Kachina Footwear....Bo Style....

Ok, I finished one of the pair of Kachina Slipper Socks with leather soles for Blaine's brother-in-law. Yay, I thought, triumphantly!!! I'm on the downslope now!

Not......

And then reality hit me hard....

Turns out, knitting the sock was the easy part. The hardest part was attaching the damn leather sole. You can see a little bit of the sole at the toe. (And you can click on the pictures to enlarge them.)

The sewing holes on the soles were so tiny that I had to use regular sewing needles (and just TRY threading those damn things with sock yarn, which I used to attach the soles to the sock.) And then the depth of the soles had to be sewn correctly or it totally distorted the sock and changed its size. And then, after I'd sewn everything, I had to crochet a decorative border around the sole/sock seam line in an attempt to make a neater edge while hiding the sewing.

And I used Blaine as a fitting model so many times that it started to get on his nerves. I don't know how many times I had to exclaim: "But these are for your DAMN BROTHER-IN-LAW, Blaine!!!!!" to get his cooperation.

Anyway, I finished one, as you can see by the pictures. And the other sock is finished and so right now I'm in the process of pinning it to the sole. Sheesh, why did I ever think this would be an easy project??? Why, I ask you!? Why?

Then one of the damn pinning needles broke and a piece of it got lodged into my hand. I think I got it out with the tweezers but I'm still not sure.

And I still haven't even STARTED the Kachina Slipper Socks I'm supposed to be knitting for my sister's husband---who has even bigger feet!!!! Oh help me Lord, for sure......

What was it that little train said? I think I can, I know I can, I think I can, I know I can......

P.S. The reason the pictures of the finished Kachina Sock Slippers are pictured NOT on a human foot is because when I asked Blaine to try them on for the 100th time the idgit mutinied on me. That's okay, because I did get him to try them on earlier and they fit appropriately but were a little bit too big-- which is what I wanted because Blaine's brother-in-law has a larger sized foot, which means they'll fit, God willing and the creek don't rise.....

*

*

Gobble Gobble Gobble!!!!

*

Happy Thanksgiving One and All!!!!!!

We're going over to Blaine's brother's house for Thanksgiving Dinner at 1:00 pm, and I've already made my greenbean cassserole as my contribution. All we have to do now is pick up the pies at the grocery store. Blaine also made some homemade bread.

And with the help of all three of my therapists, I think I have the bravery and a positive attitude about going out of the house to attend a family dinner. (Except I haven't looked yet for anything decent to wear...)

Also, I completed Blaine's brother-in-law's Christmas present, my Kachina Socks, the ones which will be attached to leather soles. Lord, designing that pattern to fit him and also the leather soles was quite a job. (You can click on the pic to enlarge it.)

(Now I have to knit a pair for Sasquatch....oops, I mean my own brother-in-law.....)

Anyhoo, I hope everybody has a wonderful Thanksgiving! Don't forget to watch the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade (what's left of it, heh).

And don't forget to get the wishbone out of the turkey and make a wish---and I hope your wish comes true!

(I know what I'm wishing for---I want one of those Pandora charm bracelets!)

*

*

What The Lord God Has Made....

*

I just HAD to share this picture with you. Our neighbor's tree has lit up the neighborhood with its splendor....

It reminds me of the story in the Bible where Moses sees the Burning Bush....

Anyway, I think it is a thing of beauty and I had to capture it in a picture. But in person it is even more spectacular and beautiful.... even my mobile therapist went a picked a leaf off of it to try and dry it in that stage of its color. And then the UPS man who was delivering something to us also stood in awe of it, saying "Have you seen your neighbors' tree?" and to which I replied yes, and that I'd taken a picture of it.....

Only The Lord God could make something so breathtakingly, splendorously, beautiful...

*

*

I'M KNITTING AS FAST AS I CAN.......

*

Ok, the above Kachina socks are destined to be those kind of slipper socks that have a leather bottom. They are going to be a Christmas present for Blaine's Brother-In-Law. There's only one problem.....

It's the middle of November and I'm knitting on only one project (and it's not even finished) out of all the things I want to knit for Christmas presents.

Here's the list of my difficulties:

1. The first project isn't finished. And what's worse, the slipper leather soles I ordered for them are not here yet....

2. After this project I have to knit a pair of the same as above, leather soled Kachina socks, for Sasquatch.

Okay, he's not Sasquatch. He's my sister's new husband---and please don't tell her I called her man Sasquatch. But hey, if you read the link, the other popular name for Sasquatch IS Bigfoot. And I definitely think that taking on the knitting of size 15 socks is a challenge. Especially since he's not here to try them on every so often. I'm trying the current ones (for his BIL's size 10 1/2) on Blaine but he only has size 9 feet. What the hell am I going to do for the size 15? I may be reduced to searching the neighborhood.

(Can you see me at someone's door, holding up a Kachina sock, saying plaintively "Uh....does anybody in your household have size 15 feet---and would they mind trying this on?")

3. After I finish the above two pairs of slipper socks with leather soles, I want to try that felted clog pattern everybody loves. They would be for my sister. She wears "slide-in" bedroom slippers so I thought I'd try these felted clogs and see if she likes them. But I have no idea how to felt so it could potentially be a knitting disaster second only to the "Ugly Bugly" Socks Incident ---but let's not go there. So I'm going to try felting for the first time---with Christmas breathing down on my neck.

4. And after all that above, I was going to knit YET ANOTHER pair of the leather soled Kachina socks for my sister's daughter, my niece.

