Tuesday continued, Blackhills, Mt Rushmore, Crazy Horse, and Sturgis

Because I've never been a huge fan of cameras, I often forget to take pictures of incredible sights.  I usually am too wrapped up in enjoying the moment.  When I was younger, before widespread internet usage, where you can google all sorts of images, I used to buy postcards on trips, rather than take pictures.  I figured the postcard will have angles I can't always get with my camera.  Besides, at the time, digital was unheard of and you took multiple shots, eating up rolls of film, to be sure you got at least ONE good shot.

Now, I do have a small digital camera.  It's great, as long as I remember to use it.  I have a very small screen on my cell phone too, with lower resolution, so it's not great to use as a camera, but it will do in a pinch.  There again, I often forget that it has that option.

But mostly tho, I forget to take pictures.  It's me, not the camera, at fault.  So the first half of our trip has one picture, but I do have lots of brochures and maps and notes.  Some I can find online, I'm sure, to share.  Some notes tho, exist only in my head. Those will be shared here too, well, most of them.  There are a few that might not be entirely suitable for public consumption.  Like the misreading of the bumper sticker that made Jerry and me laugh belly bursting guffaws that startled the park ranger.

Anywhoooo, this map of the Black Hills & Badlands of South Dakota & Northeastern Wyoming was used so much that I left one copy in tatters and had to pick up another.  That and I love maps.  When I was a kid, I was happy with a map and a dictionary, even if where we were going did not correspond with the map.  Someday I will visit the tri~state area of PA, NJ, and NY and be able to make way way to the Lackawaxen and Delaware, where Zane Grey's home is, provided the roads haven't changed in the past forty years.

I think this will be my last post of the day, I'm going astray here.

So that Tuesday afternoon, of the 22nd, back in August, we drove outta the badlands and the Pine Ridge, right over to the Black Hills.  We skirted Rapid City and zipped down 79, ooohing and awwing at the looming mountains, the granite faces of which were looking pretty shear and not supporting much growth.  Then we took a sharp turn on forty and merged with the traffic flowing toward Mount Rushmore.  I was decidedly underwhelmed with Mount Rushmore when I actually saw it.

Lemme 'splain, Lucy; lemme 'splain.  See, we've all seen these huge up~close pictures of the faces of our four presidents.  But we don't usually see them from afar, from the perspective of what the typical viewer of the actual Mount Rushmore would see.  We don't see the faces nestled into the surrounding mountain ledges and faces.  So when we do see these sixty foot faces, we're all like, wow, sixty foot face!  Four of them!  woah!

But when I saw them, they seemed so small compared to what I expected, what I had built up in my mind.  I was thinking I would veer around the mountain side and up head would be looming Washington's nose and it would scare me, from the sheer size of this monument.  So when I actually did see it, from afar, from the Avenue of Flags, I was kinda disappointed.  I felt like, dude, that's it?

Then I caught myself and realized 400 men worked on that.  I looked at the features and imagined men crawling across the surface, hanging in harnesses, as they chiseled away, sculpting the finishing touches on this one's nose and that one's eyebrow.  I looked at Washington's lapels and thought about the detailed attention.  Then I could appreciate it all, a little.

Perhaps it also had to do with the crowded chaos around me, the people walking their non~service pets around and past signs that forbade you from bringing your animals farther, the smokers leaning next to the No Smoking signs, the obnoxious children who sniveled and whined, the multitudes of inconsiderate people who stop to take their pictures completely mindless of others moving behind them in the walkway.  Perhaps it had to do with the heat and sun and discomfort of standing for too long, listening to the woman berating her husband for bringing the wrong camera, watching people climb up to perch on rocks when the signs clearly ask you not to do that.  Perhaps I was feeling peevish anyway and this all just made me feel more irate.  But I was super glad to leave the maddening crowds of ill mannered people behind and seek refuge in my vehicle.

As we drove the seventeen miles to Crazy Horse, I sat back and enjoyed the mountains, refusing to look at traffic, but instead, keeping my gaze slanted upward, toward the peaks and cliffs and sky.  For as much as I was underwhelmed with Mount Rushmore, I was that much impressed with Crazy Horse.  They seemed to have put much thought into every aspect of the ongoing project as well as the visitors' center, the museum, the collections, the stories told, and so forth.  I've included a link, but there are many sites online which discuss Crazy Horse the man and also the monument.  I urge you to take a look, especially if you are unfamiliar with either.

They plan to spend the next five years or so, focusing on the hand and the upper part of the horse's mane, of which the extended hand rests.  Yes, it will take considerable amount of time and work yet and it may never be completed as there are several controversial points of view to consider; but the amount of work, the type of imagination and creative forces at play, this one family's story and determination, and the message brought forth is intensely impressive to me.  We left that memorial feeling awed and hopeful in ways that the white granite faces of four {which could all fit on the side of Crazy Horse's head} failed to inspire.  This reddish brown mass of sediments that made up that mountain was easily visible to us later was we found an unbeaten dirt path which took us to the top of a high mountain, allowing us to look out over the other mountains, down into canyons, and gave us a respite from the touristy towns below.

We saw mule tailed deer and chipmunk, wrens and sparrows, and towering rock formations with cracks and crevices from which pine trees grew.  We did not see the big horn rams the road signs below warned us to watch for.  We didn't see sure footed goats perilously clinging to the side of rocky mountain faces.  We did see huge pick up trucks that were meant and probably needed for these dirt roads, especially during the winter months.  And we saw more than a few puzzled or amused looks when our lil yaris bounced along the track, crossing over the cattle gap, kicking up a low lying cloud of dust as it passed by.

That night, as the last of the day's light left the sky, we pulled into Sturgis, down Main, past the myriad of biker shops, leather shops, tattoo shops, bars, and diners.  We found our airbnb for the night and met our host, who had a few suggestions for us the following day, as we stayed in Sturgis for two nights.  More on Sturgis tomorrow!

Day 3, Tuesday 22 August

Later in the afternoon, on Monday the 21st, we pulled into Lincoln, Nebraska.  We were a bit disappointed that we didn't see the Solar Eclipse, but knew there would be many pictures and videos and stories shared by others; so we weren't too upset.  We found a steakhouse right on the main highway, a place called "Cheddars {made from scratch kitchen}".  There we ordered steaks; of course, what else would you order in the middle of the plains?

Jerry's rare steak came out just the way he wanted.  As did my medium well ribeye.  The sides were forgotten, but I do remember the warm apple crisp with vanilla ice cream.  So good, almost as good as the perfect steaks, but not quite.  The steaks had a fresh rosemary seasoning that worked well to set just the right note of great taste, texture, and smell.  If we ever return to Lincoln, we would make a point to find Cheddars and sample their steaks again.

Our airbnb hostess showed us into our quarters, the basement of a 1950s ranch style home that had been made into an apartment for her daughter when she was in college.  We were both asleep by 9p, the earliest I think either of us have been tucked in for years now.   Early bedtime meant early to rise, way Way WAY too early.  We both woke around 2a and lay there til about 3 and then got up, admitting we weren't going back to sleep.

Originally, I'd planned to visit the International Quilt Study Center and Museum, which was closed on Mondays.  But on Tuesday they were to have a noon lecture, as well as starting their public tours at 11a.  Since we woke so early, I couldn't see waiting around for that long, and after leaving a note to reassure the host that our accommodations were fine and apologizing for setting off the Wiener Patrol {she had two dachshunds that would most likely raise a ruckus when they heard us leaving the basement by the side door, and they did, a fine raspy rowdy ruckus indeed}; we loaded the car with our bags and head west young man, head west!

By the time the sun greeted Tuesday morning, we had already stopped at an Iron Skillet, one of the few actual sit down restaurants at truck stops that remain in business.  We were just about to turn northward, heading thru the Niobrara River Valley and the Sandhills.  I'd also picked up a brochure focused on Nebraska's roadside flowers and grasses.

