Seeing the World With My Ass in the Air

What the hell does that title mean? All will be revealed.

As you all know, Monday was prison day. Because of the bad wake-up call service, we were going to bring our own alarm clock. It didn't quite work out that way - we left the thing at home. When we got to the hotel, we tried to call down to the front desk to place a call order and found that the phones weren't working. Oh goodie. That meant I had to rely on the clock radio on the nightstand to wake me up. I made sure that the station was coming in good and clear, set the alarm, and turned the thing up full blast. I finally got to sleep around 2 a.m. and slept the sleep of the dead.

At 6 a.m., the radio went off. I actually heard it and woke Hubster up. I then promptly fell back asleep, waking up at 7:30 a.m. Swell. Two hours on the phone then ensued, with me calling everyone from the watch commander to the lieutenant to the sergeant to the warden himself, trying to get the class released. They finally told me to come in, send in a list of men, and they would release them. Yay!

I hurried to get ready and took off for the prison. Mind you, it was already 80 degrees. The chaplain was on vacation, so I had to trudge all the way in. Everything was fine until I was one cell block away. That's when the first incident happened.

I suddenly found myself sprawled face-first in the gravel with my ass sticking up in the air.

That was bad enough, but a guard drove right past me without stopping to see if I was okay. So I had to pick myself up, brush off all the gravel, and continue my trudge. I made it to the cell block, checked in, and entered the yard. My guys weren't anywhere in sight, so I had to navigate through about 300 men, all of them wanting to come up to me and say good morning. I think it was the sundress that did it. I made it to the chapel, got inside, and no more than a minute later, someone banged on the door. It was one of my guys. Word had gone around the yard that I was there and made it to him; he then hotfooted it to the chapel. This all happened in less than two minutes. Amazing.

As it turned out, none of my guys had been inside the chapel for over two weeks because of the chaplain being gone. So we got the names, gave it to someone, and he took off for the watch commanders' office to turn it in. No problem, right?

It wouldn't have been, except the guards decided to call a count, which meant that the yard had to be cleared. That meant that my guys were returned to their cells and not allowed to come to my class. So I had two of my guys in the office with me. No class, but we sat around and bullshitted for a couple of hours. Then I had to leave to go to the doctor's. One of them stayed behind to do some work; the other walked me out to the door. That's when the second incident happened.

The alarm went off, the inmates all hit the ground, and the guards all went charging across the yard with machine guns, the medics went running with medical supplies, a litter was carried to bring out a body, and I didn't know what the hell to do. So I hit the ground along with everyone else. That's when a guard approached me and asked whose cane I was holding on to (the guy who walked me out walks with one and offered it to me so I could lower to the ground). He thought that the guy I was with was trying to take it from me or something. I told him it wasn't mine, whereupon the guard invited me to come stand in the shade with those who were watching the yard. He also said I didn't have to be with "them". I thanked him and said I was quite comfortable. It turns out that I don't have to hit the ground when the alarm sounds - I just have to hug the wall and walk to the exit door. I wanted to see what was going on. Apparently someone got killed in the dayroom - probably stabbed - but I had to leave before I saw a body come out. Yeah... I've got a sick and twisted sense of adventure.

Walking out wasn't as bad as walking in, even though the temperature had now climbed to about 93. It was horrible. But I made it, climbed into the truck, and off we set for the doctor.

(this is where the title really makes sense)

I didn't have to wait in the waiting room very long and was taken to a room to wait for the doctor. The usual stuff was taken - blood pressure (102/60), pulse, etc. I talked to the gal who did all this and told her why I was there (I was ordered to come in), and settled down to read a magazine while I waited. That's when it happened.

One minute, I was reading about Brooke Shields; the next minute, I was face-first on the ground with my right cheek pressed against the floor, my legs tangled up in the chair, and my ass sticking straight up in the air with the chair still glued to it. And I couldn't get out no matter what I did. It HURT. So I began to scream for help. Nobody heard me for almost five minutes; then, I heard the doctor saying "What is that?". I yelled some more, she opened the door and saw me, yelled, "Oh my god, someone help!" (there's a doctorly reaction), and she and the nice lady I was talking to earlier began to pull on the chair. Oh no no no no. I yelled some more and began to cry. It took both of them almost five minutes to untangle my legs from the chair. I had to have my sandals pulled off. Then it took both of them to lift me off the floor into the now upright chair. Shit. My knees were already turning black and blue, and it hurt like hell to even move. I asked my doctor for a handicapped placard, and she didn't even quibble. I couldn't have tangled myself up at a better time. You know how they say that the couple of days after an accident are the worst? They're right, whoever "they" are. I can barely move, and my knees are a lovely shade of deep blue and purple. They're also swollen and filled with fluid. I'm such a glamor gal.

So now, on the eve of the big 50, I'm officially a gimp. At least I'll get really good parking spots and can probably drive right up to the cell block. There are benefits. But then the dreaded piece of mail arrived:

My AARP invitation.

I've been expecting it but, even so, expecting it and actually getting it are two different things. I'm now a sort of proud member of AARP. I get senior citizen discounts on all kinds of things.

Just shoot me now, would you?

Some good news arrived today. I got my anklet (it's turquoise pillows with multi-colored jade, crystals, and silver sunflowers hanging down), and a very large crate from Golding Fiber Tools of Vermont. I've been expecting both, but it's the crate I was dying to open. The thing is about 3'x2'x2.5'. Hubster had to unscrew several screws to take off the lid. And there, sitting on the bottom and filling the entire crate, was this:







Here's the carving work on the whorl.