5. I hate knitting the same thing twice....much less four times!!

I guess all I really have to say about my dilemma is this:

WAAAAAHHHHH!!!!

*

*

Kachina Socks...

The whole thing started out as me wanting to knit some of those slipper socks with the suede soles that you attach to the bottom of the socks. And I wanted to knit with colors and patternings that remind me of Native American dancers, especially the Kachina. One of my great-grandmothers was a full blood Cherokee and so I really appreciate those things of the Indian cultures. My Mamo, who just passed away recently, had many authentic Indian articles in her household.

So I got the leather soles and knitted up a mock-up Kachina sock with an extremely high leg/cuff (to symbolize the tall nature of the Indian dancers' moccasins). I knitted it in colors and designs I've seen and admired in Native American clothing. All was going well until I finished the first sock, attached it to the leather sole---and tried it on Blaine. And I realized I had made a big mistake in the mock-up. (Which is why I guess it's a smart thing to make a mock-up...) The gauge was totally too loose and when it was on Blaine his foot kept slip-sliding all over the leather sole and its edges.

Not acceptable.

It wasn't acceptable because I plan on knitting a pair for both Blaine's BIL (since I knit his sister a pair of socks a couple years ago and now it's his turn) and also for my sister's new husband, whose foot is so big that no bought house slippers fit him. And I want them to be nice, fitting well.

So I dis-attached the Kachina sock from the leather sole----and guess what happens? Blaine wanted to try the sock on again without the leather sole. And hell must have frozen over because Macho Man Blaine, who heretofore has always refused to wear anything other than plain solid grey, black or brown, actually WANTED this colorful Kachina Sock! Go figure! And whodathunkit? (You can click on the pic to enlarge it and then you'll be able to see the light grey as well as the dark grey---the light grey shows up better in person.)

So what could I do but make the other one? I just now finished it and so he'll have the whole pair tonight---he wants them as house slipper socks because the yarn is soft and warm, and the sock goes high up on his leg. (And I know they don't look the same---but you know how I never knit two socks or sleeves the same--thus the fraternal twin nature of them.....) And also I know that they're not exact copies of Indian moccasin dancing boots but I used those colors and patterns which inspired me and added my own twist on them. Call them Bo's Version of Kachina Socks....

Meanwhile, I now have to start the other two guys' Kachina Socks. I'm going to go down a bunch of sizes of needles to get a more stiff gauge. Hope that works. I'm thinking of adding fringe around the top or down the back seam to make them look more authentic as the Native American dancing moccasins I got my inspiration from.

See the pony below? I covet it. It's the one called "Kachina" from the collection of pony statues from The Trail of Painted Ponies that I collect. I wish I had this one. I love those ponies. And I like to think of my ancestors riding as fast as the wind on beautiful ponies such as this one.....

*

*

The Story of Bonnie....

*

"Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was;

and the spirit shall return unto God who gave it...

Ecclesiastes xii 7.

*

It's been years since I talked to Bonnie.

Bonnie was my college roommate for four years. We lived at Tropicana Village, an upper class, off-campus student residence for students in California Polytechnic State University in San Luis Obispo, California. "Tropicana", as it was called by us students, was a lah-tee-dah student residence for the privileged, located about one mile from the campus of the University.

Tropicana had a bus which left on the hour for campus, to both take and bring back students from campus so that we didn't have to walk or drive. They even had a 2-story bus like they have in London, England. Many snobby students in Tropicana looked down their noses at those who had to live in the on-campus residences. The on-campus dorms were no-frills, 2-bed cinderblock rooms. Whenever I made bad grades in my course work my father used to threaten to transfer me to the on-campus dorms. That was usually enough to make me work a lot harder at my studies....

We at Tropicana enjoyed many luxuries including living in 3 bedroom, 2-story apartments which looked out over the three sparkling swimming pools and whirlpool sauna baths. We were allowed free scuba diving lessons in the pools. And we also enjoyed free tennis lessons on the residence's numerous tennis courts.

Bonnie and I lived in one of the 3 bedroom apartments with another girl. Our apartment had mirrored walls and even one wall with decorative wooden shingles. The carpet was sumptuous. And our cafeteria looked out over our section's swimming pools.

Anyway, Bonnie and I were best friends. I guess nowadays it would be called being BFF. We went on double-dates with boys. And although I was a cheerleader, I hung out with Bonnie instead of my cheerleader buddies. We went to the favorite local bar called "The Graduate" with our friends after football games. We helped each other with homework. We were inseparable.

After we graduated, Bonnie and I moved into our first apartment together in the area and tried out our fledgling selves in the job market. I went to work for a local airline and Bonnie went to work in restaurants, since she had majored in dietary science.

And then, as do many friend-sets in college, we lost touch after awhile since I ended up moving to the east coast and she stayed on the west coast. We'd call each other every couple of years to catch up, but the gap of time between those calls got longer and longer.

Bonnie had always had a troubled life. She had always had a hard time finding satisfying relationships with men and so she'd take up with anybody she could get--- usually worthless assholes who didn't treat her with much respect. Part of that maybe have been because Bonnie was drawn to bars. She loved to go to bars and drink --- and meet men.

Anyway, as time went by, I became an RN and began my career a couple years after I had graduated from college. I went to nursing school in the east, in Pittsburgh, PA. (See the stories called "Who Ya Gonna Call", beginning with Part One here.)

