April 7, 2007
Teryll. My mom told me how to spell her name. I’m glad she remembers, because I think Dad forgets too. It doesn’t mean we forget my sister; it just means in the day-to-day, year-to-year, decade-to-decade the details get lost. Her face remains though, sweet and somewhat unearthly. And I’m glad it does.
Yes, I’m hogging the camera with my balloon. Tell me something I don’t know.
April 5, 2007
April 5, 2007
with all the frills upon it . . .
How happy we look standing in front of my dad’s favorite car! I wonder what we are giggling about. Some sister thing. Notice the reflection of the trees in the car window–a little Palm Sunday reminder.
I’m the little one who, from all appearances, has on nothing that matches. Green dress, lemon-cake-with-fondant-icing Easter bonnet and red Mary Janes. I won’t even blame my mom because I bet I demanded to wear the red shoes. That’s how I’ve always rolled. And see how big my gloves are? I still can’t find gloves to fit.
The cutie on the left is my big sister, and I’m embarrassed to say that I can’t remember how to spell her name. My parents usually call us by our initials, so to me she is TA (then there’s LK, HK, JT and JO). She went to heaven 39 years ago February.
She loved Jesus. One day when she was five, she told my parents very emphatically, “I want to go see Jesus.” They did the usual parent thing, “You will–someday.”
“NO! She told them, “I want to go see him NOW!” Not long after that, she did.
I celebrate Easter now as I did in that picture–remembering what Christ did. Maybe with a little greater depth; sometimes not. He was crucified, buried and rose again the third day according to the Scriptures. I embrace the bitter of Good Friday and the sweet of Easter Sunday. My heart rejoices because I am reconciled–to God, to others and to myself (at least in theory). I have eternal life; it is already begun.
In the midst of the grand celebration of this holiest time of the year, I will let my feelings spill out. I will be loud and lift my voice with my brothers and sisters in grateful and astonished thanksgiving. I’ll feel the awe of Easter morning that puts Christmas morning to shame.
But afterward, I shall find a time to be still. I will ponder the quiet eagerness I feel when the trumpets have died down. And I’ll know it’s because the little girl with the dessert tray Easter bonnet and the ginormous gloves will get to see her big sister again–some day soon.
He is risen!
He is risen indeed.
April 5, 2007
The cats are in full-on rebellion. This new thing about jumping on the counter and just sitting there with a “Oh, yeah? You and what army?” look has got to stop. Five minutes later all three were up there. This is the only counter space we have, and they are smearing their kitty bums all over it.
In the battle of the wills, I guess the humans have lost. Who can stay angry at this face?
Cannot resist his Bengal-y cuteness.
Or the staredown of the feline-in-charge who is even now jumping back up on the counter?
Or the baby, who is the largest of the three cats, but seems like the baby anyway? (Excuse the man hands in the pic.)
April 5, 2007
This is the yarn that has arrived on my doorstep lately.
The wonderful Monsoon STR from the Rockin’ Sock club.
I’ve yet to make the socks everyone is discussing. I love the skein so much, I might keep it as a pet. And the iddy biddy baby skein is too cute (seen here being inspected by kitty nose and paw).
Our April kits are coming soon; I’ll have to decide if I’ll actually knit something with the yarn or keep it in my “soffy” pile. (Soffy is what my baby brother used to say when he wanted to touch something to find out if it was soft. Is that the cutest thing? Okay, maybe not now that he’s 35, but it sure was when he looked like this:
The Fleece Artist yarn is their new Sea Wool–sock yarn with the wonderful oceany smell (Content: 70% washable merino wool, 30% seacell–good for your skin!). Ordered from the lovely and quick-to-ship ladies at Yarn4Socks.
(Which reminds me of the old Highliner fishsticks commercial growing up in Canada, “Have you ever been to sea, Billy?” “No, Captain Highliner.” and so on . . . )
She must be a nice girl, because in addition to her great fiber and fundraising, she’s named Heather. Unlike the stereotype of the movie of the same name, I’m predisposed to like people named Heather because that is my wonderful sister’s name. She’s smart and beautiful, and she tolerates the ridiculous nicknames I’ve always called her, with the exceptions of Feather and Heath (not like Heeth but like Heather without the ‘er’).