We were well into the plains and were beginning to see vegetation that we don't normally have in Mississippi.  There were fields of yarrow, poppy, sunflowers, black~eyed susan, sandreed, wheatgrass, wildrye, and needlegrass.  We were beginning to see vast ranches and altho we still had rolling hills, everything was carpeted with various green and colorful vegetation; but nothing that was taller than waist height.  We did see some cattle, occasionally; but mostly, it was just miles of fields with the smattering of groups of well tended and neat clusers of buildings.  The houses were often multistoried, but still smaller than the big huge barns.

There were hundreds of miles where we did not pass another vehicle, it was very peaceful and soothing.  Then we drove into a small town called Valentine, Nebraska; just before we crossed into South Dakota.  They had a small visitor's center, but the t~shirts weren't my size.

We'd been listening to Peter Cozzens's "The Earth is Weeping:  The Epic Story of the Indian Wars for the American West".  Much of the countryside we would view that day had been the locale for many of the skirmishes that were being discussed one those specific disks that we were listening to.  It was sobering and thought provoking.

Once in South Dakota, we turned west, leaving the sandhills, riding into the Badlands.  We were on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation.  I do a fair amount of knitting and crocheting for charity and have donated many hats, scarves, and afghans to Pine Ridge over the years.  I wanted to see for myself this place that was so destitute, and yet so very large.

It's bigger than Delaware and Rhode Island combined, a huge sweeping land of plains and buttes and mesas and layered rock formations with startling bright colors.  A land of dry dirt and loose gravel, the vegetation no longer lush and verdant.  The sage brush and other scrub brush grew no taller than my knees.  The few and far between trees grew low and twisted, close to the ground, as tho hunched from the winds.

Gone were the sprawling ranches, well tended and manicured buildings.  Deserted mobile homes dotted the prairie now.  The occasional home stood back from the highway, down a dirt road, in the middle of a space that seemed to exist isolated and alone.  Multiple vehicles clustered around several small single wide mobile homes.

Pine Ridge is one of the poorest places in the USA, it was THE poorest until a couple years ago, when two other reservations in South Dakota became even more impoverished.  The land is huge and sprawling, yes; but only about 25% of it is suitable for agriculture.  Less than thirty thousand people live on the Reservation.  Little to no local work is to be had, there are no thriving economic sources, no industry, no agricultural base, no sustainable cottage industries that can adequately support a family, let alone a multigenerational family that live together in a trailer.

The land is barren and eerily beautiful, but the area youth flee as soon as they can.  We'd stopped for lunch at the Wagon Wheel, a rather run down bar that served buffalo burgers, fries, and pizza.  And lots of alcohol.  We talked the barkeep, she grew up there, just down the road, she nodded a bit to the south, on a ranch that her family had had for generations.  She was a white woman, she said that in her classes at school, her family ranked among the wealthiest, but compared to out there, she nodded to her truck with Rapid City plates, they were dirt poor.  "Still," she shrugged, "now I appreciate the beauty of all that, I missed it all when I was a kid."  She sighed and stared off, "I thought I was really something, getting out, going to Rapid City.  My brother owns this place, it ain't much, but it's a helluva lot too.  I drive down from Rapid to help him out."  I asked how far that was, and she shrugged again, "oh, about 75 miles, give or take.  One way.  How you like them burgers?"

A few more words about Pine Ridge:  unemployment is between 80 and 85%; a full half of the residents live beneath poverty level; many families have no electricity, no phone, no running water, and no sewage system; most folks have no health care or inadequate access to health care, and yet, some of the highest rates of depression, suicide, diabetes, alcoholism, drug addiction, malnutrition, and infant mortality of the USA can be found right there, on Pine Ridge.

I'll continue the rest of Day 3, our trip into the Black Hills of South Dakota in the next post, leaving behind the poverty of Pine Ridge and entering into the glitz and glam of Deadwood and the motorcycle rally center, Sturgis.

TOTAL ECLIPSE, zero visibility

So day two of our trip started with us bright eyed and bushy tailed in Joplin, MO.  Our hosts had a busy day planned for themselves; especially Torrie, who taught Astronomy at a local university.  However, they were fretting over the cloud cover and were avidly watching the meteorologist's report on the morning news to see if the skies were to clear in enough time for the lunchtime solar eclipse.  We left, to head to St Joseph, thinking that perhaps the sky was clearer there.

That was not to be, as it became increasingly clear to us that the cloud cover was there to stay for at least the day.  The sky was a solid sheet of grey, the sun did not even peep thru a bit.  It was overcast for the entire drive along Kansas and Missouri, north to Kansas City.

Along the highways were huge digital signs announcing "SOLAR ECLIPSE TODAY:  NO STOPPING ON THE ROAD OR SHOULDER".  At the exits, many trucks were parked with people sitting in their lawn chairs in the truck bed, wearing their special glasses, gazing up at the cloud cover in vain.  The roads remained fairly empty of city traffic, which was eery, as I've been thru Kansas City during lunch hour and it's no picnic.

But this was like a stroll in the park, just as easy as a breeze.  There was us and then too I think there were several large rigs and a smattering of law enforcement.  So as we neared St Joseph and I could tell our cloud cover was not going to clear off, I gestured to Jerry to keep driving.  If you didn't know there was an eclipse happening, you'd think that there was a bad storm brewing; the sky darkened and we hit the lights for about half an hour.   At about 1:06, the dark deepened and a few minutes later, the day began to lighten again.

Our Shaded Noontime was rather anticlimactic.  But we made excellent time to Lincoln, Nebraska.

Our trip: Day 1: Sunday 20th August 2017

Sunday morning, the 20th of August, I awoke feeling somewhat nauseated and a little anxious.  I couldn't put my finger on it.  We'd packed for the trip the night before, leaving some items to load until the morning, like a cooler with frozen bottles of water that would keep the unfrozen drinks cool and our medicine, computers, pillows, etc.  We were both excited for the trip and looking forward to it.  But for some reason, I was almost panicked and having a difficult time getting myself to calm.  I felt like I needed another shower, even tho I had just taken one.  I was incredibly hot and that made me worry about later in the trip and how I would fare when we crossed the desert; yes, our yaris has air-conditioning, but there was no guarantee that it would be able to handle the triple digits of the dry desert.  Then I reminded myself that it's been a good lil car and has handled triple digits of moist Mississippi heat and let's not go beggin' or borrowin' trouble.  As anyone with anxiety disorders can tell you, sometimes there is no rhyme or reason for when or what will trigger it.  But this particular spell didn't last for long; by the time we said goodbye to our three lil dogs, Sophie, Chiquita, and Libby, I was ready to go.  I reclined the seat and rested to achieve a calmer state and by the time we pulled into Waffle House for breakfast in Winona, about an hour's drive to the west from Starkville; I felt much, Much, MUCH better.

Our plan was to head up I55 to Memphis and catch I40 west past Little Rock, then take the scenic AR 7 north thru the Ozarks.  It's one of the top scenic drives in the USA that National Geographic recommends.  I heartily recommend it too!

We did have a slightly off putting moment or two in West Memphis at the Arkansas Welcome Center.  One of the two employees had asked Jerry where he was from and at his reply of Mississippi, she quipped, "Oh, I'm sorry."  Thing is, this is our home, where we choose to be.  Mississippi does have its faults, sure, but there are many good things about Mississippi too.  Someone who is acting as a welcoming ambassador should not put down your home, even if they view doing so as a joke.  Jerry wears a billed cap which proudly proclaims that he is retired Coast Guard, he was in active service for over twenty years.  After he retired from the military, he worked in the food service industry for a few years before he worked for Mississippi State University.  He then worked at MSU, in the Vet School's library, working with students, faculty, and staff.  He retired from that in 2015.  So you might say that he knows a thing or two about working in a service oriented industry, especially dealing with the general public.  So when we have great encounters, we are sure to compliment them and also to let their superiors know that they did a great job.  We do the same if there is terrible service; so that night, he wrote to the Arkansas Department of Tourism.  Other than that tho, we were determined to kick off our trip with good spirits, so didn't let that get us down.