This thing weighs a ton, so I don't have to clamp it to a table to use it. You don't have to put any tension on the yarn coming off the swift; in fact, the instructions say not to. There are two extra belts which are stored on the bottom of it. I can't wait to use it, so I might just wind some skeins tonight. Tom Golding, who made this marvel of machinery (all out of black walnut), is also going to make me a custom spinning wheel with three bobbins on it (two for spinning, one for plying). I put down a deposit to hold my space. The wheel will be designed in 2013. Yep. You read it right. He's booked that far in advance. And when I say designed for me, that's exactly what I mean. We'll collaborate and decide on a design that's all my own. It will have something to do with a Native American shield - probably with eagle feathers and birds of prey carved on the spokes of the wheel, the mother of all, and the top knob. Take a look at his site - it's his DPN's that I use and adore. As for knitting, all my orders are filled, so I'm going to rest my aching legs and knees and knit for the evening, too.

So that's what I've been up to. Next week, I get to go to the DMV for a new driver's license (and the gimp sign), go to Mom's to celebrate her 71st birthday, and hopefully go to a new knitting group I've been invited to join. Then the following Monday, it's the big day. Sigh.

I hope I'm able to celebrate without my ass waving in the breeze.

NEW VENDORS

Just a quick note to let you know that you will now find in the shop:

Flat Feet (50 of them - all different!)

Flat Feet Pattern Books (11 of them)

1,000 Petals

Blarney Yarn

Debra's Garden (new colors)

Dyepot

Fiber Jewels

Little Dog Designs

Random Meanderthings

The Fiber Gourmet

as well as all the other terrific vendors. I have several more to add and will leave posts as I get them added.

All orders placed this weekend will be filled Tuesday. This is prison weekend, so we'll be gone until late Monday night.

See you then!

This and That

Wow. Another huge period of non-communication. If you think this is bad, you should see my email...

I don't know what's going on. Maybe it's Mercury being in retrograde. Maybe it's because I'm so damn tired. Maybe it's because I have so much work to do that it's shooting out my ass. I don't know. Add to that the malaise I've been feeling, and it isn't a pretty picture. So to all of you who have left comments and/or emails which I haven't answered, I apologize. I'm barely keeping my head above water over here.

That's not to say that all is bad. I've begun a new pair of socks out of a gorgeous tone-on-tone wine-colored yarn by Woolly Boully. I did my swatch. I got the right gauge. I cast on and got about an inch of ribbing done. I realized that it would fit my granddaughter's foot. Cut. Start over. Knit another inch of ribbing. Then I realized I hadn't done the math right. I wound up cutting the yarn again (fuck frogging - I have enough yarn to waste some) and casting on 84 stitches. That might sound excessive, but it really isn't. My calves, no matter how thin I am (and I'm NOT thin at this stage of my life) have always looked like upside-down milk bottles. As such, sock ribbing usually stretches WAY out. At least they will fit my leg. The top of the sock has a seed-stitch design, and then the body is straight stockinette. Not a lot of stretch there, so the additional stitches will be welcome. Having 60 stitches at a gauge of 8 SPI just isn't going to cut it. This is, admittedly, a stupid sock pattern (meaning that I can watch People's Court and not pay attention to stitch patterns). I've been invited to join a knitting group, so this is the perfect pattern to work on while I'm bonding with a group of women whom I don't know. And that's okay. I need to get out and meet some fellow knitters, to sit and gossip about nothing in particular, to drop the top (finally) on the Bird and take off down the canyon roads (I used to party on those same canyon roads in my high school days, long before there were any shopping centers - they were delightfully dark and full of hidey places from the cops). I'll be driving down memory lane and remembering how much fun it was to find the perfect grove of trees to hide in, light a doobie, and screw my brains out in the car. Those were the days. If I tried that now, my car would be seen, I'd drop the doobie and start a forest fire, and my ass would get stuck on the gear shift. Then I'd break the seat. BIG repair and bail bills there. Sigh. I really have gotten old.

I can see that this is going to be one of those strange posts which wanders all over the place.

It must be the birthday. That's the only thing I can figure. I heard Hubster making my next dental visit (wait until you hear about the one I just endured), and he was trying to make it for the day after the big 5-0 happens. Shit. That means Reno is out. I hope he doesn't just take me out to dinner. I eat dinner every day - how special. I know I'm sounding like a whiny bitch, but I can't help myself. I've been warning him for five years that I wanted some big event to take place on that day - a new Harley, a trip on it to Vegas to get remarried by Elvis, something - and because we don't have any discretionary money, I have a sinking feeling that I'm going to get shit. No card, no dinner, no trip, definitely no Harley, no bullldog puppy (that was another thing I wanted), no Elvis, no nothing. Just shoot me now and take me out of my misery, because I know that when I wake up that day, I'm going to be bummed like I've never been bummed before. At least I'll be at the prison for the first part of the day, and my boys won't let me be bummed. I'm sure I'll bore you with all the gory details.

