30 November 2007
It won't hurt my feelings a tad of no one leaves a comment, because it is a rather uncomfortable topic and intimate at that and several folks may skip right over this. And that is just fine. In case you are needing reassurances and permission to stop right now, you've got it.
Ok, now that I've ensured your attention (wink), let me get to the actual meat of the matter. My sexual drive has flagged and stalled, sometimes to irregularly lurch forward in a valiant effort to revive only to die out yet again. Now there are all sorts of reasons for the possible explanation of why this would be. And it most likely is a combination of several of those rationales.
Stress, yes it has been a stressful year with lots of decidedly unsexy and unsensual thoughts. Some nasty events and memories and all that worked to dampen desire. I'm well aware of that.
Also, there is the dynamic that my guy and I have been together for over four years and sometimes folks who've been familiar with each other for a time become bored. Sad to say, but that seems to be the common way more often than not. Still, it is a troublesome thought to take into account.
Then there are some areas that are just a little too intimate to disclose even in this rather personal entry (shocking, i know, but true). And I am getting a bit older and these things can sometimes come with the aging process (or so I've read). But it still is a troublesome matter.
To me, it really doesn't matter why. What matters is that I would dearly like to revive and repair my spirits. Oh I realize that sometimes knowing the why's can help to remedy the situation. But there are those times when knowing the why's doesn't make a damn difference when it comes down to brass tacks.
This isn't something that happened suddenly. But suddenly it bothers me. I was patient and very accepting and understood that these things happen and not to put pressure on myself. But it doesn't seem to be a passing thing as the years have grouped together and I think the last time I had a healthy sexual appetite was back in 2003. I do remember that I was bolder, more adventuresome, and definitely more aggressive and assertive.
The thing is that I've gotten so used to shoving those thoughts away, anything that deals with this area at all. I've tamped down the niggling questions that stray out and escape my lil relegated compartment that now I can't really examine the matter without being swamped with so many different thoughts coming at me from too many directions. It's hard enough just to field the tangents without putting them into order and being able to do much at all.
I thought writing about it would help me to figure out some things. But it hasn't. All that has happened is for me to realize that it is more muddled than I can trudge through. I may broach the subject with my counselor. I'd love to speak with my guy about it, but he tends to think that everything is his fault and it's hard enough without me trying to reassure him at the same time that I'm trying to deal with my own doubts.
anyway, thanks for reading. sigh. crap.
29 November 2007
About my mom's visit: she arrived Saturday afternoon and we got her all unpacked and settled in. I was very glad that she was here, but I was very tired and fell asleep early. She was understanding and I was able to relax moreso, since I knew that I could just let any pretenses go. Sunday morning, we slept in. She does that more now than she had ever done so, I think. Sunday afternoon, she taught me to bake bread and we used no recipe. She just directed me what to do, and I did it. I took a few notes during rising times and we visited. It was very cool and I enjoyed it immensely. She shared the knitter's looms with me and I made myself a hat. Monday, I did the bread baking on my own, referring to my notes once. The bread turned out a bit dry, but other than that, no problems. I feel good about it. We visited and then I went out for the Financial Peace session that I've been attending. I took a loaf of bread in to my friend's place (she is the mother of eight and three). I also did all the errands and grocery shopping that I had wanted to do before I came home. Even though I was tired, it was a great day and I felt like I accomplished lots. Mom and I watched a few movies (Chicago, Spy Game, US Marshals) during this visit. On Tuesday, my friend and Eight came out and I taught them how to make bread and also taught Eight how to use the knitter's loom. She began to make her own hat (and when she left, I let her take that loom home with her to complete her hat). My mom got to be gran'ma for the day and it was so cool cuz she never pressures me to have kids (quite the opposite, she feels i shouldn't have children) and so I rarely see her with children. My friend took home the loaves of bread that she made and some choc chip cookie dough that I had mixed just before they left. I taught them how to make the dough for that too (since chocolate chips are so many folks' favorites, I made a quadruple batch and let Eight squish the butter and sugar and such between her lil fingers and she was in play-do' heaven!). Yesterday, mom and I went for lunch and then did a few errands. She bought me a few things, like a bread bowl and bread board and jeans and knitter's looms. I had one pair of jeans that were used when they came to me two years ago and they were getting sorta loose on me. So these jeans are the first ones I've had brand new in a few years and now I have more than just a pair that sorta fits! These things were my birthday gifts and Christmas gifts because I doubt I will go out to my folks' for some time. Early this morning, mom left to drive home (an eight hour drive, as she lives on the western border of Arkansas, within miles of Oklahoma and I live on the eastern side of Mississippi within thirty miles of Alabama). It was a great visit and a tad too short but better that than a tad too long, right?
Thanks for everyone's well wishes and good comments over the last few weeks. In part, I was able to have such a great month because of the support and encouragement you gave and continue to give. Thank you.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
7:25:00 PM CDT
Food for Thought
Everyone should eat healthy. I realize some don't carrot all, but you just can't beet a nutritious vegetable or fruit. Sometimes I don't eat just one fruit, I eat a pear.
I yam in love with potatoes. When I was very small, I used to watch my mom cook in the kitchen quite a bit. I guess you could say I was just a speck tator.
Did you hear Mr and Mrs Potato Head had a baby? She was a real sweet potato. I knew a couple kids in school that smoked potatoes.. they got really baked.
I like eggs. Some people find them rather fowl. I think you can't beat 'em. It really boils me when people say they don't like the way they taste. I guess it should crack me up, but I'm scrambling to try to understand.
Cheese is grate. I dairy you to convince me otherwise. I once heard this big argument and it went something like this: "Liver alone, cheese mine!" "Cheese Nachos, Cheese mine!" I could only listen for so long before I got feta up with it.
Don't have a cow, I realize I'm trying to milk this one a bit, but you've got to be really sharp to think of all these cheesy sayings.
Well, I think that's enough to chew on for now. Orange you glad I'm ready to end this battle of words? Really, I just ran out of thyme.
I wish you all love, peas and happiness.
28 November 2007
27 November 2007
sunday she taught me to bake bread with no recipe; yesterday i baked on my own. today, i taught my friend (mother of three and eight) to bake bread. mom and i also taught eight how to make her very own hat on the knifty knitting loom. i also taught eight how to make the choc chip cookie dough. mostly she got to squish her fingers thru the butter, sugar, eggs, flour.
tomorrow is mom's last day here. she leaves early thurs.
Monday 25 October 2004
Happiest of Birthdays to you, memom
Today is my mother's birthday. She is a Saturday's Child and true to the prediction, she has worked hard for her living. She raised up us kids right. Working long hard hours at the sewing factory, then bringing work home with her. I remember helping her finish the shirts, trimming loose threads, turning them, folding them or hanging them, and we would talk in between bursts of the loud machine's operations and the sharp clicking of her snippers.