And, 20 years later, my hard core alcoholism began to take me down. And I was trying desperately to hide my mental problems as best as I could by being the most absolutely perfect RN I could be. During this time period, the last time I talked to Bonnie was in 1997, just before I went to Damascus, Syria, to live with my mother who was stationed there in the Diplomatic corps (and we were both almost killed in an anti-American event.)

After returning to America, my life was filled with functional periods alternated with attempts at getting my alcoholism under control by going to alcoholic treatment centers, over and over, with doctors scratching their heads over why I couldn't get better by following the AA 12-Step system. It wasn't until I moved up here with Blaine, and got hooked up with the very personal, aggressive psychiatric professionals who are seeing me now, that my mental problems were finally diagnosed correctly. And, with my family's help, I then began my current therapies for all the many debilitating mental conditions which had heretofore enslaved me (and which contributed greatly to my alcoholism, since I drank to numb the symptoms).

And so it went today, a nice leisurely Saturday, that I thought of Bonnie---and thought I would surprise her by calling her after all these long years. I didn't know where Bonnie was but I knew where her parents were and found their phone number.

Her mother answered the phone and I explained who I was and that I was hunting Bonnie down to regale each other with stories of our salad days.

Her mother said slowly: "Honey, Bonnie is dead." And she told me the whole sad tale.

But...long story short......Bonnie had died very young of complications related to alcohol abuse.

Why, Lord? Why didn't I call her sooner? Perhaps I could have helped.....

Like Forest Gump said..... "And that's all I have to say about that".....

*

*

OK, He Asked For It.....

My therapists are very nosy about what I knit or what I do with jewelry making. And I have no earthly idea why.

Why would they care??? Are they just nosy----or do they have some mental health reason?

So, finally, it's a cold enough day that I need long sleeves with a cardigan. And so I decided to finally wear something I made down to the psychiatric center. It's the pattern for Molley Weasly's cardigan from the Harry Potter movie (I think it was the "Chamber of Secrets" one or something like that.) (You can click on the picture to enlarge it.)

I got the pattern out of the book "Charmed Knits", but I didn't knit or crochet it the way the pattern went.

I added cables, a crocheted edging, and the sleeves are completely out of my imagination once I did the shoulder ruffle.

(You know that I never could follow somebody else's pattern to a T---I just had to tweak it somewhat.)

Anyhoo, I'm going to wear it. I know it's wild, but the other patients at the psych center probably won't even blink. Many of them have purple, blue or pink hair, one or two of them walk around with ukelele's or banjos (while playing them), and then there's the Hula Hoop Girl.....

What Jack (my therapist) specifically asked to see was the Little Red Riding Hoodie, but I don't think it's cold enough yet. And besides, I haven't attached the frog closures yet. Maybe I'll oblige next week when the temperature is expected to drop.

Anyhoo, I'll see what happens. When I talk he sometimes scribbles something on his pad. (Just like Fred used to do, remember?) And I want to see if he scribbles something when I first wear that thing in front of him...

(Hee hee....)

*

*

Maybe I Should Have Picked A Small Drugstore For My First "Alone" Shopping Trip...

*

Okay, so I finally I screwed up my courage and did what my therapists have been asking me to do for the last 2 years.....

I voluntarily went shopping at the mall--- by myself.

Yep, I did it. And it would actually kill 2 birds with one stone. One, that I would finally do what my dang therapists have been preaching to me for the last 2 years; and two, I have been drooling over the above Coach handbag (on the internet) for months---but I would need to actually see it in person to find out if it had all the characteristics I wanted. But going outside in public, especially to a mall, was a daunting task for which I could barely find a tiny bit of what my therapists call "doing the opposite of what you feel" and also "willingness".

Willingness schmillingness.

And so I went. And I found out something disturbing---I can barely hold a meaningful conversation with strangers in public. For some reason I couldn't hear what the salesgirls were saying. Maybe that was because my blood was rushing through my ears out of nervousness. And so, I kept having to ask them (multiple times) to repeat themselves. And I was stuttering so bad that I wasn't making any sense in my sentences. I know they thought I was retarded or something.

And in addition, it makes me hideously uncomfortable for a sales person to come try to help me. I just want to skulk around, checking things, finding my size, etc.---and I absolutely abhor sales people who come up and nearly assault me in their quest to find things for me. I just don't like anybody in public paying attention to me when I want to stay quietly in the background, looking for whatever it is that I want.

I wanted to raise up a cross and a string of garlic bulbs whenever those damn pushy sales people approached me.

For example, I walked by this one kiosk where the girls there were selling hand lotion and fingernail products. And let me tell you, they were the most aggressive sales girls that I've ever experienced in my life. I clearly said "no thank you" when one of them approached me----but then she ignored that declaration and grabbed my hand---and put lotion on it! Then she asked if I always keep my fingernails "natural" with no polish. I made the giant mistake of saying "um...yes, I guess"----and then she produced a nail buffer the size of a bar of Zest soap and started vigorously buffing my fingernails on that hand which she had in a vice grip.

She buffed and buffed, and I kept tugging on my hand to make my escape, repeatedly telling her that "I've got to go"--- but she kept on buffing!!! What the hell? Finally she let go of my hand and said "look!" So I looked and, sure enough, my dull "natural" fingernails were shiny and pretty---without polish or anything.