So. The dentist. I went last week to have my new crowns put on (the permanent ones) and my front teeth filled. No problem. I've never had a problem with new crowns - they just pop off the temps, stick the new ones on, and that's it. Not this time. He had to really pry the temps off (he uses Super Glue or something); once that was done, he had to remove the cement which was left on the little stubs under the crowns. He likes to use this laser which is actually a stream of water cranked up to the point where it slices through flesh (no kidding); because he was just taking off cement, he didn't numb me up. WRONG MOVE. Those little nubs were sensitive because there was barely any tooth covering the nerve. It hurt so bad that I actually screamed. So then he numbed the exterior of the tooth by wiping on novocaine. Nope. Then he shot me up. That usually doesn't bother me, either. This one hurt. A lot. He stuck the needle right in the gum next to the tooth, pulled it out, and then stuck it in the hinge of my jaw. Another scream. It took about six shots to get each side numbed to the point where I could stand it. Then it took about an hour for him to do the crowns and the fillings. Sigh. I tried to smoke but couldn't feel the ciggie; I tried to drink coffee and wound up with it all over my tits; I couldn't do anything. So I slept because I felt so shitty. When I woke up late that night, the novocaine had finally worn off. In its place, however, was a horrible throbbing. So next time, he's taking impressions for my new dentures. Thank goodness. I've still got my temporary upper and no lower partial. It makes eating steak a blast.

So tonight I'l be working on the shop. I've got a few vendors to list and some updates to do. The big thing that will probably happen tomorrow night is listing all the new Flat Feet which have come in. I have all the new colors in stock and have ordered twice as many as I had the last time. I also have the pattern books printed by the lady who invented Flat Feet. It has 12 patterns, I think, all written by her and her partner. I've not seen it, but I know I'm one of three vendors who has them. I'm hoping you all like them. I also have some really exciting new vendors whom I've signed on; one of them raises her own alpacas and has all kinds of incredible things to offer. I know I should be posting this on my shop blog, but nobody reads it; hence, I have to put shop news here. I apologize to those of you who don't give a rat's ass about the shop, but I have to post it somewhere.

So that's my life right now. I'll be gone this weekend (prison day), so anybody who places an order over the weekend won't have it shipped out until Wednesday. I'll be wiped out Monday night and won't get to the orders until Tuesday night (I'm learning my limitations). Right now, I'm going to knit for a while and then tackle the shop. Since I just woke up (I'm totally turned around), I'll be working all night. That's okay, though - it's beginning to warm up a little, and I don't care to work when it's hot in the house. I'd rather listen to silence and feel the cool breeze while I'm working. Hubster is pretty much on the same schedule as me, so it's nice to have company.

And on that note, I'll see you next week.

Secret Pal 12 Questionnaire

1. What is/are your favorite yarn/s to knit with? What fibers do you absolutely *not* like?

Fingering weight (indie yarn) in merino, cashmere, or blends; I don't like mohair or silk (my hands are too rough). I'm not a huge fan of alpaca, either. No cotton, please.

2. What do you use to store your needles/hooks in?

I have cases for my hooks; my knitting needles are in the packages they came in (I have far too many to put in a case).

3. How long have you been knitting & how did you learn? Would you consider your skill level to be beginner, intermediate or advanced?

48 years... I learned from my grandmother, mother, and aunt; advanced.

4. Do you have an Amazon or other online wish list?

No.

5. What's your favorite scent?

Lavender, sage, or patchouli.

6. Do you have a sweet tooth? Favorite candy?

No... I don't eat candy or other sweets.

7. What other crafts or Do-It-Yourself things do you like to do? Do you spin?

I've started spinning again on a limited basis after a 12-year hiatus. I do pretty much everything, but I only do one or two crafts at a time. I'm knitting right now and haven't really done much spinning - I don't have time.

8. What kind of music do you like? Can your computer/stereo play MP3s? (if your buddy wants to make you a CD)

Yes; classic rock.

9. What's your favorite color(s)? Any colors you just can't stand?

I love all colors with an affinity for orange and green; there are no colors which I hate.

10. What is your family situation? Do you have any pets?

Just me and my husband; we have a macaw.

11. Do you wear scarves, hats, mittens or ponchos?

No to all of those; it's not cold enough for any of them.

12. What is/are your favorite item/s to knit?

Socks and lace, preferably a lace sock.

13. What are you knitting right now?

A fairly complicated sock pattern.

14. Do you like to receive handmade gifts?

YES! They're my favorites!

15. Do you prefer straight or circular needles? Bamboo, aluminum, plastic?

Right now, DPN's from Golding Fiber Tools (http://www.goldingfibertools.com/) in sizes 1 and 2. I could use sizes 0 and 3.

16. Do you own a yarn winder and/or swift?

Yes; two yarn winders and one floor swift.

17. How old is your oldest UFO?

I don't have any.

18. What is your favorite holiday?

My birthday.

19. Is there anything that you collect?

Bags (knitting); indie teddy bears or ones from England (such as Merrythought).

20. Any books, yarns, needles or patterns out there you are dying to get your hands on? What knitting magazine subscriptions do you have?

I have all the books I need and subscribe to Interweave Knits, Vogue Knitting, Exotic Fibers, and Spin-Off. I don't know of any patterns I would want, I've already talked about the DPN's I like (I have all the circulars I'll ever use), and I use only indie yarns (usually off Etsy). The only thing I really want is something made just for me, whether it's a teddy bear, socks, or a bag.

21. Are there any new techniques you'd like to learn?

No; I'm doing the Master's Program for TKGA, so I've learned a lot from that (mainly new cast-ons and cast-offs).