So we set off on AR SR 7, thru a fair piece of the Ozarks, a mountain range that Missouri and Arkansas share.  For those of you familiar with Lil Abner, you may recall that for a time, there was a themed amusement park that focused on the Lil Abner characters.  The now defunct park is closed to the public, but you can still see quite a bit as the road travels along portions of the creek, campground, and several buildings.  You can read all about Dogpatch USA here.

Scenic 7 twisted and curved, climbing up and then dipping down, cautioning you to drive slowly.  We gawked at the Buffalo National River, cutting a swath thru the valleys, over the years creating a grand canyon of the Ozarks, different in presentation but similar in creation as THE Grand Canyon in Arizona.  I'd picked up a brochure on the wildflowers because there were some that I didn't recognize at all, tho many I did.

Mexican Hat, Queen Ann's Lace, Black~Eyed Susan, chicory, Cardinal Flower, Purple Coneflower, Rose Vervain, Goldenrod, Plains Coreopsis, Butterfly Weed, and Tickseed grew plentifully along the highway, into the fields, down the valleys, and up mountainsides.  We saw a few barn quilts, too.  I read that the Buffalo is this country's first national river; I didn't even know we had national rivers!  It was all lushly beautiful.

For lunch, we stopped at the Ozark Cafe, in Jasper, Arkansas.  It's one of the oldest continuously operating restaurants in the state.  It's on the National Registry of Historic Places, as the original Ozark Cafe was opened in 1909 and served only one item per day, either a soup or a stew.  One bowl cost a quarter.  It today's market that 1909 quarter would be $6.50!

One of the reasons Lil Abner's theme park did not succeed for long is because Branson is able to attract many entertainers that it could not.  Branson and the Pigeon Forge/Sevierville/Gatlinburg area of the Smokies share many of the same entertainment companies, which provide venues for variety shows, musicians, plays, etc.  Lil Abner's and Branson only sit an hour or so apart.  There were other reasons for the park's demise, including the retirement of the artist who drew the comic strip, so folks became less familiar with the characters.  But speak to most anyone who grew up in the sixties, and they can tell you something about the movies and tv shows featuring those comic strip characters, including Schmoo!

We pulled into Joplin, Missouri to spend the night with our airbnb hosts late.  It was almost ten and we brushed our teeth, after saying our hellos, then fell into the very comfortable bed.  In the morning, we set off for our drive north, intending to witness the solar eclipse from St Joseph, a bit north of Kansas City, in totality.  But that was not to be...

I'm back!

In more ways than one.

I hadn't realized that it was so long since I posted, wow.  Skipping over lots that has occurred since then, I do want to highlight a few points.  In May, my Jerry's oldest grandchild graduated highschool and is now starting college.  Oh my!  I remember nine year old him, coming over to help PawPaw by picking up around the yard, fallen limbs and branches, raking together trimmings from the hedges, and hauling it all to the burn pile.  Obviously, he's grown lots over the past nine years, but wow...it's amazing to see where he is now in life, the person he has grown to be.

Over the summer, Jerry's youngest came to stay with us for awhile.  She's graduating college this fall and usually takes most of her classes online.  But there are times when she takes some in the classroom.  This summer, she took a couple classes and we got to spend time with the youngest grandchild, who turned two in July.  Talk about changes!  A baby's growth truly is mind blowing.

Also during this summer, we went to visit Jerry's sons.   His youngest son is in the military and his family was getting ready to leave Florida and move to Virginia.  It was great to be able to spend a few days with them and to see how their toddler has become a little girl.  Today, she turns four!

Jerry's oldest son and his family are in their new home on the coast; far enough inland to survive most of the storms' flooding, I think.  His wife is due to deliver next month, a lil girl, which will be a bit different for them as they've had almost nine years with their son.

A few weeks ago, we visited with my husband's daughter in Portland.  While there, I met up with a college friend from back in the day, whose daughter is a senior in highschool.  *sigh* It feels so odd to be in this age bracket {"welcome to my box", I think as I check off the appropriate category on surveys}.

It's great to know that everyone is doing fine, for the most part, in all aspects.  Sure, there are some things that can be better, there always is.  But there are many things that could be worse.  And for the most part, I think everyone is happy and healthy.  So that's awesome.

The other way that I'm back, is because we just returned home from a three week long, 7200 mile trip.  It's the trip I want to focus the next few blog entries on, so get ready for some stories, some pictures, and plenty of good times.

A few months ago, when we began planning our trip; we started with listing a few sites we wanted to visit, places to go, things to see, and used this to help us map out our trip.  My Scenic Drives has lots of neat features, some of which I relied on while planning and some I used heavily afterward.  And it's free, so yea!

We also used airbnb for finding places to bunk down for the night, or in a few cases, two.  We were able to find exactly what we wanted, where we wanted, for the price range we wanted.  We also learned a thing or two about our preferences {private bathroom, please} and what works for us {flexible check in and check out times}.   Overall, we were extremely pleased and recommend the service to others; we'll be using it again, for sure.

So I'll probably either do each day as an entry or post various portions of the trip together.  But here's a general picture of the overall trip:

Shouldering the Mantles Left Behind

I hadn't realized that it had been months since I last posted.  So this is long overdue.  These past few months have been good, overall; with a few splashes of not so good thrown into the mix.  I've been focusing moreso on crochet and knitting, on a daily basis, so finishing up some projects, starting some, etc.  There will probably be a separate post about that, with pictures of current stages and all.

This post is a bit more somber.

Last fall, with the death of my mother's brother, the last of my maternal grandmother's children died.  It made me think about the passage of time, how generations of young become generations of aged, and how eventually we all go thru the dying and death process and yet, most of us are so ill prepared in this society to even think about end of life, dying, death, and grief.  Those remain taboo subjects of a sort, with intense associations and responses.

Many near and dear friends in my generation are looking at these issues with some depth, for the first time, with a parent's passing.  In my family, we are shifting our views from the elderly to the younger generation that is now becoming the elderly, the oldest of this generation are now the oldest in the family, period.

My husband, who is in many ways, in the generation that is a tad bit older than me, is now the oldest in our family.  His father died in 1991, his mother died in 2015.  His mother was an only child, tho his father had siblings, the last of whom, we will bury today.

At age sixty, my husband became an orphan.  It's not an easy concept to grasp at any age, being without a parent, let alone two of them.  At 61, he's now the eldest in the family, even extended family.  We don't have a well defined position with meaningful importance in our society for this person, tho most of us intuitively understand that that person holds untold amounts of knowledge, that that person often holds the keys to history in a way that we cannot fully grasp at that time.

Today, my husband's first mother in law, his children's grandmother, died.  She was 82, leaving a son, his son, and other grandchilden as well.  Calls were made, trips are planned, adult children and adult grandchildren are returning to home, to pay their respect, to say their goodbyes, to take on the mantles that are now left behind.

beeeee good

Starkville Oktibbeha County School District's mascot is the yellow jacket.  My husband is very supportive of their sports' teams, in particular, their football team.  In large part, this is probably because his mother, he, and his kids had all gone to school there.  Two of his grandkids went to school there for a few years, too.  Since then, they've moved on and now live elsewhere, where yellow jackets are considered pests and not a point of pride.

