The Scoop

I've sat down to the keyboard repeatedly in the past few weeks, full of intention to write another post.

I've stood back up repeatedly, consistently.  For some reason I have been stymied (blocked, as it were) - the words just will not come.


This is the point at which I have heaved a big sigh and started hitting the "delete" button.  Then turned off the machine.

I have pondered (I ponder really well).  I have given my "self" a good talking to.

My "self" responded by telling me to piss off - she's a plain-speaking broad.  Then she told me to get back to work - there's a lot to do, and it isn't going to get done by itself.

Therein lies the rub, I think.

I have a really full plate (like most people).  All the time.  I don't expect that fact to change anytime soon.

The plate, surprisingly, has become a bit of a heaping mess.  The usual, with a heap of new concerns, a sprinkle of plot twists, and a large scoop of uncertainties to top it off.

That scoop, which I would love to say is the cherry on top of my personal meal, has been threatening to be the fish bone you don't see that gets caught in your throat and makes you choke (nothing quite like mixing those metaphors).

I have learned, after many years of being, that in order to be happy with the meal placed before me I have to look at each thing on the plate as a gift.  That's a bit of a stretch with some things (asparaguts, for example - I just can't embrace that stuff, no matter how I try), so for the rare thing that shows up on my plate that makes my face screw up I do try to remind myself that I CAN deal with things that I don't specially care for and that, since it's on the menu, I have to choose how to manage it.

This new scoop of uncertainties has put me off my meal.  I have stared at it for too long, and now it's all I can see on the plate - it has skewed my perception to the point that I haven't been taking the time to look at all of the good stuff that is sitting right there in plain view.

Ah-ha!!

So today I am going to look at everything on the plate, and savour a bite of each dish.  I will keep my mind open to the possibility that I might find some glorious new flavour combination that will excite my tastebuds and surprise me.  Perhaps even the possibility of something amazing to look forward to, rather than staring at that one scoop and dreading the what-ifs that are attached to it. 

I'll even take one small bite of the asparaguts - it's there, so I must eat it.  There has to be some redeeming quality to it, and I'll never find out what it is if I don't give it a try. 

The Scarf

This year I have rediscovered the joys of yarn.

Yes, that might sound a little strange to anyone who has never knit/woven/crocheted/stitched.

No, I do not care if anyone thinks it's strange.

My yarn time is all about me.  From September to December my evenings are chock-a-block full with cross-stitching and pin-quilting ornaments that I sell, but the rest of the year has, until now, not included any creative pursuits.

I began by knitting, which I have done in the past.  The re-learning curve was fairly gentle, and I remembered fairly quickly what was what.  Before much time had passed I was cranking out cotton dishcloths like a machine (I really enjoy practical, usable things).  Soon enough this morphed into a shawl for a dear friend whom I wanted to hug desperately, but was too far away to allow me to physically touch.  I was hooked!

What I honestly wanted to do, though, was crochet.  I had been trying to learn, on and off, since I was about six, and had been stymied every time.  My mom (who was a south-paw) tried innumerable times to teach me, but I was never able to translate her smooth, practiced left-handedness into anything that made sense to my tangled (right-handed) fingers.

So I bought a little book.  It had very simple instructions that were well-suited to my pre-existing level of crochet-angst (a person builds up some pretty skookum walls when they've tried, and failed, to do something for 40 years).  Nice, clear pictures featuring primary colours.  Perfect.

I studied that book relentlessly for days, and convinced myself that this crochet thing might well be doable.  I got out a crochet hook and some light-coloured yarn (the easier to see the stitches, as instructed by the book), and started playing a little bit.

And, hot damn!!!  I COULD do it!  I was doing it.  When I got myself stuck ("crochet" is an entirely different language - read a simple pattern and you'll see what I mean) I walked over to the handy-dandy puter and went on YouTube and found a tutorial for the finer points (sweet blessed technology).

I crocheted for weeks, playing with the yarn, combining different stitches.  I got to know what worked (a chain between two stitches leaves a hole ON PURPOSE!) and what didn't (too much tension creates WAY too much tension, man - tear that shit apart and start again).

It was almost zen-like.  AND I could be interrupted (because that is my life) and not have to count back 30 stitches and try to figure out where I left off.  Big bonus!

Then a friend pointed out a knitted scarf that she loved.  I told her I could make it for her.  She was happy.

I bought the pattern and found some yarn for a test-run (as I had never used a pattern designed by that designer, and I wanted to be sure it turned out the way it looked before I went to work on my friend's).

It was hell.  Hell!  I tell you!  The pattern was not overly difficult - the bulk of it was 19 stitches and four repeating rows. That. I. could. NOT. seem. to. grasp.
For a couple of weeks I worked on that !@##$& scarf, every evening.

My neck muscles were in knots.  I would sit down in the evenings, pick up my needles and sigh. Knit, tear out.  Knit, tear out.  There was nothing relaxing about this at all.

This is where I tell you that I stuck with it, plowed through, and finished the scarf. 

Or not.

What I actually did?  I quit the scarf.  I made a decision on the side of self-preservation and sent my friend a message on Facebook (she lives at the other end of the province) and told her that I hated the scarf, and I would not be delivering on this one.

Her response?  "Okay.  Don't fret!"

I have the best friends.

So the next day I went and picked out some butter-soft yarn.  Dark red, which she loves (and which suits her).  That evening, I picked up the crochet hook and simply started.

It isn't what she had wanted, and I do hope that she likes it.  It's a design that was never intended for the purpose I am using it for.

It is beautiful.  More importantly, I hope that when she wraps it around herself she gets a sense of the pleasure making it has given me.  The ease and joy of creating something practical, yet pretty, from a place of peace and tranquility, as opposed to stress and struggle.

I don't like to quit anything.  I reallllly don't like letting my friends down.

I really like my yarn time.  Zen won out.  It feels awesome. 
      

Roses and Rain

**********  If you are in a relationship, of any kind,  where you are being physically or emotionally abused, please do NOT read this post.  You are in a dangerous place, and I strongly urge you to get out, now.  *************




I keep seeing "words of wisdom" that advise that, in order to get what you want in this life, you should ditch what you don't want.  Again and again. 

I'll admit that, on the surface, this is a seductive concept.