22. Are you a sock knitter? What are your foot measurements?

That's all I've been knitting for quite a while, and I LOVE it! I wear a size 10; my foot is 10-1/2" long, ball of foot is 9", length from longest toe to back of ankle is 9", instep circumference is 10-3/4", and ankle circumference is 10-1/2".

23. When is your birthday?

June 23rd.

24. Are you on Ravelry? If so, what's your ID?

Yes; my name on Ravelry is pjyarngoddess.

Not Only a Post, But ...

You're not going to believe it. You not only get a post, but you also get three pictures of ...

We'll get to that in a few minutes.

I just don't know where the time has gone. It's shot by so fast that I can't keep up. Here it is, the end of May, and I don't even remember what happened to the spring. I wish things would slow down - at this rate, I'll be dead in a week.

Let's see... well, I didn't get to see my boys. The lovely fleabag we're staying in now isn't giving us wake-up calls. They say they will... they put us down in their logbook... but the phone doesn't ring. I woke up about three hours late, so there was no point in even going to the prison. If you're over a half-hour late, they cancel the class. I go a week from Monday, so I hope my boys aren't pissed off. We're bringing our own clock this time so I get up.

I've got lots of new vendors and updates in the shop and am adding more of them every night. There were a few nights where i couldn't work, but I'm doing fine now. Take a look! I'll be sending out my newsletter to those of you who are on the mailing list so you know exactly where to look. I still have to figure out something fun for the shop to do - maybe a sale or something. We'll see.

As you all know, Pixie knitted me a gorgeous shawl. Hubster took three pictures of it - one from the front, one from the back, and a detail shot. Don't laugh too hard - my head was cold, so I stuck on a hat, and I have on my jammies under the shawl.

Here are the pictures you've all been dying to see (cough):

FRONT VIEW

BACK VIEW

PATTERN DETAIL

Whew. That was a pain in the ass. I'll have to have Hubster take a look at Blogger and Flickr. They've changed their settings, so I didn't know what the hell I was doing. Five open windows later, I finally had pictures, even though they have a bunch of extraneous text under them. Just uh... ignore it.

I've yet to take pictures of my package from my Monkey Pal, but I'll do that this weekend. I'll let Hubster do all the uploading and posting of those. I'm a total computer 'tard. There's just no way I'll ever understand all this shit, so what do I do? I buy a laptop that's not a Mac. Hubster spent hours configuring it so I could use it. It's slick as hell - 17" widescreen, a swipe pad, separate numeric pad, blah blah blah - but what good does all that do if I can't actually use it? Sigh.

The dreaded birthday approaches, and I don't know what we're doing. The only thing I know for sure is that I'll be at the prison in the morning. Those guys had better make this worth my time, and I'm telling them that. I could sleep in, but no... I have to be there. Truth be told, there's no place else I'd rather spend it. Well... maybe Vegas.

On a more mundane front, I got the car smogged and my registration paid. The guy at the smog place said that my car cleans the environment when it's running. That just goes to show you how little it's been driven. I'm pulling off the hardtop after all these years of it being on and dropping the ragtop for some open-air driving this summer. I don't know where I'm going to drive, but it sounds like fun. It sounds like fun every year, and then I think it's going to be a pain in the ass to pull the hardtop, so I don't do it. Then I get to go to the dentist next week. Happy happy joy joy. I don't know what he's doing, but he's doing something horrid. I won't be getting the implants like I had hoped. It's just too much money, and my mom can't afford to loan it to me. Oh well - it was worth a shot.

I just got off the phone with her (I was trying to track down Hubster - he was going over there to see the kids THREE HOURS AGO), and she gave me some bad news. My grandma hasn't been able to walk for the past month, but we were all hoping that it was temporary. This has happened before, but she still isn't walking and has to scoot around in a wheelchair or on an office chair. She'll never walk again - she has no cartilage in her knees and really needs to have them replaced, but she's far too old (she'll be 90 this year) to have surgery. It's the beginning of the end, and I'm a lot more upset right now than I thought I would be. It's hard realizing that this is truly it. My mom says she'll live another ten years, but if she makes it another year, I'll be surprised. It's just one horrible thing after another.

And on that morbid note, I'm going to go sit in the Monster, curl up, and cry.

Just a Quick Note

I'm off for my prison visit in about an hour. We're actually up and alive for a change, so we might get there before midnight for a change. I've just been knitting, so I'm sort of boring today. I did get a couple of amazing things in the mail, though, so I thought I'd share them.

First, I got my Monkey Sock Swap package from my new friend, Penny. She sent the most amazing package - everything inside was individually wrapped in tissue and ribbon with a tag carefully lettered and attached to each little package. The socks she made me are amazing - they have a gorgeous picot edge instead of the normal one and are made of Lorna's Laces in Tuscany. I won't spoil it by telling you all the goodies she put inside, but pictures will follow next week after we get home. It was a truly amazing package and renewed my faith in swaps. My last one didn't go too well, and I haven't heard from my pal in that one for quite a while. I also never got my socks from it, but I have continued hope that one day, I'll actually get them. With the ones I just received, that brings my grand total of handmade socks to two. Yes, you heard it right. Two. I got so jazzed because of that swap that I joined Secret Pal 12. I'm hoping that one will be fun, too.