I have rambled enough, but I will say there is another skein of yarn that arrived which I cannot reveal, for if I showed you, then I’d have to kill you. Or send you off to sea with Captain Highliner. And none of us wants that, now do we?
April 5, 2007
I started to tell you a couple of weeks back about my St. Paddy’s day adventures, but I didn’t want to bore you with the Kiwanis Pancake Breakfast, the raffle, summer clothes shopping, a nap, oversleeping for church, my phone going off during a message about (gasp!) sex, heading for an Irish Catholic St. Paddy’s day dinner and dance with a friend and running out of gas, corn beef and cabbage, another raffle, blah blah blah.
I won a basket at the Kiwanis Raffle. It was filled with many things I’m thankful for and one of them was a $40 gift certificate to a store called Le Chocolat Bar (and I’m not making this up that there is an accent aigu over the second o on the sign–cringe). I went in, knowing I could spend $40 on chocolate in a heartbeat. Even better, though, the saleslady told me that I could also use the gift certificate at the owner’s other shop Perfect Details which has, to my great pleasure, Mary Frances bags. Some are shockingly garish, some are lovely. I went to the shop with every intention of buying a Mary Frances bag, but none struck my fancy this time (I already own one). Instead, I hit the sale room and found a bunch of handbags on clearance.
Here you see my haul. The large lime (?) colored bag was $65, but I got it for $20 because the owner tried to clean off some sticker residue and took the color off.
Can you even tell? Lime-colored Sharpie, where art thou? It will make a great knitting tote. The blue bag has the cutest magnet closure ever,
and it was $10 because the handle needs to be resewn (not sure of original price, but I love the color). The saleslady says her shoe repair guy will fix it for five bucks. Sold. The kitty bag was $15 as is, (from $45) but I can’t see anything wrong with it.
And the multi-colored bag has a couple of spots on it, so it was $10 (from $35). It’ll have spots on it from me anyway as soon as I spill a Starbucks on it, so why not get it cheaper and pre-spotted? Makes me no anyhow, as my Mennonite friends would say. So I used my gift certificate and only had to pay $18. 71. Not bad for four handbags, n’est-ce pas?
Oh, and yuck at how dirty my windows are. Guess I skipped that part of spring cleaning. I’ll make that a frog to eat for this week.
April 5, 2007
my New Englandish musings and my new header, here’s a Robert Frost poem (with apologies to Ellen, who is not his biggest fan , oh and belated birthday greetings to her as well!):
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun,
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
‘Stay where you are until our backs are turned!’
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of out-door game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, ‘Good fences make good neighbors’.
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
‘Why do they make good neighbors? Isn’t it
Where there are cows?
But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I’d ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offence.
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That wants it down.’ I could say ‘Elves’ to him,
But it’s not elves exactly, and I’d rather
He said it for himself. I see him there
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me~
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father’s saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, “Good fences make good neighbors.”
April 5, 2007
I’ve been thinking this week that I would love another trip to Maine this summer. I even checked airline prices thinking we might get a bargain if we shop early. Imagine my delight (and the Twilight Zone theme playing in my head) when my cousin called and said she was thinking the same thing! She reminded me that her baby sister is getting married this summer and hopes we plan to come for the festivities. Ayuh, count me in. Sounds wicked shahp.
To keep me in the mood, I went back and looked at pics from last summer. I love Maine. If I had a million dollars, I’d buy me a place on that rocky coast (although it would cost more than that).
MY definition of a rock wall. The stone walls in New England fascinate me, and I am a crazy driver there because I’m constantly on the lookout for them, and upon finding them, swerving to snap a photo.
Miss ABC poses beside some lobstah traps on the way into Cape Porpoise (check out the webcam).
The view from my auntie’s front yard–clam flats at high tide. LOVE it.
As Chaucer so aptly wrote:
Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote
The droghte of March hath perced to the roote . . .
Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages . . .
Now to pinch those pennies so we can make another pilgrimage back to the homeland (preferably by plane and not foot, horseback or donkey).
April 4, 2007
I’ve been thinking about that a lot. Not sure why. The one that comes to mind for me is this comment:
“Isn’t it weird that Lou Gehrig ended up getting Lou Gehrig’s disease? What are the odds of that?”