But I didn't want a fingernail buffer and so I forcefully extricated myself from her and kept on walking. But then...when I was finished shopping and had to turn around to head towards the mall exit---I was mortified to realize I had to pass that kiosk all over again! And sure enough, I was ten feet away from it when that same sales girl began hollering out her spiel to me. This time I knew better and tore ass away from her as fast as I could, heading towards the mall exit--- and away from her and other aggressive sales people who don't take no for an answer.

I haven't been to a mall in so long that I was overwhelmed with all the stimulation of so many stores and all the music coming from the inside of each store. And I was amazed to see a full sized merry-go-round in front of Dillards. It was huge and the ponies were brightly colored and just begging to be ridden. But since it was fairly early in the morning there were no kids riding the merry-go-round--- and so it was going round and round with no riders on the sad ponies.

I did so want to ride one of those ponies....

This mall trip was a huge step for me--- to go out in public to shop. And to a mall, no less. I had been putting it off for weeks. So I imagine my mobile therapist will be happy as a lark about it. But it was such an unpleasant experience that I doubt I'll repeat it again any time soon. I did get the things I wanted but I felt like it was guerrilla warfare between me and the sales people who descended on me every time I turned around---and I felt excruciatingly shameful that I couldn't talk coherently whenever I wanted to make myself understood to one of them.

I really didn't feel any triumph at all over this first foray into the outside environment by myself...

Sigh....

*

*

Recipe for My Famous Chuck Roast

I have had so many requests for this recipe (I had remarked about it on "Twitter" last weekend) that I decided to put it here. It's my recipe for chuck roast in a crockpot---and start early in the day:

Ingredients:

A two-to-four lb chuck roast (and it can be a fatty one)

flour to cover both sides of roast before browning

One package of Lipton Soup Mix, "Mushroom Onion" flavor

beef bouillon cubes, 4 or 5

salt & pepper

potatoes, peeled and cut into chunks

carrots, peeled, cut into chunks

a large onion cut into large pieces

Method:

First (after you flour both sides of the roast), brown & sizzle your roast in oil until both sides are a deep brown and it smells delicious. Put it in the crockpot. Dump in all of the above ingredients into the crockpot around the sides of the roast. Then pour in water until the water rises to about 2/3 high (or higher if you want more gravy) on your roast. Then simmer it all day. I have a crockpot which gives me low-med-high. So I start out with an hour on low, 3-4 hours on med, then 4 hours on high. It just depends on what your crockpot has. But you want it simmered for practically all day until the roast is so fork-tender that it falls off your fork when you check it for doneness.

Gravy: Then, finally, thicken the juice with either flour or corn starch.

Hope you like it.

*

*

Once Upon a Time, in a Suburb Far, Far Away, There Lived a Dragonslayer...

*

Listen children to a story,

That was written long ago,

'Bout a kingdom on a mountain,

And the valley folk below...

("One Tin Soldier", Coven")

*

A Suburban Fairie Tale:

A long time ago, in a suburb far, far away....

* * *

Once upon a time, there I was, sitting innocently on the couch, minding my own business while watching TV and knitting--- crutches nearby. It was really all I could do since severely injuring my stupid right foot earlier in the week.

Blaine had just returned from grocery shopping and was now in the kitchen making some of his famous banana bread.

I had finished one pair of "normal" Tiger Socks earlier in the week and now I was working on my "weird pair" of Tiger Socks.

And Little Baby was, as usual, sleeping among wiring. She usually sleeps near electrical cords but this day she was sleeping with the computer's USB cable wrapped around her idgity little head. (Maybe she had hacked into my iTunes, who knows?)

Then Blaine realized he had forgotten one sack of groceries in the car, so he ran out the front door to get it from the back of the car, leaving the front door wide open.

I hate it when he leaves the door open because the stupid cats are always trying to escape out the front door, not realizing that Blaine and I have deemed them "House Cats".

(There's House Cats and there's Outside Cats---and never the twain shall meet.)

Then all of sudden, to my utter mortification, a giant hornet flew into the house through the open front door.

And, as a lot of females I know do, I began screaming in terror. I screamed so loud I'm sure the whole cul-de-sac heard---but I knew they would be sympathetic since I was screaming things like:

"BLAINE! THERE'S A HORNET IN THE LIVING ROOM!

HELP!

YOU GOTTA GET HIM!

KILL HIM!"

And Blaine walked back into the living room, somewhat cautiously, and surveyed the ceiling. Sure enough, a giant hornet (okay it was "giant" to me, ok?) was hovering to and fro on the ceiling.

"GET HIM!" I screamed again. "GET HIM BEFORE HE GETS INTO OUR BEDROOM AND I CAN'T SLEEP ALL NIGHT WORRYING THAT HE'LL GET ME IN MY SLEEP!"

"How am I supposed to get him?" Blaine asked plaintively.

"You're asking me?" I replied incredulously. "What do you mean "how"? First of all, I can't do it myself because I'm stuck on this damn couch with my damn foot in a damn immobilizer. Secondly, don't all men know how to kill bugs that frighten us females?"

"Um...." he murmured.

And then, the truth gradually dawned inside my pea brain.... and I realized Blaine's secret shame.

He's a man who doesn't like to kill bugs!

I never knew such creatures existed but I had no time to ponder on it because the situation was gradually worsening. And I was getting desperate since the stupid giant hornet who, heretofore, had been well out of reach up on the highest level of our ceiling-- was now headed downwards towards us! But he was coming down to a level I knew would be within Blaine's reach.

So, since Blaine was still standing there mute, his baby blue eyes bugged out like those of a gigged frog, I began yelling out instructions....

