I have said frequently here, I have found the grieving process to be a strange little journey.  Most of the legal loose ends are finally nearing completion and I'm beginning to let go of the anger and frustration many of her choices and how they impacted my life and her death. And now I am beginning to miss her.  I wondered if I ever would.  The best gift that Hospice has given me is the truth that grief has no time table.  We all feel what we feel, when we feel it and there is no shame in that.

Despite the moments of reflection and sadness, it is still the holiday season and I continue to celebrate in my quiet way.  A few Christmas discoveries:

 
First up is Winter Magic - Hayley Westenra.  I first discovered Hayley in a random search for waltz music and found her Dark Waltz. (Still a huge favorite.)  She was, perhaps still is, one of the Celtic Woman.  Her voice is clear and well suited to holiday music.  Song of note: The Little Road to Bethlehem.  It makes me forgive her for a not so wonderful arrangement of River.

The Annie Moses Band was a completely new find for me and what a find.  This family is so talented....I can't even find the words. I chose This Glorious Christmas, but there are a few other Christmas albums that I'm sure are equally wonderful. I expected some Celtic flavor, and there is a bit of that, but this album has an almost Aaron Copeland feel to it.  Song of note: When the Christmas Baby Cries.

This weekend Amazing Husband took me to see A Christmas Carol at the IMAX 3D. It wasn't high up on the movie viewing list, but we both needed a little blast of Christmas spirit and decided to make the annual pilgrimage to Madison for mutt gifts.  Why not take in the IMAX while we were there?  Visually it was beyond belief.  Every single surface was perfectly crafted.  Even the fires in the fireplaces moved and cracked.  I was quite impressed.  A lot of the dialog was taken directly from the original text, which I thought took it up a notch from the usual Disney fair.  I wouldn't say that this was a movie appropriate for very young children, just as the book would not be.  There were places that were just plain scary.  The depiction of when Scrooge first meets Marley's ghost was was creepily suspenseful. I probably wouldn't see it again, but I did enjoy it.  It was the first time I've been to a 3D film where the entire film, including the ending credits, was in 3D.

The local weather people say that snow is coming, perhaps feet of it. I hope they are correct.  Stay warm and safe!

It's all in the attitude. Gratitude.

Another major holiday has come, been consumed, familied, footballed, perhaps capitalized with the masses, and gone.  I have a new friend recently transplanted from Canada and she is more than a little surprised at what a big deal Thanksgiving is here in the lower States.  And, I guess it is.

I've never had an issue with gratitude.  I have other faults (countless many).  I can occasionally be insensitive, I make things harder than they need to be, and, if we're being honest, I can be a teensy bit b*tchy.  (No, really, I can be.)  Grateful, though, I am in spades and always have been.  The concept of one day where we take some time to consider our own personal blessings has been a mystery to me.  Maybe a month of thankful commemoration, or 6 months, or every darn day of our lives?  My family rarely goes around the table being verbally grateful, which I understand is tradition at many tables.  Now that I think of it, it's probably to avoid the extended play version when it comes around to me, cuz kids, I am grateful for every, every thing.  Every blade of grass or leaf on a tree, every rain drop, or unexpected smile, or nice firm handshake, or hug from a loved one (or even a not so loved one).  When I wake up in the morning and put my feet on the ugly (seriously UGLY) brown carpet on our bedroom floor that is fraying at the door threshold I am grateful because it is so much better than the cold earth to step on.  I know, it's a little ridiculous at times, but I have rarely been in a situation where there hasn't been something to be grateful for.  Perhaps my ability to be in an attitude of gratefulness is my own personal port in the storm of life.  And, perhaps some desperate life storms are required to gain clear site of the blessings of life.  I don't know.  Maybe I'm just a little crazy. :-)

 

This year we have a few extra special things to offer thanks for.  Aren't those just the loveliest people ever?  (I apologize for the fact that our dragonfly looks like it's about to land on Josh's head.  My photography skills can use some work.)  Every time I look at them I choke up with thanks.  Each and every one of them is happy light in my life.  The two on the right, Karl and Santa, will be getting married in 2010 which tickles me no end cuz we love Santa to pieces.  (For the purposes of clarification, and because I know what it's like to have a holiday name during the Holiday season, to correctly pronounce Santa's name think Santa Maria, not Santa Claus.)  Though our numbers decreased with the passing of my mother in April, the two on the left kindly provided us with this little bug.....

 

....Miss Cambria Joy....seen here pondering the complexity of life.  Add to this the constant that is my Amazing Husband and a person could just burst with the bounty of it all.  It's been a tough year for me, but all of the sad just makes the happy more welcome.

So, we close the door on one holiday and open the door to the next. 

Miss Magnolia wants you to know that there are 25 days, 14 hours, and 27 minutes until Christmas.  Am I ready?  Not even close. As previously mentioned, I will make Christmas prep much harder than it needs to be, but I will take time to appreciate the season for the myriad of glories it is.  

Thanks to each of you, who take a few minutes to read my ramblings.  Hugs all around.

Most wonderful time of the year.

Don't you just hate those people that put up the holiday lights (or, egad, the tree) before Thanksgiving? Those crazies that can't wait for the first snowfall?  The very same ones that have the holiday music blaring before the trick or treaters are hardly out of the yard?  Yes, well, that would be me and I'm not going to apologize for it any more.

We put the outside holiday lights up last weekend.  I finally had the good sense to remove the fall wreath from the door yesterday.  It brought to mind that whole "drapes matching the carpet" thing.  It was Christmas on the roof and Thanksgiving on the front door.  Yesterday we put up the Christmas tree and did a bit more decorating of the house.  I start the holiday music in late October.  And do you want to know why I do all those things?  Because it makes me happy.  It's a simple as that.

The season of Winter warms me like none other and I know that there is something a little odd about that.  Here in the Midwest the lovers of snow are a very small minority and complaints about driving and shoveling and melting and slushing are loudly voiced.  Most of the time I keep my opinions to myself, or even, apologize for being the nut case out standing in the cold letting the snow fall on my face.  This year, I'm not going to do that any more.  I'm not going to be obnoxious, but why should I feel apologetic about being happy? 

Winter calms me.  It centers me, slows me, makes me take life at a better pace.  I cannot imagine living in a clime where I did not have a night before the fire to look forward to.  I love the lights, and the decorations, and the music (with a few exceptions like "Holly, Jolly Christmas" or "Deck the Halls".  It's a name thing.) and the glorious, beautiful snow.  Sure it comes with some inconvenience, but doesn't everything? 

So, all you seasonal grinches, I'll see your ba hum bugs and raise you a hallelujah.  I'm not insensitive to your plight, but it's not going to alter my joy because there isn't anything wrong with happy.  No, sir.

 

Btw, Sting has a new Holiday CD out and it's fantastic.