Years ago, when I first met Jerry but before we were even engaged, I knit on a loom a very long tailed, shaped yellow and black stinger hat with a deep brim.  Since then, he asked me to affix a retired Coast Guard patch the rim's front.  Now, when the weather warrants, he wears his hat to his  Friday night football games.  Folks usually ask him where he got it and if his wife would consider making and selling one for that particular person.  It tickles me, but I am super glad that he doesn't volunteer me, since I don't like working on deadlines.  Besides, I wouldn't sell themed hats, for several reasons.  One is that I'm not licensed to use the Georgia Hornet {which has leased its mascot usage to SOCSD to use as its yellow jacket.  The other reason I don't sell my yarned works is because very rarely would this be considered profitable.  Handmade items are usually labor intensive and that alone would drive up the price.  I tend to make stuff with particular recipients in mind, and then give those completed products as gifts.  For one thing, it avoids the entire entitlement aspect of what a paying customer might think is justifiable demands on their part.  And no one's feelings get hurt on either end of the transaction.

Having said that, I am way behind on projects that I've started, worked on, almost but not quite completed for others.   Several folks are waiting for their afghans, tho they are not pressuring me, they do ask from time to time.  Sometimes, I will work on something for someone, and they won't realize it is for them until I tell them that I am almost done.  Then for whatever reason, I end up setting the item aside for an indeterminant amount of time.  Eventually, I complete the project, but it's almost anticlimactic when I do.

So it seems to defeat my purpose to start a new project, but sometimes, I just can't help it.  Projects press me into working on them.  They might prey on my mind, demanding my attention, until I begin dreaming of them.  Case in point, my husband has shared with me this picture he found online of a sneering hat.  I know that if I made it, he'd wear it.  And I love making stuff for folks who appreciate gifts.  So I foresee this as being a quick project that would be completed within a weekend.  Now that our weather is cooling off, hats are "in".

Also, I can't keep a secret.  I used to be able to keep them and did so.  But no more.  I had planned to make this for Jerry, since he does use blankets to keep warm while watching TV or reading.  I saw this awhile back and thought, hm.  But at the time, I didn't do anything toward that end because Jerry has a multitude of throws, none of which I've made.  He used to use a Raiders throw and then an MSU one, and of late, it's been a Dr Who one.  But I think I'll give the throw a go!

It's like a snuggle sack, but open in the back and only done in the round from the knees down.  I think I'd skip the white wings and just do the stinger and body as the main part.  I'd also do it longer so that it can extend up his chest and so that a doggie or two can fit under it with him.  All three girls tend to pile up with him in the cooler weather.  Libby usually sacks out along his right thigh, sometimes on the blanket, sometimes under.  Chiquita is always to be found under the blankets, usually between his shins, keeping the lower part of his legs nice and toasty.  Sometimes Sophie curls up on his thighs, or sticks her nose out from the blanket so that she can breathe fresher, cooler air.

I'll post pix as I go.  But I'm warning ya, I'm not yet ready to start on these.  I've been chomping on the bit at another possible project and I want to have a go at it first.  More on that later.

the passing of an age

Ms Foxy, my mom's cat that had been her brother's.

This past weekend, my uncle died.  We've not been particularly close over the past twenty years, since I've moved to the South, leaving Pennsylvania.  But as a child, then as a teen, I do have fond memories of the times I spent with my aunt and uncle.  I spent many weekends with them, just outside of town, at their little house on the hill overlooking the dam where the area kids swam in the summer waters.  When my cousin was a baby and into her toddler years, I watched her often.  We called her "Pipshin" at the time.  She grew out of that nickname, I'm sure.  My uncle had adopted her when he was in his mid~forties, the age I am now.  He had had an entire lifetime before she came along, and yet, his most important role would be as her father, that would last him another thirty years.  He died at just 74.

Foxy lived til the ripe old age of 18.

My mother was five years younger than he was.  He was the closest sibling in age to her, with three older brothers than that yet.  All of them are gone now, my mother included.  It saddens me, in that mild way of resignation, not sharp horrifying painful grief, that all my Grandma's five children have died, passing from this earth, residing here for such a relatively short time.  Mild resignation because that is the way of the world, that time marches on and we age, cycling through our lives, dying off, and yet time continues, sloughing through generation after generation.

Last summer, I saw a few of my first cousins, other grandchildren of Helen Evert, nee Blass.  I also visited with some distant relatives, of extended family, grandchildren of our grandmother's siblings, grandchildren of those first cousins, grandchildren of grandchildren.  Our Aunts Flo, Ethyl, Lorraine, and a few others from that oldest living generation holding down the fort while the rest of us milled around them like moons revolving around these founding women who birthed generations of variously surnamed beings who have continued the life cycle, taking our places accordingly, here but for a speck of time.

I like the color, suuuuuuuuuuuper.

Saturday a week ago, we had an incident coming home from seeing an Elvis tribute.  A local to that area woman ahead of me attempted to make a left  turn, where there was no turn to be made.  She realized she was in oncoming traffic and veered back into the lane she had vacated.  I was there already and so she hit the driver's door, then scraped into the back panel.  Everyone involved is fine and both vehicles were operational, no mechanical, electronic, or electric damage was done.  However, due to the age and mileage {my 2009 Toyota Yaris which I still think of as "new" just rolled over 105, 000}, the cost to repair the cosmetic damage would surpass the current value of the vehicle.  So her insurance company totaled it out and cut me a check, even tho I bought the car back, because the yaris is my friend and she still has lots of life left in her.  The damage is purely cosmetic and does not affect the safety or drivability of the vehicle, as the axles and frame are fine, as are the motor, lights, exhaust, and other relavent systems.

We talked it over and decided to sell my husband's smartCar and buy a slightly bigger vehicle.  The yaris doesn't have the best ease of access to the back seat, which makes it less than comfortable to get  in and out of.  It's doable, just not easy.  We're to the age that flexible contortions are not fun and we no longer enjoy a rousing game of Twister.  The first interested party in the bright yellow smartCar is buying it, so if you see it around town, be nice to the visiting professor, give a friendly wave.

Jerry and I visited a few websites, made a few inquiries, and then settled on a 2016 Chevy Spark LS.  Yesterday, we picked it up from Fikes, in Hamilton, AL.  They're celebrating their 40th, so if you decide to visit them, wish them a happy birthday.

The Spark is actually smaller than the yaris, in overall size; but gives the appearance of being larger.  At least, I think so.  The yaris's two doors are deeper, of course; but the Spark's four doors are nice to have at this point.  I do miss all the hidden compartments the yaris has, which allows me to tuck this here and that there and then always know where things are.  But the Spark's glove box will hold all the necessities and I don't accumulate much that remains in the car that isn't in its own bag, stowed in the trunk, like some crochet and knitting supplies and tools.  Since I can't knit and drive at the same time, I don't need to have the needles handily tucked into the door pocket, do I?

A feature about the Spark that is different than most, it has seats that can be adjusted in height.  This is my first vehicle with touch screen for the radio, GPS, and a video shot of the area behind you when reversing the car.  I will need to read thru the manual and tinker with the settings.  I don't think this model has the cruise control feature that my yaris did, but that's not essential, provided I remember not to allow my foot to trod too heavily with the passage of miles on the interstate.

Our new Spark, lime metallic

Mermaid's Tail

There were six of us in what my mom called "the crew".  We all became friends by the seventh grade, tho some of us knew each other before that.  Five of us shared most of our classes, all of us ate lunch together, and we all loved to read.  Most of us loved to write as well.  We'd pass notebooks among ourselves, writing different stories, developing characters, giggling over dialog, and fumbling with plot twists.

I went to a different high school than they did, but we all remained friends on into our college years.  Eventually, we all drifted this way and that, with maybe these two people keeping in touch and these other two would periodically give each other a call, and then that person would connect with this person, and so forth.  Over the years, none of the six of us kept in touch with all the others, but there were always ways that all of six of us were in touch with someone within the group.