I learned most of my knowledge of geography from our companionable sessions. There was a world map tacked on the wall, above her hemmer (or was it the single-needle, I know it wasn't the over-lock -- that was next to that but under a triangular cut-out between the kitchen and dining/sewing room). That map was color-coded and showed capitals and seas, oceans, continents, latitutes, longitudes, and sometimes in paratheses, the former name was noted. That's how I learned that Istanbul is the same as Constantanoble (ok, so that mightn't be the correct spelling...). Actually, I learned that tidbit, because my mom would sing the ditty.
Sometimes I think she despairs that I am not hearing her. I listened, thinking, tumbling the thought til its polish blinds me like some nugget of wisdom gleaned from a rough pile of similar jewels. In fact, mom's words came to mind today, when some friends and I were discussing individuation, defining yourself as a separate person, not soley a possession of someone else. I thought of how mom said that first she was her parent's daughter, then she was her husband's wife, and became known as her children's mother...not existing as a separate woman in her own right, until she joined the work force again in her 30's.
I thought about mom suggesting that the cliffnotes are indeed lighter than tombs of encyclopedias if I feel I absolutely must carry about my baggage of the past. I thought of mom telling me that you just can't please some people all the time, or even all people some of the time, let alone all people all the time...and some folks you just can't please ever, so why knock yourself out? I remember mom telling me that beauty was only skin deep, but ugly was to the bone.
Mom would listen to my endless ramblings, marveling at my ability to pick a conversation up in mid-sentence after a half-hour interruption. She could tell what kind of day I had, by my footfall on the front porch. She would urge me to write and write, because she felt I had a talent for that. She was proud of my grades but never berated me for not doing so well in certain subjects.
She told me that I could do what ever I set my mind to. Except stay away from candles, matches, flames, knives, saws, drills, and other things that might ignite my hair or cut me. She wanted to buy a tank for me to drive, not because of my slow reflexes, but because of the other idiots out there. She wished me well when I moved upteen times, setting off yet another new adventure. She supported me emotionally while I adjusted to those newnesses. She never despaired of my chosen company (well, unless she had very good reason to do so). She never said, "I told you so" when I finally would realize what a loser I had been involved with for so long.
Mom was a blonde child, pale skinned, white hair, beautiful smile. She was quite the looker in highschool, wearing miniskirts well. She wore "hosey-pants" when I was small. I would lean against her thigh and rub her nylon covered knee gently, intoning in awe...hosey pants.
She soothed my tears as I wept over the hardest crush I ever had. Telling me that some day, he would want me just as badly (if not moreso) and I might not be available. She was right, she usually is.
Mom is my model in many ways. She is an incredible woman. She is a learned lady. She is my mom.
26 November 2007
next up for your viewing pontification:
Friday, September 24, 2004
I won’t deny that being called, “BITCH” hurts me. My first reaction is usually to withdraw into my Self and start blubbering a la Evelyn (Kathy Bates’s character in the movie version of “Fried Green Tomatoes (at the Whistle Stop Café) by Fannie Flagg); ‘why?! What’d I do?!? Why? What did I do to deserve THAT?’
The truth is, most of the times I did nothing to deserve being called a bitch. Every situation is a tad different. But most of the times, if I look at whom are calling me a bitch, well then it all makes sense.
Usually that person is very upset that I am not agreeing with his (usually is male, sorry guys) opinion, orders, or other points of view. So usually he quickly recovers from his shock that anyone, let alone a mere woman, voiced her differing opinion, daring to disobey his previously unchallenged rules….his anger flashes hot and usually he retaliates by calling me a bitch, sometimes then followed by what he thinks are additional insults.
In those cases, I am secure in my knowledge, in my right to voice my opinion, in my right to choose my own actions (and not follow his order), and in my Self. I know who I am. If his definition of bitch is that I disagree with him. Well, then, I can wear the label with ease, usually taking heart in the fact that I don’t agree with him.
I usually take that attitude regarding other criticism that is not valid or constructive. Rather than sink to their level and engage in petty quibble that can escalate into flaming wars, I choose to ignore those little irritants and move on. Sometimes silence is golden.
25 November 2007
bread baking was a success! more after mom's visit, in the meantime:
Thursday, September 23, 2004
My brother is about two and a half years older than I am. When we were younger, it was not so cool for my brother to have a younger sister. I did not tag along, so there were very few times past the age of ten that we did stuff together that was fun.
At the time of this story, we lived in a small town in northeastern PA. The playground was directly across the street from our house. It was rather small and intended for small children’s play. Big kids played over there though, taking over the basketball nets and sometimes dominating the entire playground.
For some forgotten reason, quite a few of us kids were playing football. It was guerilla-style, which meant there were few rules other than getting to your team’s fence on whichever side of the playground was yours. It was starting to get dark. Most of us should be getting home, or we’d be catching it from our folks. But the score was so close and most of us just wanted to cram in as much as we could before we went home. It was turning into autumn and so it was pretty cool, especially since we were all sweaty. So we kept moving, ignoring the lateness of the hour as best we could.
This was one of those few times my brother and I were playing, let alone around others! So, I was pretty happy. We weren’t on the same team, that was a bit much to ask for. But, I had the ball and was running hell-bent for my section of fence. I could hear some kids screaming and yelling behind me.
The harder I ran, the louder they screamed. I was almost afraid I was running toward the wrong goal. But I assured myself I was going good. But they kept yelling, so I whipped my head around fast to look behind me.
Outta the corner of my eye I saw my brother gaining on me. I knew that it was pretty much over, but I put a bit more burst into my race. As I turned back to face front, I collided with him and we both went ass over tin-can sprawling. I ate some dirt and had grass stains sliding down my chest, marking my thighs, and that was the extent of my ahem injuries.
My brother on the other hand had blood rushing down his rather white face. It was smeared on his fingers, too. He was warbling, “how bad is it?” I was apologizing hastily and we (his best friend and I) were pulling him up and under a streetlight. “Huh? How bad, huh?” His best friend was holding my brother’s hands away from his face, saying, “oh it’s not so bad”. Most of the other kids had already run off towards home.
By the time we got my brother under the light, all I could see was shiny dark purple river running down from the two inch gash under his eye. When I whipped my head around, I caught him, the corner of my glasses sliced open the taunt skin on his cheekbone, just under his eye. I looked at his best friend, and he looked at me, and we all knew the fun and games were over, because someone got hurt.
We took him across the street, to mom and dad. We started to get him all cleaned up. We were ribbing on him about how his little sister beat him up, without even trying. He was even starting to get some color back into his face.
That’s when my dad said to my mom, “think it needs stitches?” Yes, she thought it did. “Well,” dad says, thoughtfully, “you best get your needle and thread then. What color do you want?” he asked my brother. My brother paled and began to tremble.
Mom and dad assured him that they were just joking, mom was not about to sew him up. But she did take him to the hospital for stitches. And when people asked what happened, he told them he was playing football (but not with whom).
Later, after the stitches came out, a thin white scar could be seen. We tell him it adds to his roguish good looks. For a couple of years, he told the girls he got the scar in a fight.
Sigh, it’s all fun and games, til someone gets hurt.
24 November 2007
Sunday, October 10, 2004
mental mastication, we all do it...