The other thing which arrived and totally blew me out of the water was a shawl made just for me by my dear friend, Pixie, from Exeter, Great Britain. I had asked her if she would make me one after seeing the test shawls she was making for Anni (of Anni Designs - I sell her gorgeous patterns and yarn in the shop). Anyway, Anni dyed the yarn (laceweight cashmere) in a blue-green color - it's incredible - and Pixie knitted this shawl in a WEEK. I can barely cast on in a week. The shawl has the most beautiful pattern - sort of a leaf design all over it - and I found the perfect shawl pin from KaratStix (you'll see them appear next week in the shop). It's made of coconut shell and dyed in soft green, yellow, and pink with a copper leaf-topped, twisted fastener. I cried, I was so touched that Pixie did this for me. I'm putting together a nice gift for her and will show pictures of that next week, too (the shawl, not the gift). You'll actually get to see me modeling it (better sit down and put on sunglasses or something before you view it lest you go blind). Hubster put it on for me so I could see all the design work and how it looked on someone. I wanted a picture of that, but he sort of drew the line. I think you'll love the shawl - I'm taking it with me to Folsom since it gets chilly in the morning. I also have to hoof it in because of the holiday. At least they're not on lockdown this time.

So those were my two surprises. Things continue to arrive for the shop, and I continue to add new vendors and restock existing ones. I try to do a few each night, but there are some nights (and days) where all I can do is sleep. It's really strange - I literally can't open my eyes and just sleep for hours on end. This hasn't done much for my knitting, but it is what it is. I think it's the diabetes, but I won't find out about that for another month.

Next week, the T-Bird has to go in and get an oil change and a smog certificate. Oh boy. I LOVE doing car shit. A few weeks after that, I get to go to the DMV for a new picture and an eye test. I guess the state makes you do that when you turn 50. This birthday is giving me mixed feelings. It's really strange knowing that I've lived more than half my life. I'm hoping Hubster will do something really cool for it, but since we're trying to save money for a house, I don't know. The original plan was for a new Corvette or Harley and going to Vegas to get remarried by Elvis, but I don't know what he has up his sleeve. I suppose I should be grateful for having lived this long, but I want the big celebration, the well-wishes, the gifts, the cards, blah blah blah. I'll probably get shit. We'll see.

So now I'm off to pack my bags, get my flutes together, make sure I have everything I need, put my knitting in my bag and make sure I have all the crap I need for that, and hit the road. We'll be in heavy traffic on the way home - people tend to like going to where I used to live for boating or going to Reno/Tahoe, and the route we take is the same one they do. I think the drive home is going to suck. I'll probably sleep through it, but that doesn't make it any more bearable. It'll most likely take an hour more than it should. I had considered canceling it, but my boys are waiting for me...

I hope you all had a lovely holiday and are safe no matter what you're doing. We may actually get some rain - the wind has picked up and the sky is darkening - which would be delightful. We're now in a drought and have to conserve water, so any rain would be more than welcome. Our water company is just about ready to officially put limits on our water usage. It's bad this year; in fact, this is the worst it's been since 1970. I remember that one - it was really difficult. The good old slogan, "If it's yellow, let it mellow; if it's brown, flush it down" isn't that far from the truth around here. I think it's Santa Barbara which has a desalination plant, but we have no such thing up here. I can't even shower with Hubster - our shower isn't big enough. The only house we've lived in that had a shower where we could both go in at the same time was the first house we lived in when we moved back to California. That was - geez - 15 years ago. How time flies when you're having fun.

Or just sitting on your fat ass and drooling.

A Break for Blogging

This has to be the longest time span between posts. It's been busy as hell around here, and I barely have time to read blogs let alone actually type on my own. But I've finished issuing invitations for Sockamania, have done a bit of knitting, and have worked on the shop for a while, so I think I'm justified in taking some time to let all of you know the fun and games which constitute my life.

Let's start with the prison, shall we? You all know that we've traded the outhouse which doubles as a motel for a real hotel (notice the change in the first letter of those words). This place is nice. It used to be the Holiday Inn (when I was driving across the country, I always tried to stay in those... they're clean, pretty safe, and all the same, so you know exactly what you're getting), but the La Quinta people have updated it. We have a balcony, a sitting area, a very comfy bed, and a shower with a head set high enough that Hubster can take a shower without whacking his face on it. I'd like to stay an extra day, but when I stop to think about it, why? I lived there for 14 years; I know everything that's in Sacramento. To be honest, there's nothing there which I want to see badly enough to fork over another night's cost. This time, however, we ran into a problem when we went to check in.

Hubster went to the desk, gave them his card, got our keys, and we went upstairs to flop in our room. We had gotten there late - it was well after midnight - so we were both spent. Then the phone rang. Huh? I answered it and found it was the front desk. There was a problem - our card had been declined. Did we have another credit card? Well no... we didn't. Hubster got all wound up and started yelling about my not bringing my purse. I never bring my purse. Why was he yelling? So he stomped downstairs and tried to pay with cash. Get this - THEY DON'T TAKE CASH. It's happened. We're living in a society where cash is obsolete. So he tried calling Wells Fargo. They told him that they didn't have anybody there who could help him, and that we'd have to call in the morning. It was looking like we'd have to spend the night in the truck, and I badly needed a shower. Hubster finally got the clerk to accept our card and forked over some buckolas. I couldn't believe it. Then last night, we went out to dinner and the card was declined. AGAIN. He's hot and on the phone with them right now. This is getting ridiculous. It's embarrassing. It's humiliating. It's a major pain in the ass.