Four of us were able to spend some time together recently.  One person drove in from Wisconsin for two days, another person {from Ohio} took time during her family vacation to hang out with us, and the third person bused in from Virginia for four days.  They stayed with me here in Mississippi.  How far we've come since rural Pennsylvania some thirty plus years ago!

We visited, reread the stories that we'd shared, browsed thru pictures, yearbooks, and a scrapbook.  I took them on a driving tour of the area, stopping at Jilly Bean's to paint pottery.  Waverly Mansion provided three of us with a pleasantly interesting afternoon, after we had lunched at Flavors, the local Indian restaurant.  Two of us drove down to Lake Tiak O'Khata for their southern buffet, and a quick tour of the grounds before I had to be back in town for an appoint.  We all enjoyed two local coffee shops over the weekend and two of them were able to cruise thru our Farmer's Market before the pig roast here at our place.  It was a good time, catching up with each other and yet it felt like there wasn't quite enough time to do all there was to do, and say all there was to say, and ask all there was to ask.  But we've all made the connections and updated our contact information and hope to keep in touch in the future.

So why is the post's title "Mermaid's Tail"?  Aha!  My sharp eyed friends, I can slip nothing past you, now can I?  No! I cannot.

One of us has a daughter who texted her mom several pictures of a crocheted mermaid's tail, complete with fins, used as a body sack of sorts.  Not quite a sleeping bag, but more than a mere afghan.  Her mother flashed her phone at me and said, "can you make this?" and without hesitation, I responded, "yes.  Yes, I can."

And then I promptly scribbled down her favorite colors and we continued to chat about this, that, and the other thing.  At some point over the next few days, I could have said, "hey, let's take a look at a few options and discuss some stuff."  But, no!  Apparently, that is not the way I work.

Mermaid's tails can be constructed in all sorts of manners, using all sorts of materials.  Even if you decide on a particular fabric, using yarn, knitting or crochet, or a combination thereof; there are all sorts of textures and stitches and the like to be determined.  I mean, if you going to put that sort of work into it, that sort of time and attention, then you want to be sure to do just the right thing, in the right way, don't you?  I do, I want to make this something that this young woman will enjoy using, looking at, cuddled and swaddled in.  So after a few exchanges of pictures and explanations and questions and answers, I now have settled on a pattern and a basic idea of what is what.

The color swatches didn't transfer well, so I could not show them to you here; however, three main yarns will be incorporated into the mermaid's tail.  Turquoise, dark teal, and a variegated teal/blue/green will be accentuated with three additional shades.  Those splashes will be lime, emerald, and indigo.  I plan to take pictures as I go!

I'll be using a fan or shell stitch, of multiple double crochet stitches to create the tail itself.  The fin may be crocheted or knit, I'm not sure yet.  Generally, when I crochet, I do the entire item in crochet.  If I am knitting, I knit.  I don't usually blend the two, but the fin might be nice in a rib knit.  I have time to think on that while I do the tail.  So, Elizabeth, your mermaid's tail is coming up!


{the picture does not feature Elizabeth, nor is that the pattern I plan to use for the mermaid's tail; it is, however, similar enough to give you the basic idea of what the end result will be}

Hanging in the balance

Bird Girl

Right now, the earth is tilted in such a way that the sun appears to be at a stand still, hanging at the most northern point, over the Tropic of Cancer.  In the days ahead, the sun will appear to be shifting, so that it begins it's southern trip where it will reach the Tropic of Capricorn in December.  So for us in the northern hemisphere, we've officially had our summer solstice.  Those folks in the southern hemisphere are in their coldest season, winter.

What time is more appropriate then when the very sun seems to be hanging in the balance, to review some thoughts about life's moments on the precipice?  Some choose the new year to make resolutions.  Some reexamine their lives on their birthdays.  Some reflect on things when some major impending scare has occurred, leaving them with the huge relief to have escaped some threat of impending doom.  I say that any time is fine, including the changing of the season.

None of us can be sure of the future.  We might feel we have things well in hand, expecting things to continue as they are.  We might have vague or general ideas that first this and then that will occur.  We might be certain of certain aspects and particulars.  But the reality is, that very few things are certain in the future for each of us on a personal level.

Here's what I know for certain:  I know that my husband loves me.  I know that I've grown to love him more and more.  I know that I am.

I would like to think that we have plans and have taken the proper steps to implement those plans.  I'd like to think that I've built a wonderful support network and that I am a better person for it, tho I'd like to think that if any one person were to no longer be accessible in that network, that I won't fall apart and be unable to function.  I'd like to think that others value me as much as I value them.

I'm uncertain about quite a bit, actually.  I'm generally ok with that at this point in my life.  I'll continue to learn and become more certain about some things, I am fairly sure.  But I don't feel I need to know every.signal.thing.  In fact, I am quite certain that that is impossible for me.

What do I feel is hanging in the balance?  At the moment, for me and my love, not much.  We are not breathlessly awaiting some crucial verdict or news.  Our livelihoods are not dependent on this job promotion or that medical finding.  We are not wrestling with crises of faith or introspection in existential matters.  Our relationship is on firm footing and we are satisfied with our present circumstances.

Sure, improvement in many areas is desired and hopefully will either continue to come about or will take place when the conditions are right for them to do so.  I feel things are good for me and for my husband, as individuals and as a couple.  My wish is that all is well with you and yours.

To DeRego's Bread: Dia de Portugal, de Camões e das Comunidades Portuguesas

Happy June 10th, Portugal Day!  Or Day of Portugal, Camoes, and Portuguese Communities {Dia de Portugal, de Camões e das Comunidades Portuguesas}.  If I was not already at home in my jammies, I'd pick up a bag of Portuguese Biscuits, made from Tony DeRego's grandmother's grandmother's grandmother's {I think that's the right number of grandmothers, but I most likely am mistaken} recipe.

I know next to nothing about Portugal, its culture, cuisine, or de Comoes.  But since wiki never lies to me, and I trust wiki implicitly, allow me to pass on some tids and bits garnered from a skimming of various wiki posts about a few things Portuguese.  So, let's begin with its location, Location, LOCATION.

Portugal is the western most European country.  This means it borders Spain and is the very long and narrow country with many sea ports into the Atlantic Ocean.  And while it's not bordering the Mediterranean Sea, Portuguese foods and flavoring share many of the same influences.

If you are interested in the history of this country, Luis de Camoes's 16th century epic poem {Os Lusíadas} of just under 8900 lines has enough fact thrown in with the fantasy to more than acquaint you with Portugal's roots, heroes, and language.  Doubtful there is anything I could add to de Camoes's thoughts, so I'm just going to summarize that the Iberieans, Celts, Phoenicians, Carthaginians, and the Romans settled in the area and then were ousted by the Visigothic and Suebi Germanics, and then those goths were invaded by the Moors, who were then expelled too.  Eventually tho, in the twelth century, Afonso Henriques became King and unified some peeps and then spread their dominance into other parts of our world, the first global empire.  But ya know how it is with being king of the hill, everyone else is always trying to knock ya down and claim your territory, so eventually Portugal itself became slim and trim, with lots of colonies elsewhere, like Newfoundland and Labrador in Canada, Brazil in South America, and lots of Caribbean Islands.

There were lots of eras, rulers, revolts, and reigns over the years, what country hasn't gone thru that?  Now Portugal is a member of the European Union, with no other territories, tho Portuguese is the official language in Brazil.  The climate ranges from snow to arid to tropical to volcanic, and includes diverse terrain as well.