"Hurry up before he goes too high again! Get a broom!" I yelled, thinking that this would nudge Blaine towards the time honored method for eliminating giant hornets and other flying marauders, the so-called "Broom Attack Method".

Obediently, Blaine turned and ran to the kitchen to get a broom.

And soon he returned with ..... a Swiffer.

Yes, friends, it grieves me to say that Blaine really did come back with a damn Swiffer--- which had been standing next to the bristles type broom I had requested.

"Oh my God, I see him behind the living room blinds!" I screamed, my voice getting hoarse from all the screaming.

"Well then I can't reach him behind those, can I?!" Blaine replied stubbornly.

I knew I couldn't get off the couch without a great deal of pain in my injured foot so I continued talking Blaine through every step.

"Raise the blinds and, when you see him, secure the blinds and then you stab that Swiffer in his general direction, over and over and over until the horrible thing is dead!" I yelled.

But Blaine wasn't about to raise the blinds.

"I don't want to make it angry!" Blaine exclaimed.

And then I realized.....my family's safety was on the line here, with a giant hornet threatening all of us, both human and feline. And I simply could not allow it to fly free in our house because I just knew it would fly up into our bedroom and I'd be so nervous I'd never sleep until it was dead. Dead I tell you.....

Damn dead.

Stunningly dead.

(Is that a word? Stunningly?)

And so, summoning all my bravery (and gritting my teeth for the foot pain which would follow), I got down off the couch and hobbled over to the blinds behind the TV.

"I'm going to raise the blinds slowly..." I said to Blaine, who was still standing there holding the stupid Swiffer.

"Don't you do it!" Blaine yelled. "Don't you get it mad! Bo, you don't know these things. If we make it mad then he'll come after us in an attack!"

"I don't give a SHIT IN AN OUTHOUSE if I make the damn thing mad!" I replied, securing the blinds at the level I had spied the intruder...

He was flying up at the top of the window.

And so, with Blaine's piteous bleatings echoing in my ears, I grabbed the Swiffer out of his grasp and took to slamming that Swiffer with all my might on the giant hornet.

And I was gratified to see the hornet, wounded, fall down to the floor.....but when he hit the floor I saw him raise up his wings.

He wasn't dead!

So I began raining Swiffer blows down on the hideous monster with all my might, yelling maniacally "KILL! KILL! KILL! until I was sure that I had rendered him into virtual hornet powder and I knew for certain that he was deader'n a doornail. Damn dead. Stunningly dead....

And then I turned to Blaine and said something my late Mamo used to say to us youngsters whenever she had just swatted the hell out of a fly....

"Fixed his little red wagon," I declared triumphantly, laying aside my weapon---I mean, the Swiffer.

And as time went by and the story of Blaine's cowardice was regaled throughout the suburb, and as even more eons passed until the story of Bo's bravery had practically become a legend....and mothers would tell their children bedtime fairie tales--- I'm sure they always ended the story of Bo vs. the Giant Hornet by lowering their voices to say in a secret whisper:

"Boys and girls, listen closely. Everybody always thought it was Bo who slew the Giant Hornet. But that is not quite the truth.....

T'was Swiffer killed the Beast..."

*

Epilogue:

It was the end of that fabled day of the battle of Bo and Blaine versus the Giant Hornet. And Bo said sarcastically to Blaine: "I can't believe you can't kill a damn hornet. Do you know how difficult it is to jump off a couch and kill a hornet with a Swiffer-- with my bad back AND bad foot?"

Blaine: "Excuse me, but you have a bad back, a bad foot.... AND a bad brain."

*

*

Entering The Football-Widow Season....

*

Blaine? Blaine...uh...hello?

Alas, it's Football Season. I could walk through the living room stark nekkid and do a pole dance but Blaine wouldn't even notice me. He's busy cursing our team's failed attempt at a first down.

Little Baby is unconcerned. Isn't she worried about electromagnetic fields (EMF)????

I was bored so I took the opportunity to knit. I finished some Tiger Socks. Unfortunately, they came out too small for my mother, who I was knitting them for. Which is totally negligent of me because I can usually get my socks to custom-fit the person they're for---but these came out my size for some reason. (No, I didn't do it on purpose.)

Little Baby? Hey....Little Baby? Can you hear me? I want to show you my Tiger Socks!

(Idgity cat will sleep anywhere.)

I guess I bothered her so much that she got up and went to sleep behind the philodendrom, thinking the long branch with leaves would keep me away from her...

I do love the Tiger Socks. I love them so much I'm going to cast on for another pair, only using some black yarn instead of the orange---and maybe a lace pattern....don't know yet....

Good Lord, this cat is a sleep champion!

And then, to my amazement, she automatically woke up at Tuna-Time and came to wait by her saucers....

*

*

An Ill Wind Blows Through Kansas....

*

Things are not good for me right now.

First of all, the heater is broken and I'm cold. The landlord is out of the country, on a Reserves mission in which he is a pilot, and so he's not in a very good position to help us right now. (His roommate texted him about our plight so we'll see what happens.)

I finally found my camouflage house socks, knitted with thick worsted yarn for warmth. They're a little tattered but still usable.