By the time this soap opera had finished, it was about 1:00 a.m. I had so wanted to knit, but I was tired. Really tired. I wound up getting about three hours of sleep before I had to get up and take a shower. As usual, I was late getting there. But when I did, my boys were patrolling the yard waiting for me. We got into the chapel without incident.

This class was really terrific. We're starting on the jazz portion, and the guys are really excited to be working on it. From time to time, I give little speeches (I have no idea why - something takes over and my mouth begins flapping). We have a new guy in the group, and for some reason, I started talking about gangs, how stupid I thought they were, how there's a way to do good time vs. bad time, etc. I kept staring at him. After the class, he came up to talk to me and learn a bit about what we were doing. It turns out that he's a Crip. Oh geez. Open mouth, insert foot. My guys are trying to flip him to join the skins (as they call Indians). It's dangerous, so I expect some sort of fireworks in the next month. All I know is that I'd better keep my siren handy in case something bad happens.

The lovely thing about this time is that each man hugged me when I got there (we hug inside the chapel; they can't hug me outside) and told me how much they missed me. When we went to leave, they all hugged me and told me they loved me. It was a deeply touching moment. They've finally opened up all the way. One of them ran up to me, stuck some papers in my music book, and sat down. It turns out they were drawings he had done, and he wrote a little blurb on the back of each one. These guys don't open up very often and don't share the details of their crimes. But they're doing that with me; it's amazing.

Then there's the shop. I've been fighting with the post office and finally decided to just send out replacement packages. That having been done, now I'm free to work on the shop itself. Slowly but surely, I'm getting vendors listed (finally). One of them sold a skein of yarn within 15 minutes of having been listed. It looks like the ads I have running on Ravelry and Google are paying off. Things are looking good, I'm still adding vendors and getting some new ones, and should be completely caught up with adding vendors by the end of the week. I had some trouble with one vendor who is no longer with me, but that's okay. I don't fault her, nor do I fault myself. She was just expecting something different than what I could do. Shit happens.

We went over to my mom's house during the week for Mother's Day, and our daughter told me that she drove by our old house in Sacramento when she was there to visit a friend. Somebody has purchased it. I didn't know how to feel about it. Part of me was really sad; part of me was happy that someone was taking care of it the way it should be taken care of. I spoke to a dear friend of mine whom I met through my blog, and she had some really good things to say. It's sort of like a death, though. I'm grieving, and it hurts. But maybe it's the closure I needed. Maybe now I can move on. I don't know - time will tell. I do know that I'm crying at weird times during the day and keep thinking that a part of me had always hoped we could go home. Stupid and unreasonable, I know, but the heart is a strange thing. It hopes for things that the mind knows will never happen. So that's it. Our ties to Sacramento have been cut. We've asked our landlord to look for a house for us here. I'd like to try and buy something before the housing slump ends because, if it does, we're fucked. I always think that everything happens for a reason and that we'll end up where we're supposed to be, but it's hard to have faith when you had the American dream in your hands, thought you'd die in a certain house, and then it's ripped away from you. A part of me died when we left. It'll never come back, because that was truly my dream home. Sigh.

Then there's the diabetes. I have to have another blood test in about six weeks to see if I'll have to take the needle or can just control it by diet and exercise. Oh great. I don't eat veggies and can't exercise because of the joint degeneration. I tried swimming the other day during the heat wave; while the water was cold, I was able to swim a little. But I had to fight off yellow jackets and was afraid to lounge in my floatie because of them. I have to figure out a way to get rid of them by the pool. We have ivy growing like crazy by the deep end of the pool; it's coming from the neighbor's yard behind us. I'm buying several large containers of Roundup and killing every bit of it, including the plant it's coming from. I'll have to dump that shit on the plant at night when they're asleep so they don't see me do it. I know the little buggers hang out in the ivy, so maybe that will help cut down on the number of them.

All in all, it's been a hectic week, but quiet at the same time. I haven't left the house; I've been chained to my chair and the computer. I told Hubster I want an English Bulldog for my birthday gift, but that's not going to happen. They're too expensive, and I kind of feel guilty buying another dog while Puppy is alive. But if he surprises me with one, I won't give it back. I'm secretly hoping for a trip to Vegas or Reno. I'd love to get away for a few days and just kick back. It is my 50th, after all, and I feel that this is a big birthday. We should do something to celebrate or mourn. We'll see what the old man comes up with; he's superb at coming up with surprises.

Time to go knit for a while before I get back to work on the shop. It's cooler out today, so I can start working on it earlier in the day than I have been. My "office" is the dining room table, and I sit right in front of a large picture window. Now that I have the laptop, I can sit in my chair and work on it, but I need to transfer all the pictures to it or some such thing. That's Hubster's department. Me, I just turn the thing on. I haven't had time to look at the tutorials (all online) to even see what software I have. Hubster has also partitioned the disk to put some other operating system on it, too. Don't ask me - I just type.

I bet I'll fall asleep and drool all over the damn thing, though.

Oh... one last thing. I want to say how pleased I am that the California Supreme Court came out with the decision to allow same sex partners to wed. It's about damn time. Love is love, no matter what sex you and your partner are. I've seen much more committed and long-term relationships in the gay community than I have in the straight community. Why shouldn't everybody be allowed to receive the benefits and protections offered to married couples? And think about this:

The vast majority of child molesters are straight people.

That kind of takes the air out of that argument, doesn't it?