Skipping over a huge amount of textbook stuff, I'll just say that there is a tremendous amount of governmental, economical, financial, import/export, military, transport, tourism, science and technology, urbanization information to delve into, if that's your thing.  We all have hobbies, get in there and muck about to your satisfaction.  I'm comfortable not knowing all that, it's enough to say, "Portugal has a rich, well developed history within most any social institution, including education, health, religion, family, etc."

Even tho I like culture of a particular people more so than governmental, military, sports, and economics, like architecture, dance, literature, cinema, music, and visual arts; it's the cuisine that sings to me most.  It snags my attention and fills me with a hunger for spices, flavors, meats, veggies, and herbs that are uniquely combined and prepared into meals, desserts, and even drinks that I've not yet experiences.  So let's see what Portuguese delights we can find, shall we?

Fresh breads, fruit, yogurt are served to breakfast, along with coffee similar to espresso {bica}.  A typical lunch might take a couple hours, eating leisurely, with a few courses including soup {which may be caldo verde, with a potato base, along with kale and spicy sausage}.  Dinner might not occur til later in the evening than most of we Americans are used to eating.  An early sup is served at 8pm, some lasting til ten or midnight.

Olive oil serves as base for most dishes, along with garlic, parsley, and herbs.  Common spices include saffron, chili pepper, bay leaf, cinnamon, and vanilla.  A wealth of vegetables make meals healthy.  Meats in addition to fish, include:  lamb, chicken, pork, and beef.  Cheeses are also plentiful.

Fish and other seafoods figure into the Portugal diet, because both saltwater {Altantic Ocean, seas, and bays} and freshwater {rivers and streams} are so prominent throughout and around the country.  Dried cod is prevalent in cuisine, along with grilled sardines, pork, and beef.  Rice stewed in blood is a regional dish {I can probably pass on that, right off hand, but prepared right, I could probably give it a try}.  Wine is plentiful, such as Madeira, and so is the pastry.  Flour, eggs, and almonds can be prepared in so many delectable ways that I'd never tire of it.  Altho, I do love me a good rice pudding with cinnamon, as well.

Portuguese heritage is not something I can claim, but it sure sounds interesting and I feel full have reading about the various foods.  Almost full, that is.

Creating Memories & Remembering My Childhood Memorial Days

Earlier today, I watched my youngest step~daughter create a magical setting for her daughters' sixth and first birthdays' photo shoot.  Mary had gone all out, making a special chandelier, two tutus, purchasing lots of supplies, and designing a tea party the likes Alice, the Red Queen, and the Mad Hatter were proud to be in.  This took lots of time, effort, imagination, creativity, and coordination of other folks to have a cake, cupcakes, photographer, friends, baby, lil girl, props, props, and more props on hand.  It all come together and I mostly stayed outta the way and admired all the details.  There were actually two sets, one was the teaparty scene, the other was the Red Queen and all her cards {"off with their heads!"}.  The costumes for the girls' included amazing tutus, the elder child was the Red Queen and the baby was Alice.  And my husband was the Mad Hatter {it's not a stretch for him, really, add the top hat and wah~LAH}.

I was thinking about the memories created today.  I know that the six year old will remember this day for awhile, I hope she looks back on today, perhaps when she sees the pictures years from now, and thinks, "I remember that!  It was so cool, I got to be all beautified and I had so much fun."  I'm pretty sure that the adults will all remember how much Mary put into this, and how her friends were so supportive and helpful.  Jerry, my husband, will remember as much as he can; he so enjoyed being in the pix with his granddaughters.  And altho it's doubtful the baby will remember, she will have the pictures, her first birthday invitations {the photoshoot in part was taken so that the invitations will be able to feature some of these shots from today's teaparty}, and some video of her tromping around in the cake.

Today is Memorial Day, I thought of the women in nearby Columbus, Mississippi and the flowers they put on both Confederate and Union soldiers' graves, known and unknown.  This created this noteworthy day, that was then declared "Decoration Day".  Eventually, it was renamed Memorial Day, a solemn affair to recognize and remember those who died while in service to the USA's military.

Many communities celebrate this entire weekend, as the start of their summer, with parades, fireworks, picnics, concerts on the green, opening of the community swimming pool, etc.  When I was a teen, in Catawissa, PA, my father and his friends led a somber march up the hill of East Main to the cemetery atop the hill, where several cannons and many military graves were located, along with a memorial to the fallen.  Speeches, a 21 gun salute, and taps completed the important ceremony.  Often, there was a cook~out at our house afterward.

Even further back into my childhood, I remember my father playing his copy of "Ballad of the Green Beret".  The record itself was green.  The vocals were those of Staff Sergeant Barry Sadler, a medic with US Army in Vietnam.  He'd also co~written the song.  It was a number one single on the Billboard charts for five weeks in the spring of 1966.

My father was a paratrooper in the US Army, Vietnam, performing special reconnaissance.  Stateside, his base was Fort Bragg, North Carolina.  He is still alive, having fought for many years as a citizen, as a veteran for veterans' rights, specifically those of Vietnam Veterans, and even more particularly for those who'd been exposed to Agent Orange.  He and his friends attended the 1986 "Welcome Home" Parade in Chicago.  It is because so many Vietnam Veterans were so outspoken for so many years that Veterans' Rights have improved and been granted retroactively to those who served during Korea and even for World Wars I and II.  Altho our veterans are not always treated in accord with the service they have provided, you can thank a Vietnam Veteran for fighting for not just your civilian rights, but also our country's veterans' rights, such as they are.

Daddy, I'll always STAND UP next to you.  Thank you for standing up for me, even before I was here.  Please know that altho I don't say it often, I am very Very VERY proud of you.

Southern Spring

End of May already?!?  It may seem summer is firmly entrenched here in Starkville, but that's not so.  We are about two~thirds into Southern Spring, with about a month left of the season to go.  Why, it's downright balmy here!

Small Melon Basket that Mom made in Spring 2013

If you think short sleeves, short hems, and short shorts signify summer in the south, you are sadly mistaken.  It means spring has sprung.  Summer's coming, tho.  And when it gets here, we'll be wondering why we rushed spring's loveliness and days of seventies and eighties.  Enjoy where and when we are right now, the mornings when sixties demand a light sweater to calm the goosebumps, the days when we might break a sweat as we move thru the sunny afternoons, the cooler evenings that are just right for sitting on the porch swing, and the nights when temperatures dip down in the fifties.

To my northern roots, the signs of summer are here:  school's out, pools are open, and Memorial Day is this weekend.  Watermelon's in the market, lettuce and summer squash are being harvested, and Sonic's half~priced shakes are here.  So I've had to shift what summer means to me, those things now mean spring is mostly gone and summer is right around the corner.  Summer now means a heat and humidity as thick as egg drop soup, nights that are a reprieve from the direct sun, panting dogs, tea, tea, and more sweet tea, sweating while I'm toweling off from the shower, pig roasts, grilled meats and veggies, huge salads, and wondering how in the world our ancestors ever managed without air conditioning while wearing so many layers of clothing.

All that's coming soon enough, for now, I'm going to enjoy what's left of spring and try to finish up the last few knitting projects with heavy yarn before I start some lighter weight projects.

pain in the ass is exhausting, she mutters

I never know until it's written, where exactly I'm going when I write.   I might know where I think it's going, but I might not always be able to keep it on track.  Sometimes I write to think, and in those cases, that shit most often doesn't see the light of day.  In fact, it usually is not lingering around in places that might be stumbled upon by others cuz I'm thinking and my thoughts are not always beautiful, shiny, happy thoughts, ya know?

Lately, my thoughts have been somewhat scattered more than usual, which isn't necessarily a bad thing, but it has given a few friends some cause to express concern.  So here's some of what's been going on with me that might explain observable signs of discomfort and lack of focus.  Overall and in the long run, this is an awesome thing; but for now, it's a bit awkward.