I am NOT making this up. Someone actually said it, and she wasn’t trying to be funny. It makes me laugh every time I think of it.
How about you? What’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever heard anyone say?
April 4, 2007
Thanks for your advice on the nose piercing conundrum. For now, I bow to the conventional wisdom that it might be hard to job hunt with a piercing. But once I find a job–boy howdy!
I tend to seek calm waters in life (read here–comfort zone, big time). But whenever I do, something comes along to shake me up. So here’s what’s been shaking me up lately:
Amazing Grace (the movie). Some friends called it heavy-handed. I thought it was wonderful. I felt inspired to mesh a life of contemplation with a life of service and action (although I much prefer the non-action part).
And speaking of action–check out Dixon’s posts on the Jesus action figure (JAF). Are you allowed to say Jesus and nipples in the same sentence? His take on that is very thought-provoking.
Somerset Maugham’s The Painted Veil. My friend gave me the book, and I read it. Darn you, Somerset, darn you all to heck. I resisted reading it (despite the fact that I wanted to see the movie. Cannot. say. no. to. Edward. Norton.), because I am stilled scarred after more than a quarter century from being forced to read Of Human Bondage in high school. Dude managed to cram a lot of misery in those five hundred (or however many) pages. I can still feel its cloying fingers grabbing for me after all these years.
I have to confess that although I found the protagonist of The Painted Veil almost completely without merit, I was unable to put the book down. Maugham’s writing is so brilliant. I hate him. And I love him. Couldn’t he write about something happy? The whole “life sucks and then you die” approach is really draining for the reader. And probably for the writer too.
Watched The DaVinci Code last night. I love Tom Hanks; I can’t help it. And though I will never watch some of his movies on principal, he is a great actor. (I also watched Forrest Gump this weekend. He totally deserved the Oscar for that movie.) Back to DaVinci. I read the book and thought it average. I much preferred Dan Brown’s Angels & Demons. The movie, to me, felt incredibly heavy-handed. I found the whole premise incredibly hard to stomach. The actor who played Silas, though, stood out as the best part of the entire movie. His yearning to be free of the evil in his nature; his pain at his failures and his past; the dichotomy of murdering a nun and then administering last rights to her. Brilliant. And Alfred Molina and Jean Reno: love those guys.
Lots of food for thought as I sit here on this blustery April day watching random snowflakes flit past my window. Last week it was 80 degrees. This week? Not so much. That’s the mystery of spring, I guess.
Speaking of spring, my greatest accomplishment so far is spring cleaning. Those of you who’ve seen my house know exactly how enormous that is. My kids and I spent a big chunk of spring break cleaning, and I am pleased beyond measure at how much better the house looks and I feel.
I gave the dog his spring haircut and bath (I think I could make three other dogs from the hair I cut off). Now he has to wear a sweater because he’s almost bald and shivering. But he’s clean!
On the knitting front, I’ve started a prayer shawl using the Chatelaine stitch (knit one row in main color, purl one row in MC, P3K3 next row in contrasting color, K3P3 in CC). So far so good (on row five). Now that I’ve cleaned up, I can take a better inventory of how many UFOs I have and what needs to hit the frog pond.
Speaking of frogs, I met a guy recently who recommended the book–Eat That Frog!: 21 Great Ways to Stop Procrastinating and Get More Done in Less Time. The premise is that if you have to eat a frog a day, it’s better to do it first thing in the morning. I’m happy to say that I’ve been eating the frogs of cleaning, bill paying, organizing, making appointments, putting air in car tires. There’s a whole durn pond of frogs awaitin’ to be et, but I’m making progress, my friends.
Next time, I’ll post about shopping bargains, packages received and some kickin’ yarn. And just a quick observation. I keep getting hits from porno sites because one of my post titles is a reference to a burning bush (A PLANT, you perverts!). Guess I’ll have to change it to Moses’ verge or something. Good grief. They’d better watch out or I’ll sic my Moses and Jesus action figures on them.
Maybe it’s all the frogs I’ve eaten that have left me a little shaken. Ah well, I’m hopping off to fix some dinner for the tadpoles.