Mental mastication, we all do it...don't be embarrassed, it's healthy, it's normal. Some of us are a bit more thorough than others. Personally, I think I might masticate too much. Perhaps I should see a professional about that, oh! that's right, I already am. What was I thinking? Clearly, that was an example of not mentally masticating properly.
Speaking of proper mental mastication, we all have experienced hoof in mouth disease at some point. I have gotten better over the years, but some times I find my ped looming large in my vision. Times like that, I find it generally is best to clamp my lips tightly, thereby preventing anything further from escaping and my foot from entering.
When the moment passes, and I can breath, I usually apologize for the gaffe. Then I leave it alone. It fades quicker that way. I hope. My guy and I were mentally masticating together today. It's ok, we engage in this frequently and it is fairly safe. Sometimes, we don't masticate enough, that often leads to big misunderstandings. Then we usually share our mental mastications more frequently, for longer durations. This can go on for an amazingly long period of time, until we are both worn out and in need of rest and rejuvenation. Sometimes, refreshments are required.
So any way, we were past the balance, nearing the breaking point, when we realized we both had lost "it"...when we listened to ourselves chanting, "grad school rocks" (doing the metal head bash with altered ("Ilove you" in ASL) hand gestures) and other geeky things like "mean raw scores transformed! become standard scores" (accompanied with snappy super-hero gestures reminiscent of 1980's trucks that become robots). We realized that our hysteria (mania) was complete, when we both continued to crack one-liners and cackle in merriment and mirth.
At least we did this in the privacy of my home. Mental mastication in public (or performed by public agents for that matter) is generally frowned on. That's why stupid questions are so rampant, I think. Not enough mental masticating.
this is the picture the entry below references:
Wednesday, September 22, 2004
There are a few pictures of me that I really do like. This is one of them. Actually, it is the only favorite one I currently have in my possession. I was four. I was wearing my favorite sweatshirt. I was very happy. See?
It was my dearly departed maternal grandmother’s favorite picture of me. She had it inside a locket she wore on her necklace. I think my mother still has the locket, for safe keeping, with other very special mementos.
Can I be found in that little girl from then? Is there a part of that little girl from then in me now? Yes to both questions. I am still the same in many ways.
I experience happiness and joy the same now as then. Last night, a smidgeon of that giggly ecstasy broke through when I got the wonderful news about the Heartsong Award. I still chatter on ceaselessly, wearing out the ear canals of just about anyone who will listen to me. I still am a klutz, tripping over my own feet and sometimes losing my balance for no apparent reason.
When I first came upon the picture last year, I scanned it into my computer and e-mailed it to several friends. Most said that they could still see little resemblance. One said that my hands have not changed a bit, other than they are now slightly larger.
I peered closely and she is right, my hands do look remarkably the same then as now. I did not realize that could be so. Somehow, this seems important to me. I am not sure why.
I do know that hands tell lots about a person. I come from a line of seamstresses. My mother went to work at the shirt factory her mother worked in, within a week of graduating high-school. My mother told me that if ever I went to work in a sewing factory, she’d break every one of my fingers. I believed her.
My grandmother seemed like such a very old lady to me, as a small child. I loved her very much. One day I told her that I could tell she was an old person. Know how? Cuz she got scruchee skin, I pronounced, rubbing the back of her hand carefully. I hope I age as gracefully, lovely as she did.
My mother’s hands are fine, slender fingers with naturally pretty nails that are strong. Her cool palm held my forehead when I would be sick. Her fingers move nimbly about, threading needles, kneading dough, doing a multitude of tasks.
But, years of labor have curved her fingers, leaving her knuckles swollen and arthritic. She has beautiful hands; hands that raised the four year old child pictured to the woman who uses her hands to write/type now. Her skin is only slightly scruchee.
My hands are scarred with numerous tiny creases from untold, unremembered cuts, scrapes, and such. Recently I went through an elaborate fingerprinting process so that I could be cleared for a background check in order that I might volunteer with a very special segment of our population, those with mental retardation. I was quite fascinated with all the whorls, swirls, interruptions, creases, and the like.
I don’t know what I would do without my hands. I’ve grown rather attached to them over the years. I hope I might keep them always. Even when I am old and they are scruchee.
Thursday, September 16, 2004I was born and raised in the northeastern quadrant of Pennsylvania, moving around quite a bit. My dad was a truck-driver when I was little, and we moved every year for most of my elementary school years. I liked it though for lots of reasons.
One was if I screwed up somehow with making friends this year, here at this school, no worries, moving on next year....and so I did not have lots of friends growing up, because no one had time to really get to know each other. Besides which, as the constantly new kid, you are not quite welcome for oh! at least 20 or 30 years and then only if you marry a local and you are STILL considered a tad eccentric, cuz ya ain't from these here parts, is ya girly-gurl?
My immediate family was very close. We did lots of nature-oriented stuff, like fishing, hunting, walking, berry picking, camping, etc. I learned that if you wanted to really appreciate an area, you should become familiar with the roads, spots, fishin' holes, swim holes, and such that only the local folks used. So I usually would get to know some locals right off.
Occasionally this would back-fire on me, imagine that?
When I first moved to Valdosta, Georgia; I rented a room in an upstairs apartment from a young woman who was a corrections officer at the county prison. This woman truly had good intentions of being helpful, I firmly believe that. Really, I do.
She thought it awfully odd that my first priority was not meeting the man of my dreams and marrying him, having his children, then maybe divorcing him and such and so forth. In fact, she refused to believe it wasn't a priority at all. I had just moved from PA to GA, was in graduate school pursuing a master's degree and working my butt off as a stats instructor to the good folks over in the EDD program. So I didn't have the time or the energy to go noodling about finding me a man.
Oh don't fret so, my dears, she took it upon herself to round a few up for me. One such roundee, and he was a bit rotund, came from a family of pecan farmers. He was a little overbearing in his presence but I just chalked that up to nerves and thought, ‘Sunday morning to kill, why not?’ when he suggested a tour of some of the back-road local area.
In those days, I was pretty wiry, but solid. I mean, I was about 135 lbs but muscular. I could kick ass, having been a bouncer just before that (if you ever see a picture from then, you'll know just how funny that is). So I was not overly worried about this guy. Besides, he worked with my roommie at the prison. I don't know where the logic was in that, but it seemed to work for me just fine.
I should have known something was up, especially when I went to leave the house and my roommie stopped me with a horrified, "oh my gawd, you are not wearing that, are you?" indicating my faded blue jeans, hiking boots, and dark blue long-sleeved Henley shirt. I thought it was perfectly reasonable attire for mucking around the back roads so off I went.
I have already written about adventures with mis/directions, so suffice it to say it took me awhile to find this guy's place. It was next to a John Deere tractor retail store. You'd think he would have mentioned that as a relevant landmark, but nay nay I say. Instead he gave me lots of other landmarks that were not helpful at all, things that I would go past, and such.