Most of my life, I've had some curvature of the spine that deviates from the healthy norm.  As a child, I'd other health issues that took priority.  Whether this spinal curvature is due to different length legs, or the different lengths of my legs are due to the spine curvature is a moot point at this time, because they both exacerbate the worsening of the entire condition of things.  Over the years, I'd tried several times to seek relief, sometimes undergoing physical therapy for months, having frequent massages, exercising and stretching, etc.

I've grown accustomed to ever present discomfort in my extreme lower back, spreading over my hips, and sometimes up into the thoracic region or down into my thighs.  If you've spent any amount of time around me, you'll notice {sometimes with irritation} that I am shifting around, trying to find a position that will either give some sort of relief or at least not contribute to the severity of the discomfort.  I don't even realize that I'm doing it til someone asks if I'm alright or if I'd like them to drive or if they can do something for me.  I appreciate their concern, really I do, but it also makes me feel a little like I'm being bratty, like a child who can't contain themselves and is squiggling.  I don't want to be rude, and honestly, I am paying attention to YOU, even if I am not paying attention to my own actions enough to realize that I am sending you signals that I am bored, frustrated, or impatient.  My squiggling has nothing to do with you and I don't want you to alter your delivery or to feel bad or self~conscience.  It's not you, it's me.  Really.

Well, lately, I've had quite a few xrays for seemingly unrelated complaints and even tho most of them haven't been done for the MD's concerns for my back, my spine does show up in them.  Even tho I am not a radiologist, I can see that this here vertebra is not aligned with the others, that this area of vertebrae actually seem to twist, and there is this general shift in shape, be it that it's not a straight line but a slant or that this curve is sharper than it should be, even going the wrong way.  But also, since I am not a radiologist and since I don't want to be seeing problems where there aren't any; I consulted several professionals who can examine xrays and reassure me that there is no problem that warrants any more concern than my "simply" losing weight.

I know I need to lose weight, I knew that ten years ago when I started to gain more rapidly than I could control.  Exercise at that point was near impossible, as even walking would cause my back to tighten to the point I could not breath without creating extra pressure on my mid back that would in turn further aggravate my lower back and hips.  When walking back from my mailbox brought tears to my eyes, I realized that I needed to bring this to the attention of my GP.  That was the second or third time that I'd had PT for this as an adult.

So I've absolutely no doubt that losing weight, strengthening my core muscles, and exercise would help tremendously.  I also know from the many times that I've gone thru programs to address those issues that there are some structural problems that are at the root that if they are not corrected, then the main discomfort continues to exist, because it's hard to retrain muscles that are having to support bones which are rotated, shifted out of alignment, curved, slanted, etc.

Occasionally, I will experience a flare up of sciatica, the pressure of a pinched nerve that radiates down my left leg.  That actual pushes the discomfort into a painful level that is very attention demanding and cannot be ignored for any significant period of time.  During those periods, sleep alludes me altogether and my nerves begin to fray in other ways, making me tense, sharper, snarkier, and more irritable as well as more irritating.

Usually, my daily discomfort runs about a three or four on a one to ten scale of severity.  This past Sunday, the pain was a steady nine.  Back pain is something I tolerate quite often, but the raw grating nerve sensations in my left leg and thru my hips can reduce me to a sniveling teary whiner eventually.

I think that as I age, I am becoming less tolerant of pain and discomfort.  It is increasingly a problem that I am aware of and so I have begun to take steps to address it.  I feel that this time might be the time that we can make more permanent changes to the deeper underlying issues.  And I am so excited!!

At first tho, there will be some new discomfort as the muscles are doing things they haven't been doing, as bones are shifted into more correct positions and those muscles are taught to be supportive, while other muscles are relieved of their massive duty that has been constant for so long.  It's taken a looooooooooooooooooooong time to get to this point, it's gonna take a long time to get untangled.  Not nearly as long as it did to get so bad; since that was not done deliberately, and fixing it all will be deliberate and constant.

So at the moment, I'm a bit uncomfortable in some new ways; but overall, it's for the a great goal and outcome!  Some problems we can't alleviate, like the degeneration of discs, the arthritis, and the bone spurs present on some vertebrae; but we can keep the mild degeneration from becoming more severe and the arthritis from progressing.  We can decompress the two crucial areas {in my neck and in my lower back}, we can work to correct the two areas of rotation {again, in my neck and lower back}, and we can hope to straighten the overall spine so that it doesn't have the wibbly, wobbly, timey, whimey thing going on.  So I am extremely happy that this is being addressed.

Amy's Afghan {take two}

I know that I thought the last afghan I did was going to be Amy's Afghan, and it turned out to be, in a way.  The project veered off course, and became an experiment in various colorways using Lighthouse Mist, a fuzzy mohair, and assorted worsted weight yarns, simultaneously.  I did give it to her, but it was not THE Amy's Afghan that I was striving for.

However, I'm on the right path now, baby!


This is Pagoda in Caron Simply Soft, with LightHouse Mist, the variegated mohair that contributes the pleasing shifts in colorway.  The Pagoda is what gives it the overall teal foundation.  This is about two thirds as long as it's going to be, because I have yet another skein of Caron to go.

The overall length will be a bit over five feet.  Altho, when it's done, Amy may decide to consider it the width.

The original plan was to add two more panels, one on either side.  That would make the blanket much wider than the over length.  However, Amy might decide to turn it so that the panels become layers that make the blanket seven to nine feet long {I've not yet decided} and five foot wide.

When the other yarn comes in, which might be as early as tomorrow or as late as next week sometime, I'll post pix of that and make a decision on the final intended dimensions.

But for now, this panel, at this stage, is about 3x4.

getting back to it

back of afghan

So for a week, I propped myself in the recliner and drank honeyed lemoned teas, eating the occasional bowl of oatmeal.  I hacked and coughed and engaged in other whining activities.  I did NOT knit.  Mostly because I didn't have the brain power to stay on target.

front of afghan

The next week, I ran higher fevers, which induced delirium that make total sense to my addled self at the time.  One of those episodes included me lecturing myself on refraining from knitting because I didn't want to pass on some contagious infectious disease to the recipient of said item.  This still makes sense to me, even in my recovered, non~feverish state.

However, I'm slowly beginning to feel more human and less like a sluggish slumped candidate for the next Mucinex commercial {I'd make an excellent Aunt Bertha, doncha think?}.  These past few evenings, I've been knitting some more rows onto this afghan.  I'm not crazy about it myself, but I think that the recipient will like it and that's the important thing.

Happy Birthday

Dear Jerry,

I love you, you know.  There are times when you probably don't know how much I appreciate you as well.  Like now, for instance.  Even though you were sick yourself for about a week and are still feeling the lingering effects, you still take care of me, in my own whining, gross, pathetic moments of "honey, would you...?"
      *in this case, ... could mean but is not limited to:  bring me a cup of tea; make me a pot of tea; put honey in my tea; cover me with the blanket I just threw on the floor; bring me my inhaler; pick up my inhaler I just knocked on the floor; heat my neck roll; bring me my hot neck roll; bring me a towel to wrap the too hot neck roll in; buy me a bag of lemons; get me another box of tissues; bring me a bag to put my used tissues in; pull off my socks; take my temperature; put on my socks; tuck me in; help me out of bed; take the dog out of bed and close the bedroom door; bring me the lil'st dog so I can cuddle her; hold my hand; bring me the pillow;  no, not that pillow, the other pillow; make me jello; bring me a popsicle; heat me some soup; put the soup away; call the doctor's office; drive me to the clinic; give me a hug; hug me again; wait, i need to cough; ok, now another hug; tell me a story...

Even when I am at my worst, you love me and I appreciate that oh so much.  Because I know how hard it can be to put up with me when I am irritable, sniveling, snotting, whining, impatient, and confusing.  And I appreciate you because I know that you don't have to put up with me, but do it anyway.