And, as you know, I'm in a complete donnybrook with my mother about Blaine's and my visit with her prior to my sister's wedding parties in Dallas. Basically, I told her that I didn't appreciate her breaking out the blender and having a marguerita party with Blaine while we were there....which I told her totally "triggered" a desire for alcohol in me that was ultimately in play when I relapsed and drank alcohol in Dallas during the two wedding party days. I had asked her not to do that prior to Blaine's arrival. I told her that I didn't mind them drinking their usual evening drinks but that a marguerita party with hard liquor flowing would sorely test my sobriety. (Yes, I know it's my own responsibility to stay sober---and I know that the whole world doesn't have to stop drinking because I can't drink. But I did make the mistake of thinking that my own mother would help me out in the matter by not serving tequila and triple sec in my face. ) But my request to her went in one ear and out the other---because the minute Blaine arrived, she began serving marguerita after marguerita to him, even going so far as to yell out: "Do you want salt on your glass, hon?" while making them.

So, after the whole weekend was over and Blaine and I came home, I emailed her of my confusion and frustration with what she had done. But my mother is incapable of accepting any blame. It's a trait she's had since birth. She also defiantly refuses to apologize for anything she's ever done. NO MATTER WHAT......my mother is incapable of seeing something she might have done wrong and subsequently apologizing for it.

So basically we're not speaking. I did send her emails asking "where the women went" who was so supportive of me not drinking. I reminded her of all the heartbreaking things she went through over the years when I was drinking my most heavily---and how she helped me through every step and was my biggest supporter in getting and staying sober. And that's the operative phrase....."had been my biggest supporter".....

But she saw nothing wrong with throwing Blaine a marguarita bash, blender whirring and all, when he came down for the couple of days prior to he and I traveling to Dallas---which I thought was especially heinous considering that I'd told my mother umpteen times that I dreaded going to the wedding event because of all the liquor that I knew would be consumed there.

She arrogantly emailed me back that (1) I am just trying to "control people"; and (2) that she can do as she pleases in her house; and (3) that she would not "bow down" to my "controlling" behavior.

Okay....

*

*

Better is it that thou shouldest not vow, than that thou shouldest vow and not pay...(Ecclesiastes 5.5)

*

This used to be my playground,

This used to be my childhood dream,

This used to be the place I ran to,

Whenever I was in need...

("This Used To Be My Playground", Madonna)

*

And so it came to pass that it was time to go down to Texas for my sister's wedding weekend in Dallas.

But I went down to Texas early, before Blaine, because I wanted to spend a couple weeks with my mother before the wedding weekend in Dallas--- especially since my mother had chosen not to attend the wedding (long story.... let's not go there.....)

So it was back onto the Amtrak train for me. The picture below is the leg of the trip Amtrak calls "The Missouri River Runner" which, true to its name, runs by the Missouri River for almost the whole length of the trip. I love it how the landscape changes as the train leaves Kansas and heads down to the south.

But I am going to tell you a secret... which is that for the entire train trip I was wringing my hands, worried and full of angst. If truth be told, I did not want to go on this trip. And not because of my usual phobia of not wanting to leave my home...

No, there was another reason......

It had to do with my wretched alcoholism...

(There's not a whole lot of civilization between Kansas and St. Louis, Missouri. The below is a charming country bridge I love to photograph.)

Anyway, no-- I didn't want to go on the trip because I knew I would be around a lot of alcohol. Weddings and wedding parties are the mother lode of alcohol. And, as most of you know, I am a recovering alcoholic. However, my recovery is still very fragile. I have not yet reached that point where seeing and being in close proximity to alcohol does not trigger a desire to drink.

Seeing people drinking and making merry causes a battle in my heart that makes resisting the temptation and urge to drink a complete contest of wills in my deepest soul---which causes me much anxiety and desperation. It is why I don't like restaurants, vacations, or celebrations of any kind---because many of those activities carry a heavy alcohol supply with them. And I knew that my sister's wedding weekend at the hotel would be full of events where everybody would be drinking.

And I wasn't entirely sure that I could handle it----and I also wasn't sure of how in the world I would be able to devise ways to avoid being smack dab in the middle of it all.

Anyway, I got down to Texas and spent a couple of weeks with Mumsy. We had much fun in her studios, trying out different techniques of making jewelry with clay. (My favorite little piece is the angel with gold wings at the top of this post. I'm trying to figure out how to make it into a necklace.) Anyway, my mother is in the habit of leisurely drinking a whiskey or two in the evenings but this does not bother me at all.

And then Blaine arrived...

Believe it or not, I had asked my mother ahead of time to refrain from offering Blaine mixed drinks---and to just let him continue in his usual habit of having just a beer or two, which would not bother me----but she completely ignored that request and had the blender out and churning tequila and triple sec-filled Margueritas as he was pulling into the driveway.

The next three days were hell for me. She and Blaine started their drinking about 3pm in the afternoon and continued till bedtime. When I finally got up the nerve to mention to my mother that watching people drink and have fun creates a powerful craving in me for alcohol, she snapped back: "Oh take your meds! I thought you said that your meds helped you not drink."

This is only partially true. My meds have relieved me of the constant anxiety I experienced internally for my entire life--- a hopeless mishmash of fears which caused me to run to an alcoholic refuge in order to quell them. But when one of my current psychiatrists began aggressively medicating me for my mental disorders, much of that anxiety was dulled and brought under control---which helped me calm down and stop drinking altogether.

But, as the days wore on of watching my mother and Blaine happily drink their Margueritas, the desire for booze began to rear its ugly head. It was as if somebody had breathed upon some dying coals, causing them to flare back up into an earnest fire. Watching my mother and Blaine drink to drunkenness while laughing at their secret jokes caused my buried, dreaded alcohol cravings to flame up into a fiery desire so strong that alcohol was all I could think about.