When I did finally get there, half an hour late or so, he answered the door in his boxers. I obviously had woken him with the pounding on the aluminum door. He muttered something about a shower and getting dressed, coming in, watching TV or something. I decided I'd hang outside, the porch had a comfy swing and as always I brought reading material with me.
An hour and a half, numb butt, and a sore neck later, I looked up from my studies as he was locking the door to go. His hair was slicked and combed carefully. His face was freshly shaven. He was wearing a button-up dress shirt, khaki slacks, and penny-loafers with no socks. You might say, ‘uhm Debra, perhaps that was another clue’, but yours truly can be extremely slow on the uptake.
He turned and said, “I thought we'd have some lunch first.” Um, ok. This was smacking more and more of miscommunications and misconceptions. I was thinking, ‘field guide, field trip’. He was radiating, ‘date’.
But I could be wrong, I reasoned. So off to the local buffet we went. There were lots of folks there as church had just let out. In fact I was thinking I would already be back "home" studying. But I figured it was ok, because I did get some reading down while waiting for him to gussee up.
Dinner was a disaster; clear proof that we were not compatible. But why is it that some guys think that incompatibility is just a challenge, making you more irresistible? He stated that he thought it was a waste of time, my education. “I mean,” he said, “look at me, I gotta job, a damn good state job, with good pay, good benefits. I gotta good house, I'm a good guy, don't drink much, and iId be a good husband.” My ears were buzzing and my mind was reeling' in at least twelve different thought patterns, including how to escape this guy and get my vehicle, which was parked at his place.
So I tried to be as delicate as I could, lest I disturb some not so very deep waters. I did not commit to anything (which some take as commitment and agreement). After dinner, we loaded up in his truck with oversized tires (smaller than a monster truck, but definitely a wanna-be). He said, “ok now for that tour.” Aha, so he did understand why I was there....
Nay nay I say.
It was extremely humorous, his idea of a tour. We rode down a street in a very small town, and he stopped at the corner. He stuck his arm in front of my face, pointing out the tinted window. See that there tree? I did indeed see that there tree. Well, he says with great importance, there was a building there. I went to kindergarten there.
I was speechless as we continued to go back out to the highway. At this point I was really glad we did not go mucking through the back country; but I wanted to cry in frustration, or laugh hysterically one, when we pulled up in front of a strip mall and he climbed out, hitching up his drawers and said, let's go get a movie.
I protested that I really did not have the time to watch a movie, having to study. He gave me an indulgent smirk and pulled me out of the truck. In the store I could be of no assistance, because I do not make choices well unless I am in a certain frame of mind. I was most emphatically not in that certain frame of mind; right then, I desperately wanted to flee. My plan now was that as soon as we got to the house, I would make my escape.
Having selected the movie, 'Lost in Paradise' (selected because it was set in PA); he drove back to his place, asking me repeatedly about Boston. I explained once that Boston is not in PA and not all that close, really. But distances are funny to conceive; after all, Boston and PA are both fair distances from the Valdosta, Georgia.
When we pulled up into his drive; he parked behind me, although that was not his customary space, and gave me a lewd grin. I am sure he thought that he was smashingly devastatingly charming, but I really had enough of the whole lil lady routine. So, I said as I got out of the truck and reached in my pocket for my weighty keys, "well, thanks for dinner, gotta go, really..." to which he frowned, "I tried to tell you, but," I shrugged, "so if you could just move a bit, I'll be on my way"
Oh he so did not like that, "now see here" he started, advancing on me. Now, I don't like violence, and the odds were against me; but I don't deal well with threats, implied or overt. I held up my hand, raised my voice, and moved to my car, "no, it's obvious that we are not a good match, and I do value my education, so I must go study; now". With that I swung open the door of my car; right into him; throwing him off balance. I took advantage of that. I hopped into my seat, locked the door, started the car, and pulled across his yard to the highway to go "home".
When I got there, he was on the phone with my roommie and she was fit to be tied. It was then that I knew for sure that I had to get my own place. He called later that night to talk with me, saying he forgave me....imagine that?
Bet you can guess what my response might have been....
23 November 2007
today has been a sluggish day of laundering and dish washing and crocheting and audio books and such. my guy is off trekking in the woods, and i am feeling sleepy (nappish) but i don't want to snuggle down because i don't want to mess up my sleep schedule. mom is coming to visit, and it helps if i am able to wake up first thing in the morning with her and spend some quality time. she is coming tomorrow and after an eight hour drive, i expect to see her in the afternoon.
i hope every one is having a good weekend and don't be overly alarmed if you don't see me around much.
22 November 2007
21 November 2007
i feel a ton better. on reflection, russ is right on; the missing elements of mental agitation and increase acuity (a sharpening that is very unpleasant) fogged the notion of panic attacks right out of my mind. tho now, i'm pretty sure that's what they were (i've general anxiety disorder as one of the mental conditions, and have experienced panic attacks but of a different sort). it fits and wouldn't be the first time my body has responded to something without my overt mental state being synchronized. if i feel off next week, i'll go see jaynie then.
mom is coming in this weekend, i think. she and i will bake ourselves silly next week and catch up with each otehr and craft together and all that. my guy is planning to be here later this evening and we will be together for the next few days. he will be hunting, i may go too (but maybe not). it depends on how i am feeling on those days (cramping in the woods is not a favored activity).
at any rate, enjoy your thanksgiving and your upcoming busy days as much as possible!
20 November 2007
i've been feeling very odd today; sweats, then that eerie wired trembling with raised goose-flesh and tightened thrumming nerves with the boiling blood that makes my mouth flood with saliva and my stomach tighten, my throat locks up and then i begin to choke. it'll back off, then come out of nowhere fast and hit like a friggen convulsion. i feel like a junkie needing a fix. probably look like it too, if the librarian's reaction was any indication. and i was feeling fine then.
i may call my gp tomorrow. please don't let it be a med adjustment, i can't deal with that right now. please.
19 November 2007
Thursday, September 16, 2004
In my opinion the best directions to get are from someone who is not from that area, this is because they give directions based on things as they currently are, not as they used to be...and usually they know the names of streets and highways verses vague landmarks that most likely won't be meaningful to you at all. This is important for a variety of reasons...time, accuracy, and patience being just a few of them!!
Take for instance, the time a few years back when I had recently moved to Alabama from Georgia. I had been working hard and had not had a chance to do much exploring, indulging in rambling around the back roads. At the time I lived in Port of Birmingham, or Birmingport, or as the locals called it Four Corners (due to the fact that the nearby intersection had the only blinking red light for twenty miles in either direction). Four Corners consisted of a convenience store, with two regular gas pumps, two diesel pumps, and a dinette (inside the store) that served the local coal workers a meat and three lunch special and made the most incredibly delicious biscuit sandwiches I ever had the privilege to taste. Across from the store was an empty lot. Caddy-cornered from the store was garage, with two gas pumps. There had been a produce stand on the fourth corner, but apparently folks grew their own and did not need an overpriced mart that only sold local foodstuff anyway; so the defunct shell stood empty, untreated plywood weathered and warped.