You go, boy. Or girl. Or whomever.

One Step Forward, Back in the Dentist's Chair

Would somebody just shoot me now, please?

I had finally gotten over my horror at being a diabetic - no small feat, I must tell you - and then I went to the dentist on Monday. Before I go any further with this tale of woe, I want to thank all of you who left comments and/or wrote me privately. You really, really helped me get through this. I was ready to crawl into a hole and enter that depression mode I'm prone to enter. You all saved me, and I love each and every one of you. :) Back to the dentist.

I wasn't thrilled with this, you understand - I have a deep-seated fear of the dentist, especially when the words "root canal" are even hinted at - but go I had to, because I finally had to have a real set of dentures made. The last time I went (thinking I was just going to have a mold made for the real set of dentures), the dentist (a new one, because I hadn't found one in this area until now) took pictures of my two remaining molars and told me that there was considerable decay UNDER the crowns. Oh happy happy joy joy. This guy (who is the nicest dentist I've ever been to) takes actual pictures of your teeth in addition to X-rays. That was all fine and well - it didn't hurt at all - until he showed them to me. OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD. I wanted to die. I wanted to crawl out of the chair and out the door. And then he said it: "I'm going to have to remove both of the crowns and see if you're going to need root canals." Note the plural there. Root canal(S). Oh shit. This was two weeks ago. The actual day of horror was Monday.

I've been trying to get new vendors listed in the shop for over a week now and keep getting sidetracked. If it's not one thing, it's another. I thought I finally had my mind wrapped around it and was going to be able to sit down when I got home from the dentist, get everybody listed, and be a hero. I must have been out of my freakin' mind, is what I was. I think I was in deep denial, but I truly thought that I would be fine, that I could push past the pain, that it would be okay. After all, the pictures are taken and in the computer, and all I have to do now is actually list them. They're even all put into my ledger. No problem, right? Big problem.

When I got there, I sat down in the chair, was given the headphones and remote control for the TV which is mounted on the ceiling and pointing right down at you so you can watch it while you're being tortured uh worked on (Judge Joe Brown was on), and he explained to me what he was going to do. It began with copious amounts of novocaine just around the tooth so my jaw, cheek, and lips wouldn't get numb. No problemo, I thought. This would be a piece of cake. Then he was going to CUT OFF THE CROWN. Uh oh. I was beginning to become unhappy. In actuality, once he began, it wasn't bad at all. There was no pain - just a lot of pressure when he had gotten the cut made and began levering the damn thing off. Once that was done, he began drilling off all the bad parts. Then he said, "I'm going to have to use the laser to remove all the flesh which has grown into the holes in your tooth left by the decay before I can drill any further." Huh? What flesh? What do you mean exactly when you say that you have to laser off FLESH WHICH HAS GROWN INTO THE HOLES IN MY TOOTH? Oh, HELL no. NO NO NO NO NO NOOOOOOOOOOOO.

It turned out that that wasn't painful, either. He finished the job and then uttered the magic words: "You don't need a root canal." That made it worthwhile. Then, since he had scheduled two hours for the appointment, he moved to the other side and began numbing me up for the other molar. I thought this one would go as smoothly as the first one. That was like thinking since one of your kids is an angel, the other one is going to be the same way. Not.

He got the tooth numbed up and began to cut the crown. That's when the trouble started. It hurt. A lot. I waved my hand (our pre-arranged signal for pain), and he shot me up with more joy juice (not the white, sticky kind, Marin). He cut a little more. I waved more vigorously. He shot me up again and cut. More waving. More joy juice. Then he decided that this tooth wasn't going to respond to being numbed. He took that enormous needle (those dental needles and syringes are HUGE) and inserted it right into the gum below the tooth. OW OW OW OW OW OW OW. Then he inserted it right into the flesh at the hinge of the jaw. OW OW OW OW OW OW OW OW. A few minutes went by. He tried again. No pain. Good.

He got the crown off and began to drill. No problem. Whew. Then I shot straight out of the chair and smacked my face into the TV.

He had drilled right into the live nerve.

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK.

That wasn't even the real pain. He took that enormous needle which was attached to a syringe filled to the brim with novocaine and INSERTED IT DIRECTLY INTO THE NERVE. Oh god. I thought I was going to die. My fingers dug so far into the chair rests that I think I ripped the vinyl. The tears began to flow down my face. I whimpered. I screamed as best I could with a giant needle stuck in my tooth. I wished I were under a tractor with those blades being dragged behind it to cut me to ribbons after being crushed by the tractor. I wished I were anywhere other than that chair. And then the novocaine kicked in, and I didn't feel a thing. Whew. Time for the Steve Wilkos show. I changed the channel and settled back in the chair, confident that I wouldn't feel a thing from that point on. I could watch TV in comfort and not have to worry about any pain. He had used six syringes full of that shit on me, and that should have done the trick. Right?

Wrong.

I never did see the show. All I did for the next 45 minutes was cry because it hurt so bad. No matter how many syringes of that shit he pumped into me, it still hurt. He finally got it all drilled out and told me that I didn't need a root canal on that one, either. Thank god. If I had needed a root canal on that tooth, I think I would have shot myself in the head with a hollow point bullet. It would have felt better and would have numbed the tooth. Permanently.