I began to sneak a few drinks here and there....

And then it was time for me and Blaine to drive to Dallas for the wedding weekend.

I was aggravated to see that he was again using the GPS doo-hicky. I absolutely HATE that stupid thing telling us what to do! It acts like HAL in "2001 Space Odyssey". If you so much as get off the road to get a Dr. Pepper at a gas station it starts nagging:

GPS: "Recalculating......Please turn your vehicle back around and turn right on the highway to resume course..."

Me: "We know we're not on the highway, dimwit. But I want to get a Dr. Pepper!"

GPS: "I can't let you do that, Bo...."

Finally we got to Dallas and found the Marriot Hotel at "The Shops at Legacy". My sister and her man met us in the lobby to give us our room keys---they had already performed the check-in procedure for the entire wedding party.

It was a huge hotel, very luxurious. Our room was delightfully comfortable.

And I hadn't been in there for 10 minutes before I was thumbing through the room service menu, searching for the alcohol selections....

A little background on my sister's new husband: He is a self-made millionaire. He treats my sister very well so I approve of their relationship whole heartedly. He owns a huge company in Dallas and works 7 days a week. In fact, he worked right up until the wedding.

The below is the view from our room's window.

The first night was the Family Dinner, held in the banquet room of a nearby restaurant. It was a wonderful, sumptuous meal. My favorite appetizers were the pumpkin ravioli with nougat sauce. I've never had anything like it and it was delicious.

And, as I had predicted from the beginning, the amount of drinking there was amazing. Literally everybody was drinking---and if they weren't drinking they were talking about drinking. I was aghast when the wedding planner (who for some reason had been invited to the Family Dinner) ordered a large bottle of wine just for herself.....TWICE! Yes, she actually drank two bottles of wine---plus glassfuls of the other wine the waiters kept on pouring! Even I, in my worst drinking years, had never done anything so blatant as that.

That night, when Blaine and I returned to the hotel, I ordered a small bottle of wine to be delivered from room service for myself. Blaine was not happy but he refrained from saying things which he knew would cause a big fight.

Previous to the weekend, I had texted my sister and asked her to not encourage Blaine to do a lot of drinking and she gave a noncommital answer. But then, on Saturday afternoon, the day after the Family Dinner, Blaine went downstairs to go outside for a cigarette. And he didn't come back for a long time.

I called my sister to see what was going on and she said she'd sent Blaine to the sports bar with the other men in order to watch a football game.....and drink.

When I admonished her about that, she took up for Blaine---and acted as if I wanted to take away all Blaine's fun....

But what about my feelings I wondered?....

And then, finally, after the wedding, there was the formal reception in the ballroom of the hotel. And, of course, there was tons of drinking going on there--- even more than usual because the bar was free. All alcoholic drinks for the night were absolutely free for the taking. Needless to say, there was a line at the bar for the entire reception.

Earlier in the day I had complained about all the drinking to my sister and she had snapped: "Well just order 'virgin' everything!"

But that wasn't my point. I didn't care what people thought I was drinking---and so I don't know why she even said that. But it was clear that neither she nor anybody else knew or cared how much I was suffering. It was then that I began to truly understand that I really shouldn't have ever said anything to anybody in my family about my problem because they don't give a shit....and why should they?

Because the truth of the matter is that just because I have had to stop drinking doesn't mean they or the rest of the world has to....

So, during the reception, I got up to go to the bar and said to Blaine: "I'm going to get a virgin screwdriver...."

And he replied sarcastically: "Why don't you get a real one?"

And I replied, in all seriousness, "You know what? I think I will."

And I did. I drank three "real" screwdrivers within about 45 minutes. My niece, who was sitting next to me, asked: "What is that you're drinking?"

Me: "Orange juice...."

Her: "Is there alcohol in there?"

Me: "A little bit.....and please, I'm begging you....don't tell my sister? And don't worry--I won't do like Sandra Bullock did at her sister's wedding in the movie '28 Days', okay?"

Her: "Okay."

But I knew she'd tell my sister the first opportunity she got. But by then I didn't care a fig. I mean, I really didn't give a rat's ass at that point. I was so tired....so very tired of resisting the forbidden fruit....

Anyway, as I quietly sipped my drinks, the reception went on. Neither Blaine nor I dance so we just sat in our seats at the Family Table and watched the festivities. I snapped the below pic of my beautiful sister's and her new husband's first dance together. (Sniff....sniff...)

There was, of course, a professional photographer taking pictures, but nobody will get any of those for several weeks. But this snapshot of the happy couple was beautiful, I thought.

My sister is extremelly beautiful, successful, charming--- and she lights up any room she enters.....

And all during that first dance I watched wistfully, tears rolling down my face, wishing hopelessly that I could have turned out like her instead of the fucking mess that I am.....

....but that was not to be....

My adult life has consisted of 22 long, hard years of slogging through pools of blood, pus, pee, shit, and vomit as an ER or ICU nurse.

And now that I'm not working, I am simply a nothing. Although I have an ungodly high IQ, it is for naught as I am an overly dramatic straight shooter who has always had mental problems combined with hardcore alcoholism---and I have never had one ounce of my sister's charm or glamour.

(Yes, again I am feeling sorry for myself. Such an unattractive emotion, isn't it?)