I was inside the dinette, seated in a booth, finishing my chicken, greens, creamed potatoes, black-eyed peas, and cornbread trying to figure out what I was going to do with the rest of my unexpected day off. Well, I thought, it's been awhile since I saw a movie and there was one I did want to see, so I decided that was what I wanted to do.
Now, I coulda (and most likely shoulda) drove down 269 through Espy, hopping on 20/59, connecting to 65, and getting off at the appropriate exit for the Galleria. But, I do not particularly care for Espy, for the malfunction-junction of the connecting highways, nor do I like tons of traffic. So I thought I'd ask for directions for some back way, shorter, more pleasant.
This is the answer I got when I asked Dawn (the waitress/cashier/stocker/diesel mechanic) for directions: well lessee, you go up this here road that runs right out here, up over that hill, and then you'll see a dirt road, don't take that one...keep going, and the road kinda curves to the right, but you'll wanna take that road to the left there, k? an' then ya jes gooooo ooooh lessee 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 miles down that way til ya get to where the Lambert's got that big ol tree, n just past that ya wanna take that left and go on down, turn where Flo's Flowers used ta be and then you go straight on in ta Bessemer then I think it's the, hold on now, JONNY, JOOOONNNNEEEE, this here girl wants ta know how to get to the shopping mall out there, that new one.....(at which point Jonny yells back some long set of garbled directions around his wad of chew, or snuff, or some such tobacco product that comes in a pouch--he's the cook and usually doesn't stray to far from the kitchen, which is a good thing on reflection, because I am squeamish when it comes to things in my food that shouldn't be there, and sometimes my overactive imagination strays, like now) Dawn agrees with him, rolling her eyes at me in camaraderie, uhuh, yeap, uhuh, ok, yeah, and then you go up that there road til, HOW MANY LIGHTS DO YA GO, (this time I understood his reply, which was...) Ohhhh, 2 or 3, I think past that first one by the old school...Right, Dawn says, and then you just go about 5 miles, can't miss it, hon.
At this point, I take a deep breath and repeat as much as I can remember, asking for some clarification along the way (such as what kind of tree is the Lamberts? Is there a sign or something on the old florist shop?). Dawn through in some additional confusing landmarks that did not exist anymore. She was trying to be helpful, I truly think. So I set off thinking at the very least it would be a pleasant drive.
And you know, I did find the movie theater, just past where the ole barbecue joint used to be...
Whenever I feel penis envy coming over me, I simply pump my own gas. Shaking the nozzle for that last drip...it being the right height and all, makes me feel as useful as a man.
It is easy to think of thanks regarding certain folks. Thanks for my mom laboring to birth me 37 years ago on a Monday afternoon in Pennsylvania came to mind when I called her the other day, having listened to her singing Happy Birthday on my voice-mail. When she answered the phone, wishing me a happy birthday; I wished her a happy birthday right back. After all, she was the one who did all the hard work and without her, I wouldn't be around today.
I have many thanks for folks like my guy, who has taught me love and acceptance by giving me these things freely and endlessly. His encouragement and support has allowed me to change my life in ways that are ongoing and welcomed. He is a man worth more than he recognizes.
Then there are those entities that are vague notions which embody a collective of concepts, like The Veteran who fought nobly and The Teacher who molded carefully and even The Student who taught me life lessons. We all could and should acknowledge and give thanks to those folks more often than we do. There is the ultimate in nebulous concepts: god, the supreme being, the higher power, the universe.
When it comes to thanking that one person for one extraordinary thing that has mattered tremendously in my life, I'm stumped. I thought of many folks in addition to my guy, my mother, my counselor, my friends, my gp, my mental health caregivers. There are inventors, promoters, writers, readers, conversants. The list easily scrolls out with a multitude of names, titles, positions; all folks, great and small, with whom I interact directly and indirectly. With the notion of sixth degree, I could very well include everybody and anybody; living or dead, even those yet to be.
The truth is that while each person is special and a gift; so is it that no person is uniquely unequaled. What I mean is that Nicolae Tesla has been an amazing man, but as we may or may not know, most of the kudos for ideas and inventions that he developed were given to others mostly because it isn't the conceiver who garners the glory so much as the one who manages the spread of the notion to the mass populations. It is quite common that an idea is not arrived at by merely one person, but an idea whose time has come develops from other formerly conceived concepts that serve as current knowledge; so that many folks arrive to the same conclusion, the same points, the same idea, all but simultaneously.
All this to say that I can and do thank many, yes. Throughout my entries over the years, I've thanked many, including folks whom have been inspirational to me in some way online. And of course, there is you, the one who is reading this right now.
18 November 2007
i'm thankful for him and this very enjoyable weekend.
17 November 2007
we also went to see beowulf last night. awesome movie and was really something. my guy and i debated staying on in the theater and seeing another movie (but in the end decided not to do so). i liked seeing my guy relax and the movie seemed to do the trick for him.
i've had a minimal amount of familiarity with beowulf; having attempted to read various versions over the years and not getting very far. my guy, on the otherhand, read it at the age of 12. he also has read (understood and can explain) many of the classics in literature (like homer's odyssey and shakespear's plays and dickens). he doesn't get high-handed and lofty about this and is often reluctant to share, cuz he fears that others think he is being snobbish. it probably doesn't help that i gawk at him in confusion when he recites lines and entire passages. it isn't cuz i don't like poetry and legends, quite the opposite. i do like it, it's just difficult for me to follow along. i have to hear it, just a little at a time, so i can translate and interpret the meaning (i'm like that with southpark tho, so it has little to do with arcane language). i'm a bit of a square peg in that way.
this morning was another clothing give-away (the second this year, the other was in march). i think that i did ok, got some things that i like and will hopefully fit and will wear. i even found a sweater for my guy because he usually needs something when he is here in the winter, cuz i tend to conserve propane and will gather a few extra layers rather than turn the heater on or up.
all in all, it was a good birthday, thank you for your well wishes!
16 November 2007
i ended up driving to tupelo to the hobby lobby and they did have a fascinating array of needles and hooks; even had one extended cable crochet hook (i snatched it up, MINE!!) and several double-ended crochet hooks (albeit no connecting cord~~which would make them circular~which is what i wanted). but this weekend, i'll show my guy the websites with the interchangeable crochet hook/cable/end kits. drool drool drool
also while i was there, i had a few questions and the employee in the yarn section was more than willing to be extremely helpful (whatta treat!). she was crouched down stocking the bottom shelves and when she rose, she rose, and rose and rose til i was craning my neck back (i'm 5'7", no shrimp). and she was wearing this cool mini skirt (which was probably quite modest on other women, of average stature) and it took all i could do to keep from gawking (whatta tall cool drink she was!).
ok, gotta get ready for an evening out. my guy, whatta guy, sigh.
Judi's call for November's Artsy Essay is here. There are only a few rules, mostly about how to cross-reference her specific entry and your specific entry; but, please take a gander. And then? have fun, be creative, and enjoy yourself as immensely as you can!! Happy Thanksgiving
The theme for this month:
Sharing the Gift of Thanks
If you could thank one person (someone you know or someone you have never met, living or dead) for one extraordinary thing that has mattered tremendously in your life, who would it be and what would you thank them for?