I love you so.  I know that we had special plans for tomorrow, your birthday.  I know that you understand that it is not an optimal time for either of us, and I know that sucks for both of us.  Even though you have a whiny wife full of flu right now, it won't always be this way.  And we'll celebrate your birthday when things are looking much better.

In the meantime, do something for you, and not for me, and not for our three lil dogs.  Have a happy birthday in some meaningful way that is special for YOU.  I love you,  Debra

Oh, and would you please shut the drapes?

Fever, in the morning, an' fever all thru the night...

The past two weeks have been exhausting.  And wild.  Fever and me is an odd combination at best, because my mind becomes very manic, and I free associate at a speed that can frighten me and then I get really mad that others don't understand my ramblings, especially if they are questions that really bother me, and no one can answer them because they are sane and not privy to the inner working of my brain which when exposed to fever engages in hallucinations and delirium.  It's seldom pretty, tho it can be greatly amusing, much later, not at the time.

Well, sometimes, it's amusing to others even at the time, just not to me.  I didn't even have a high fever when my family woke me after I fell asleep in front of my parents' friends' TV which had a baseball game playing.  They got a HUGE kick out of eight year old me demanding to know, "where's my thing, to catch the stuff?" while opening and closing my upraised hand.  It was a non~existent catcher's mitt.  A feverish teenage me insisted that my mom bring me my shoes, because I had to go to the bathroom.  Oh the family stories go on and on and on, and are filed under "Duhm Ass Things Debbie Says {when feverish}".

Thing is, generally speaking, I know when I'm running a fever, I know that this train of thought has left the realm of reality and is running rampant, having jumped the tracks of predictability.  And I'm still not able to control it.  Even if I had the energy to, I couldn't. The train isn't quite as friendly and welcoming as the Soul Train, nor does the soundtrack include some groovy hits ya can dance to.  It's more of a nightmarish snarling, hellish brutal train that keeps going, gnashing and spewing half formed ideas and tangents.  You'd think that this would have served as some creatively artistic juxtapositions fodder for me.  But no.  Not really.  Or maybe the truth is that there is plenty of material, but I lack the commitment and bravery to submerse myself into that world when I am NOT feverish and could actually write coherently enough to produce such mind benders.  The debris from that devilish dude is grimy, gritty, and greasy.  There is nothing attractive about even the tiniest shreds, nothing.

In the past two weeks, I've consumed enough water, tea, lemons, limes, oranges, honey, and oatmeal that I am truly at a loss for why I am still fighting this infection, virus, bacteria, whatever the hell it is.  We've both seen docs and have been told different things, but the treatments remain the same, mucus relief, acetaminophen, rest, and all the aforementioned  items.  Yesterday, Jerry felt pretty decent for the first time in a week.  I've not seen him get hit this hard in the seven years that I've known him.  He even went out and ran some errands for a few hours this morning.

I, on the other hand, am sinking deeper into a morass of fever, fatigue, wheezing, chest congestion, and mucus.  The main reason I've not returned to the doc is because I highly doubt there's going to be anything different about the treatment and I really Really REALLY don't feel like sitting with others who are also sick but who are much more generous with sharing their spewing germs.  However, I do realize that my own judgement might be seriously clouded and since I am feverish, I might be slightly manic, and therefore not making the best decisions...so in the interest of health, I am open to specific suggestions.

Jerry brought me home some wonderfully cool sweet frozen treats that make my throat feel so nice, my mouth smiles, and my tummy goes, "what's this?  what's this?  this new fangled thing?  this loveliness that makes me sing?  what? Is? THIS?"

I hope everyone has welcomed spring in their special ways and has been enjoying the beautiful weather.  Stay healthy!

Esther, Easter, Eostre, Ostara, Austro

When I first moved here to Starkville, fifteen years ago, there was a Coffee Bakery across from WalMart in a strip mall.  Leona Jean {or Jane, sometimes I couldn't tell Jenny from Ginny, so Jane and Jean were interchangeable for me until my ear picked up some of the more subtle differences of the southern speaker, even tho Leona was not from here, I think she'd been here sufficiently long enough to let the syrup settle around her vocals} was the owner and main worker, I grew to know her and her regular clientele over the first several years.  Mr Charlie was one of the oldest gentlemen I've ever met and he told me a few things that have held true over the years; including that the last frost of the year would be Easter Weekend.  Which makes sense, really, considering that Easter is the first Sunday after the full moon on or after the spring equinox.

This year, Sunday March 20th will be the coolest night on our calendar, if the current weather forecast is accurate.  It'll get down to 33 degrees fahrenheit, which will leave some nice frost rime, that will disappear as the day warms up.  Easter is the following Sunday this year {a movable feast, which is why Easter can be midMarch thru midApril}; current weather predictions are saying that it's to be about fifty degrees that night.

When I was a child, in Pennsylvania, we had Good Friday and Easter Monday off.  Folks down here in the south don't really know much about Easter Monday, I've learned over the years.  Good Friday was a somber event, tied in with Easter Sunday; most folks who were semi~religious would attend sunrise church services on Easter {and Christmas midnight mass}.  Our Easter Mondays were when most organizations had their Easter Egg Hunts, chocolate egg sales, and clearance on Easter candy and dresses in the retail stores.  It was a solid four day weekend which allowed for some family travel.

Here, I've noticed that many schools will offer week long Spring Breaks coinciding with Easter.  Spring Breaks tend to nicely divide the semester in half, if the break occurs in March.  If break isn't til April, then the first part of the spring term seems to be unbearably long with students whining and teachers grinding their teeth in response to the petulance.  This is because most schools here in the south end in the beginning or midMay at the latest.

When I lived in Pennsylvania, our school years ended in June, with college letting out near the end of May.  I remember one year when we did let out til the end of June and some seniors had to be excused from school early because their colleges were holding sports camps and freshman orientation.  I do believe that was the year we had snow under the holly tree in June.

To me, Easter was always a time of new growth on its way.  You might not yet see the spring grass poking thru the snow, or the buds on the trees; but you knew that winter was winding down and spring was soon to make its appearance...eventually.  It meant that several churches were making their cherry, crispy, peanut butter, or coconut eggs, coated with chocolate and sold on the counters at most convenience stores and gas stations.  My friend and her father always made lots and stuffed the freezer full.  They wouldn't last long, because we all had our favorites.  Mine were the peanut butter.

We'd see lots of new dresses, worn under winter coats, and there'd be lots of spring balls, dances, and concerts.  We were just happy and eager to be thru with the harsh long winter and stuffed noses, hacking coughs, dry skin, and phlegmy chests that some of us broke from cabin fever into spring fever with a rumpus that usually set us back healthwise.  Easter bunnies, chicks, and eggs, sometimes the occasional white chocolate lamb with blue candy eyes were found in baskets.  Easter hams, with cloves and pineapple rings, made their appearances at family gatherings.

Few people really cared that bunnies hiding hardboiled colored eggs made little sense from a religious point of view, but made tons of sense from a historical and traditional perspective.  Most families spread newspaper out on tables and set out cups of dyed water, along with wax crayons, and dozens of hard boiled eggs for the kids and some adults would decorate the eggs too.  As I got older, different fads came into being, stickers instead of paintbrushes and little metal egg holders instead of spoons.  It's been so long since I decorated eggs, I don't even know what is available now.  We'd have little contests like which egg was the most beautifully decorated, from the different age groups.  Then for weeks afterward, we'd be eating hard boiled eggs in our lunches, egg salad, egg salad sandwiches.  My mom would pickle eggs with red beets so they would last longer and because that's when we had the most hardboiled eggs available, eggs being on sale at the grocers for a good price.

Whatever your way of observing this occasion,

 do have a good one!