Meanwhile, during the entire reception, Blaine kept bitching about how I had instructed him to dress for the semi-formal evening. He griped: "I thought you told me I had to wear a dress shirt with sleeves to this event? And a tie! So how come your sister's husband gets to wear short sleeves with no tie at his wedding reception?"

Well, I really didn't know the answer to that question so I just shrugged. I do know my sister's husband has frequently said he's always hot---so maybe that was the reason. And he is a rather rough character. So I simply told Blaine that it wasn't going to kill him to wear a dress shirt for once in his life.

One interesting thing about the wedding was that my sister's boss and his boss, the third wealthiest man in Texas, gave the toasts for the new couple. (And they were wearing dress shirts with ties, heh.)

That night I secretly ordered another bottle of wine from room service. Both times I ordered the bottles of wine I asked the front desk to allow me to pay cash for the orders because I didn't want them to appear on the room's bill which my sister and her husband would see---even though I knew they would probably know by then that I had drank alcohol at the reception.

Alcoholics always fool themselves into thinking they can keep their drinking a secret....

While Blaine and I were driving back to Kansas, I felt a mixture of anger, sadness, and frustration. I knew there was no way I could have avoided going to the event. And I felt a nagging worry for the future...

How am I going to handle it the next time I am with my family and they are all drinking like fish?

But when I saw the first sweeping plains and the cornfields of Kansas, with its billowing fluffy clouds above, I knew I would be alright. I was almost home....

It was only a matter of days before I began seeing all my therapists again....and could once again take refuge in the safety and sanctuary of their constant supervision....

*

Saying life's begun to cheat you,

Friends are out to beat you,

Grab on to what you can scramble for...

("Hide In Your Shell, Supertramp)

*

*

The Ultimate Insult.....

*

I don't know much about cat etiquette but I'm pretty sure that it is definitely deemed extremely rude and insensitive to sit one's behind on another cat's food dish.

Um...especially when the part of the offender's butt on the plate is...shall we say.... the "you-know-what" hole?

In this case, the offender is Little Baby and the victim's dish is Leonard's. I have no idea what caused Little Baby to sit in such a non-hygienic fashion on the hapless Leonard's dish--- especially since she knows full well that the OTHER dish is her dish--- but I'm sure it was done completely out of pure-D spite.

Yes, I shooed her away and gave her a good scolding, which I'm sure went in one ear and out the other. Then I washed poor Leonard's dish...

Sigh....the trials and tribulations of cat owners...

*

*

Just Got Home!

We're back from Dallas! And I am so tired I could fall over! Forget unpacking---I don't have the energy. And I have tons of email to answer, yikes! (By the way, I have an anonymous blog stalker! She's threatening to "out" my blog, and she made the remark that I "wouldn't believe who she knows in Dallas". This cracked me up!)

Hey, Anonymous? Do you know anybody at Control Risks?

Anyhoo, everybody, when I unpack and come to my senses I will put some pics on here with a post about all the fun we had in Dallas, yeee-hah!

*

*

Mumsy and Me....

The above picture is an oil painting of my Mumsy. It was done about 4 years ago. And I just can't help it---I've got to say it---but isn't she beautiful? She is a beautiful southern lady and I just think she's the greatest mother in the world.

(You can click on the picture to make it larger---as well as the other pictures in this post.)

Anyhoo, she and I are doing marathons of jewelry and button making in one of her studios. We sit in there with our coffee or coke, with the stereo playing country & western music, and we have been "experimenting" with different techniques, colors, and effects on all the things we're making.

I also took some pictures of her religious nook, where there are icons or icon boxes she has made---or else are antiques she bought. Some of them are quite valuable. The below is one of the pieces.

The below is another one, in the same nook.

And the below is my favorite one---an icon box with a Jesus statue. I've got a story about that particular Jesus statue. Here's the story:

I was visiting my mother in Damascus, Syria. (Where we all almost lost our lives in an anti-American demonstration where thousands stormed the Embassy---but that's another story...)

Anyway, one day while my mother was at work, the maid came to me in tears, holding that Jesus statue. She had dropped it and Jesus' head had come off his body. She was crying and saying that "Jesus will be angry with me!---and your mother will kill me!"

But I calmed her down and told her I could fix it.

So I searched the house and found some glue. And I glued Jesus' head back on. But the plaster was chipped all around his neck where the join was--showing white plaster. So then I searched the house for brown paint. But there was none to be found.

And then I had an epiphany.....my mother's shoe room!

You see, my mother had an entire bedroom devoted to her approximately 350 pairs of shoes in their boxes. (Don't even ask.....)

So me and the maid ran to that room and sure enough---there was shoe polish of every color in there. And there was the perfect color brown for Jesus' broken head.

So I painted the plaster chipped areas around Jesus' head---and then we put the Jesus statue back where He belonged in His icon box---and the maid finally stopped crying.

I'm not even going to tell you the story of how I broke a large antique clock--it's probably still in the attic of that home where I hid it.....

I love the below piece she made. It looks Aztecish to me. (Is "Aztecish" a word?...)

Below is a terrible picture of an angel pendant I'm working on---it definitely looks better in person.

The below are some of the buttons my mother is making. I love the pumpkin colored clay.

The below is some of the buttons I'm making. I don't think mine are as good as hers.

The below is a lot of finished or half-finished stuff. Like I said, we are totally experimenting with techniques and effects.

Anyhoo, Blaine will be down here on Tuesday. And then the following Friday he and I will go to the "Adventure in Dallas", to my sister's wedding event. I'll take pictures....

*

*