Remember: Descriptive, Descriptive, Descriptive! Make us feel what it is you feel, help us to be right there in the wordy (or pictorial) moment with you. Descriptive language and creativity, as always, are an important part of this challenge, and this month we want to share what really matters to you. Make sure we can see, smell, taste, or imagine exactly what it is you are describing.
then, in the evening, my guy is coming down from oxford and we are going out to a new place ("sushi on main") for my happy birthday dinner.
grins and spins
15 November 2007
earlier today, i called to see if julieta (the seamstress who gave instructions on pattern making and skirt sewing) might be able to meet with me at some other time to help me finish up my skirt and explain a few things. i knew she was in the purse-making class and since i also know that kim (the seamstress who gave instructions on purse making) is in my pattern/skirt class, i'm fairly certain that julieta will pass the info on to kim and others in the third session of the purse class. i was finally able to get some sleep, solid rest, and knew that i needed much more and wanted to take advantage of the ability to sleep while i could. sleep is something that eludes me at times, even with meds and sleep aids that may work for me at other times. so when i am short on sleep and it is becoming a dangerous matter, then i know that if i am able to sleep than i must choose it over other activities (like third-purse making class).
thanks for the encouraging remarks to all these new activities and projects of mine. venturing into unknown territory can be fun, even if i am anxious (to tell myself that there is no reason to be anxious is hurtful for me and it seems to be better for me to acknowledge that i might be anxious, but that i can go ahead and do it anyway, cuz it might be fun). i've been experimenting with knitting stitches and ripping them out and reknitting (when frogging~~rip it, rip it, rip it~~i don't waste yarn, cuz i'm reusing it. and i feel better about the advances i make, the improvement, and the satisfaction of doing a better job). i'm also reminding myself to manipulate the needles with a looser grip (this is a habit i developed as a child, to hold tight so that i could retain control over the spoon, knife, pencil, crayon, pen, crochet hook, knitting needles, mugs' handles, cups, etc. most of the time, i can ease up with constant reminding but when attempting a new thing, i feel a pressure and choke up on the knitting needle, like it is a bat that i am using to attack the ball and knock it out of the park ~~~homerun! the crowd goes wild!). that explains the cramping of my right thumb and index finger. so i'm relaxing a bit; i'll force myself to relax, dammit!!
so i finally got journals up and loaded when i noticed that my posts' titles are a blue that clashes with the green format i have chosen. then, i noticed a buncha other lil things that journals now have. how could i not? the orange arrowed "NEW" labels and maroon "add/manage writers" next to the NEW feature under journal title and within description area and the lil calendar icon (archives) and the lil alarm clock icon (manage alerts); all screamed colorfully as a baboon's ass.
a blue, maroon, orange, icon'd baboon's ass.
14 November 2007
however, when pushed to the extreme, i get my back up and get in your face. now this isn't something that happens often (cuz i hate confrontation and have become rather isolated, minimizing interaction with others to a select few, at select times, in select methods); but when it does, i become two stories tall and fearless men cower like the scum they are.
(hear me roar)
today, i went to inquire at the shop if my order for crochet hooks (cabled and doubled) were in, yet. nope. in fact, the dude got attitude. and so i unleashed my own attitude. it went something like this:
dude: yeah, can i hep ya?
me: yes, i ordered crochet hooks two weeks ago and still haven't heard anything.
dude: yeah, well, i'll be getting to those orders in the next few days. cuz i just don't drop everything to order a crochet hook.
me: two weeks ago, i pre-paid for these hooks that your wife special ordered using that (pointing to the lil scanner), while telling me that it would take about a week for them to come in. last thursday, i called to inquire after the hooks and she told me that it would be tuesday or wed. i still haven't heard anything, so here i am. now, am i correct? you are telling me that you haven't ordered them yet? even though she assured me when i placed the order that they would be in the following week. and now it is a full two weeks. and you haven't even placed the order?
dude: uhm. well. what's your name? (reaching for a clipboard with lil notes sprawled and jotted in margins. i tell him.) well, i don't see you here. but i spose i could give you your money back...?
me: yes, that's a fine idea. i have the receipt right here.
dude realizes that this was for some very special crochet hooks indeed, and seems to regret offering to refund what he may have thought was a paltry amount of run of the mill aluminum hooks that i could find at walmart. as he is slowly punching the numbers in, and scowling at the receipt as tho i may have forged it; i spy my order info written on a note taped to the catalog (my phone number underlined in red). i recall his wife reassuring me as she was writing my order, "we'll call as soon as they come in".
i pointed out the note to him, as he is handing me $32.08. "oh," he says, picking up the note. and ya know what? it's ok. it may have set my timing off, cuz instead of driving up to tupelo a couple weekends ago, i relied on these folks to be business-like in conduct; but, it's ok. cuz i will get exactly what i am wanting, for a much better price.
the order? it had been for a crochet hook with cable extending and also for a double-headed hook with cording between the hooks. two hooks? $32. they coulda had a good deal of future business from me, being that i placed the order the very first visit. their loss.
i'm moving on.
so it was with great trepidation i sat behind a table-top personal single-needle today to attempt to actually sew my purse that i cut out yesterday. lots of ripping of seams, lots of questions, lots of shaky moments of cringing cuz the more i concentrate on my poor coordination, the worse it gets. but if i speed thru, not paying any attention, then things are a sloppy mess. so, i have to find the happy medium. which is trickier than ya might think.
there was a woman that just would not, but should have, shut her ever-complaining mouth because no one wanted to hear it. she had a huge problem with me and my using the machine the facility lent to me. she had her own machine, but she didn't bring it (altho every other person there did cuz the instructor bid them to do so). she would directly ask me anything, but she whined and bitched so much so that when she finally did leave, the others remarked that they felt so bad for me.
they knew that it was the first time ever for me to actually use a sewing machine and i was terribly nervous without having the woman nattering at me, around me, about me. the thing is, the class? free. the materials? free. the child-care provided for her obnoxious whiny spawn? free. the entire thing, every aspect of the whole affair? free, Free, FREE.
when she swept from the room, the tension level dropped and the laughter and fun began. the instructor stayed after and explained lots of stuff for me, helped me to get what was what, assured me, and then i stayed there and took my time, but steadily worked on my purse. and it is all but finished. and i really enjoyed it. and when i ran into my instructor at the grocery store six hours later (just post-purse), i happily crowed with a sense of self-pride.
look, ma, a purse!
12 November 2007
ladies and gentlemen
this is bamboo number eight
g, h, i, and j
and if ya wanna go larger, then there is size k
some say size doesn't matter, oh yeah right
but it does, espec'ly in the light
true gauge fits the best (oh yes)
fitted darts stitched for my chest
then too there is all that yarn
i like angora, alpaca, llama, and bamboo
imagine if you could, yarn made from fibrous wood
so what can i do? but try them all, oh my yes!
to me knitting is just like a sport
anything fly, it's all good, such a glut
you could call me strumpet
a lil bit of crocheting in my life
a lil bit of choice yarn by my side
a lil bit of wool all i need
a lil bit of hemp what i see
a lil bit of cotton in the sun
a lil bit of clicking all night long
a lil bit of good light here i am
a lil bit of fun makes me your fan
bamboo number 8!
knit up and stockinette in the round
tap your fingers to the sound
tap your toes on the ground
right needle front to back, yes that's right
pull the loop thru, stitch is new for you
do it again and then yet again
and if it looks like this then you're doing it right
a lil bit of crocheting in my life
a lil bit of choice yarn by my side
a lil bit of wool all i need
a lil bit of hemp what i see
a lil bit of cotton in the sun
a lil bit of clicking all night long
a lil bit of good light here i am
a lil bit of fun makes me your fan
bamboo number 8!
(heh heh heh yeah)
a lil bit of crocheting in my life
a lil bit of choice yarn by my side
a lil bit of wool all i need
a lil bit of hemp what i see
a lil bit of cotton in the sun
a lil bit of clicking all night long
a lil bit of good light here i am
a lil bit of fun makes me your fan
i do all to
fall in love with crafts like this
cuz i can't run, and i can't hide
i wanna learn and give it a try
bamboo number 8!
this morning, we put some packets together; and he drove off to oxford. this sometimes worries me, cuz he has had a very exhausting time of it. so this means no sleep for him and just a shower to wake himself up, and then drive up to the uni so that he can conduct a research seminar.
i get to go to sleep.
anyway, after my shower, i realized that my right hand is swollen and a bit cramped. frozen into one position which is reminiscent of a mitt. and now i have a lovely network of bruising that is surfacing under my skin. like a map of back-ass dirt swamp roads out this way.
perhaps i need to ease up and stop trying to manhandle those needles into forcing that yarn into loops and such.
11 November 2007
10 November 2007
so all ya have a great weekend.
i will be drawing and crochet'ing.
09 November 2007
1. my birthday is november 16 (which this year is next friday; but the year i was born, 1970, it was a monday. which is telling, cuz i sure as shit ain't full of grace. in fact, i'm fair in more than face~~a very pale person indeed. as to whether i'm fair in face in the traditional sense, i can give you a resounding no. no one have ever accused me of being the face to launch a thousand ships and with good reason. i'm not butt-ugly, but lord knows i'm no gift of loveliness). thank you for those early belated birthday wishes, if i would have known you last year, i would think that you were very remiss in your tardiness. as most of you are new acquaintances on my horizon, i am very touched by your well wishes, and early at that. don't think this lets you off the hook, tho. oh no, i expect the same fuss made all over again, next week.
2. my screenname (dkb11161970) is a composite of my initials and my birthdate (expressed in the american style of month-day-year) because my guy can never remember my birthday.
3. that's a lie. i picked the screenname cuz i couldn't think of anything more fitting that would remain true for longer than a passing phase.
4. i always remember my guy's birthday. november 28. or november 29. no, no i'm pretty sure that last year it was the 28. yes. anyway, that's when I am going to celebrate his birthday, the 28th.
5. i love tea. and i have a coffee-pot that has never had the grounds of coffee taint its basket. it was bought solely for the brewing of tea. i do have two other smaller coffee-pots for the coffee drinkers who visit from time to time (both are 4 cuppers; one is for caffeinated and one is for decaffeinated); cuz i'm anal like that.
6. i'm stumped...cuz i've written about all the important things. there is just nothing else to say, really. i guess that means i could delete this journal. well then, there THAT is.
7. but i don't think i will, just yet. there may be some days that i need to reread myself to figure out who i am. when i did the patterns today, i wrote a gazillion notes on it and a woman asked me why i did that. i told her that i have a really spotty memory and some days need to read labels just to clearly identify things. she backed away slowly.
8. i listen to delilah on the radio (queen of sap) some evenings. i find it soothing and am embarrassed by that. so of course i want to share it with you.
9. i don't remember not knowing how to read. mom says that she thinks i learned to read before i learned to speak. i think that i knew how to speak, just didn't find anything of interest to say. til i was 3.
10. since then, i've never shut up. even if i am not talking, i'm engaged in several conversations. internally.
11. i talk to myself lots when i am driving. it helps me focus. and that way, i know that i will always have intelligent conversation.
12. i think other people think i am singing along to the radio. they probably know i am babbling at myself. sigh. foiled again.
13. i use to fear foil. i've gotten better with that. now, i loath plastic wrap. i do however like gallon sized plastic bags.
14. i have atrocious handwriting. i type faster than i can write, and with fewer mistakes. i type almost as fast as i talk. i had to take typing classes because teachers complained that they couldn't read my writing. this is probably no big deal now, but in pre-computer times, it was a big deal which necessitated rearranging my schedule and pulling me out of one school and putting me in another. fun, fun, fun. good time those.
15. because i moved so often, i attended 8 different school districts (primary and secondary). i've moved over 50 times (i quit counting). so my current home of almost 6 yrs is by far the longest time i've lived anywhere. my roots are snarled about the kudzu and hay.
16. i have great landlords. my landlady has bailed me out of jail (long-ass story there, but the county ended up apologizing for mistakenly arresting me, and reimbursing bail monies and fine monies), at the time she was home-schooling, so coming to the jail was a field-trip for the kids that day. my landlady has also helped corset me (another long story), in the process, she showed her sona portion of my tat, with the instructions to "sketch something like that". she has fed my dogs while i was away. she came to my rescue when my car's rack and pinion left me incapable of making left hand turns (that trip to the garage was great fun!). she helped me break into my own home (cuz we couldn't find the spare keys). she also let me pay the forgotten rent a month late with no penalties. and countless other things. she's a great person.
17. her husband (my landlord) is also a great guy. he's big and tends to scare and intimidate some folks. but my mother scares him. so, the dynamics are very interesting. he has replaced air conditioners and rescued kittens and crawled under the trailer countless times. he has removed a couple of skinks (no really, they were a couple, male and female, lil lovers mating), an assortment of snakes, and a squirrel from my office. he also has done quite a few renovations (rather innovative really) for me over the years.
18. i just realized that lots of this list focuses on others. so to refocus, it's all about me (as my friend, walt, used to say).
19. my favorite movies are "fried green tomatoes (at the whistle stop cafe)", fugitive, point of no return, and memento. "fried green tomatoes" is one of my favorite books too. however, i don't care for the dish, because it isn't nearly as common as you might think to have good fried green tomatoes in the south.
20. i first ate fried green tomatoes when i was a child, in pa. my mother made them on a regular basis when the tomatoes were coming on in the garden (also the tail end of the season). i didn't realize that they were a southern dish til i was an adult.
21. both sides of my family are german (pennsylvania dutch) for more generations than i know.
22. pa dutch is a misnomer of sorts. dutch refers to those from holland. but in this case, pa dutch usually refers to deutsch (which is german for uhm german). except the amish (pronounced ahhhh mish (not aye mish)) really have their roots in holland, so they truly are the pa dutch.
23. the largest settlement of amish is not in pa; but is in ohio. most states do have some small amish communities.
24. the mennonite are often thought to be amish. not so.
25. i have bachelor's degrees in german, philosophy, and sociology; with concentrations in ASL (American Sign Language; not, age/sex/location) and pa cultures. hence the factoids on amish, mennonite, and i could give ya stuff about the hutterites too, but won't.
26. i've forgotten more than i now know of both german and asl. when you don't use it on a regular basis, you do forget stuff.
27. i do however remember how to ride a bike. both with and without motors.
28. last year, i took swimming lessons.
29. i have a wicked back stroke and back elementary stroke.
30. i forget to breathe on my breast strokes. the combination of arm work, leg work, and breathing is two too many things for me to master in one stroke.
31. i talk just the same as i write. in lower case.
32. sometimes, i can be incredibly witty. other times, i'm rather flat.
33. my guy and i have been together four and a half years. he is the only guy i've ever been with who is my own age (or younger). and he is the most mature and responsible guy i've ever known. yet again confirming that age and maturity do not necessarily form direct correlations.
34. i used to teach statistics. to master's level students. while i was earning my bachelors. and ed.d. students. while i was earning my master's.
35. i took medical leave while working on my own phd (in sociology) because my mental condition had deteriorated at a rather alarming rate. my profs were very supportive.
36. i cannot think of what to say. because there are too many things coming to mind at once.
37. i hate that.
08 November 2007
i am so sorry that i didn't fully understand about the one transcript that i picked up on monday. i'm sorry that i didn't realize it was to be sent to them instead of me picking it up like i had the others the previous week. i am so proud of you and hope that this doesn't mess anything up with that particular site. if possible, would you please complete the form again and this time i will make sure i get it right? maybe this monday wouldn't be too late. i'm very sorry.
so first you get someone to measure you. you want the measurements to be just a tad snug if you are doing it over clothes. if you are not, then you have a pretty kinky relationship with your measurer and what the hell do you need a skirt for anyway? you want to have good accurate measurements to work from and if you try to measure yourself, you don't get as good a fit as if you stand in an open position instead of contorting your body to measure it.
waists are the smallest part of your trunk, usually this is about belly-button height. hips are the fullest part of your body; this usually falls about the top of your pubes (my guide, not julieta's) and included the biggest part of your bootie. there is usually about 8 inches between waist and hip measurements (distance from waist to hip, not difference in widths). i have a high waist so my hip length is actually nine inches. generally, 8 is a good standard to go by and will not usually steer you too awful wrong.
you want to be sure that you have accurate measurements because you want the skirt to fit. otherwise, why are you making it? this means that you will have to be real and not shave off an inch or so to make the skirt ideal. if you make it too tight, you will look even bigger than you are. if it fits, you will like it and if you like it, you will wear it, and if you wear it, then you will feel better about you and your skirt making abilities.
also, when measuring for a skirt, you need to consider darts (to get that fitted feel). how to do this? measure from one nipple to the other. this makes several assumptions, not the least of which is that you have two nipples and no more or less (so you third nipple freaks must make the crucial decision to choose the two pointy nipples atop your breastestes). lest you think i am having you on (the distance between nips for a skirt?!?!), let me assure you that i am solemnly serious. think about it, when you are wearing a fitted skirt, the darts line up with your nipples (and shoulder blade points, but i've a big butt, so no darts are necessary in the rear (no pin the tail on this donkey)).
now most skirts are made in four panels (even skirts that have only two seams are usually based on four panels, with the material folded and cut just so); so divide your waist and hip measurements by four (cuz you will be making four panels to cover what you just measured). also, divide the dart (the nipple to nipple measurement) in half (cuz you have two darts). decide on the length of your skirt (i like mine to end around my knees, it is where the body has a natural cut-off~~at the joint).
next, using butcher's paper, heavier tissue paper, or newsprint (basically any paper that is big enough to make your pattern; stay away from most fabrics at this stage, they have too much give and a decided bias against pattern-making), measure a line to represent the quarter waist width. perpendicular to that line, starting from the left corner, draw a line for your skirt length.
using the standard 8 inches for hip length, draw a line that runs parallel to the waist, 8" down from the waist on the length. next, draw another parallel line to the waist, at the bottom of the length. now draw a straight line from the right hand edge of the bottom of your skirt up to the hip line (this should now look like a rectangle with an L on top of it). now, use a curved measure (sometimes referred to as a hip curve or a french curve), connect the top right corner of the rectangle (hip) to the parallel line above it (waist). the waist measurement and the hip measurement will vary and the curve measure will help to transition from the full hip to the tucked waist line. the majority of your pattern is now done!
i'll draw it up in stages and post those later.
my own measurements are hour-glass like; altho i am large, i am shapely. in fact, it usually stumps people when they realize i am a good deal heavier and larger than they first thought. today was no different, my measurer asked the instructor to do my measurements because she thought they were incorrect. they weren't.
the other thing is that i've had a ton of words come pouring outta me, and now i need to give them structure. close to 140 thousand words, some recurrent thoughts; but those things will make much more sense when i have a chance to edit revise edit revise edit and rewrite.
07 November 2007
there is a pic of a squirrel holding a walnut is in each hand on the cover. ya open the card, and it says, "scooter the squirrel would give his left nut to make sure you have a happy birthday". then when ya close the card, it says "ouch" on the back, under a pic of a nutcracker.
06 November 2007
By the way... have ya seen this week's writing assingment, brought to you by that dude, with the bedside laptop...
Weekend Assignment #38: It's the Holidays! Create your own festive Holiday Character and give him, her or it at least one seasonally appropriate magical ability (or use its native traits and skills to save the holiday season).
Khin Khee, the camel cricket, has a very special talent that is absolutely essential to the completion of Santa's mission. Now you may be familiar with the miners' best friend, the canary. This fine feathered friend would descend into the pits with the first few miners. He would be merrily chirping along, letting the men know it was safe to go further. The canary would stop singing, indeed cease living, if noxious fumes and poisonous gases that are odorless to the human olfactory organs infiltrated is little lungs. He was the early-warning system of days gone by.
Well, Khin Kee, the camel cricket, is also called a cave cricket. He likes the dark and can function quite well is those places. Now, I don't know if YOU'VE ever been in the sorta situation which would necessitate peering up or down a chimney. I certainly have not. Nor have I ever managed to get stuck or jump freely down one, let alone ascend to the rooftop.
But Santa, well, he NEEDS to be able to see down, skinny through, do his business, and alight back to the sleigh so that he can go on to the next chimney. Now of course not all homes have chimneys. But for those that do, Khin Kee, the camel cricket, has the most important task of preceeding the jolly fat elf down the chimney to give the all-clear signal.
Why, if it weren't for Khin Kee, the camel cricket, who knows in what state of affairs we all would be?
That is why, my friends, the children with chimneys sing with glee, their joy for the Khin Kee, the camel cricket. You'd've heard of him, before this, I am sure, if there were but more homes with chimneys, galore.