The job was finally done, the temporary crowns were inserted, and Hubster came walking in. He usually sits with me through all my dental torture sessions and holds my hand, but this was a long session. I had told him to go do his work (he brought his computer to work in the truck), so he didn't come in until the end. At that point, I was drained and exhausted. The dentist left today for a month-long vacation, so it will be that long before I go back for the work on the bottom front teeth (they also need to be drilled) and the first stage of the new denture fitting. I have a month to talk my mom into lending us the money for the procedure to drill holes in the roof of my mouth for that metal bar and implants so I can have a partial which I just lock into place. I can buy a car for what it's going to cost, but it will look natural, will never loosen up, and I won't have to deal with not tasting food because my palate is covered up. I'm not looking forward to any of this.

In any event, to those of you who are wondering if I'm a flake or what, I'm not. This has just been a horrible week or two which I never anticipated. I can't thank you all enough for waiting. I thought that today, I could sit here for a marathon session of working on the shop, but I can barely balance on my chair. My hands and feet are frozen to the point where I can't feel them, and I guess that's a bad thing. So it's back to the Monster to try and knit for a while before I fall asleep again. Hubster has been loading me up with oxycontin so I can stand the pain. It shouldn't last more another day, so I should be able to work tomorrow. And boy... do I ever have a lot of work to do. It's not just the shop - it's also the email which has stacked up. Sigh. I need a secretary.

And another five oxys.

Bad News

Since I barf out my life on this blog and don't care who sees it, I received some news today that has had me in a tizzy all evening. I've done nothing but sit, stare, cry, read blogs, write emails, and not much else. I've had Hubster call my mother; otherwise, nobody knows yet. But now you will.

You all know that I had my blood tested yesterday. The results came in today, and my doctor's office called this afternoon.

The mundane news is that my thyroid meds are way too low and need to be adjusted. That would account for the weight gain.

Then there was the other news.

(deep breath)

I am a diabetic.

There.

I've said it and haven't dropped dead.

Just in time for my 50th birthday, too. I can just imagine what my boys will do when they hear this tidbit of happiness.

I'm not at the insulin stage, but I'm teetering on the Type I/Type II fence. Exercise more, she said. Eat less and lose weight, she said. Do this, do that, stand on your head and flash the world, she said.

The only way I can exercise is to swim. We all know that where I live, it doesn't get hot enough to swim unless the pool is heated, and mine isn't.

I live on sandwiches as it is. If I ate any less, I would die. I realize that the less you eat, the more your body thinks it's starving and the slower your metabolism gets in order to conserve energy. But there's also that little problem of having a dead thyroid, so my weight isn't merely a function of what I eat or don't eat - it's a function of how accurate my meds are. And since they're insufficient, I could swim the English Channel right now and all I'd get from it are titsicles.

Speaking of tits, I also have to go for my yearly mammo torture. I've got a large lump in one breast which they've been watching. The minute it changes size, shape, or mass, they'll make me walk down the hall in one of those stupid gowns that are designed for stick women, lay on my tummy on this table with a hole in it for your boobles to hang down through, stick a large needle full of anesthetic right in the tumor, and do a biopsy. I won't know the results for about a week, and then they'll send me a letter saying that I have to come back. That's if it's bad news. I've already received one of those letters, and it was one of the longest three weeks I've had to live through.

I've been reading posts from women who are about to turn 40 and how they're dreading it. Rightly so. I was afraid of my 40th, and birthdays have never bothered me before. I was actually excited about my 50th. In my culture, I will now be an elder, a position which is venerated and powerful.

But I don't feel powerful right now.

I feel very, very scared.

Who Needs a Wake-Up Call?

I think this has possibly been the worst trip to Folsom which we've yet endured.

As you all know, Monday was prison day. No biggie, right? I should have known that the trip was ill-fated before we even left the house.

First of all, we overslept. Again. I didn't have a thing packed, didn't know which flutes I was taking, didn't know where my stuff was - in short, nothing was ready. We had hoped to get out of here early because I wanted to get some work done before I went to bed. Heh. This was the latest we've gotten out of here - almost 9:00 p.m. I couldn't find the book I wanted to use or the CD's I wanted to play, so I didn't have a lesson plan for my boys. Then there was the small matter of dinner. To make sure there was a restaurant open (I was in my traditional nighttime traveling garb - my jammies - so it had to be a drive-thru), we stopped for dinner at McDysentery's in the next town. Yummy. Then it was back on the freeway for our oh so scenic and exciting drive out to the flatlands.

We were staying at a new motel, since Chez Outhouse had jacked up their prices. The cheaper motels in town were downright scary, so we decided to fork over $10 more and stay at a LaQuinta. I've found that these can range from really crappy to sort of nice. This one was pretty nice. Our room had a balcony, a sitting area, a knitting chair with footrest (very important, especially since I could drag the lamp over), a bathroom that didn't look like it was from the 70's (and that was after remodeling), and a really comfy bed (no more springy snatch... uh... the bed, you understand). I had the saggy snatch problem corrected years ago after my hysterectomy, but I digress.

We got there a little before midnight, checked in, left a wake-up call for 6:00 a.m., and settled in. I tried to get some work done, but I wound up in the classic Yarn Goddess pose - chin laying on my ample bosom, knitting clutched firmly in my hands, and drooling like a rabid dog. Once the room came into focus, I noticed that my pay-per-view movie (Saw IV, clearly destined to be a classic) had long since ended, and Hubster was snoring like a chainsaw. In bed. Alone. So I put my knitting away, turned off the TV and all the lights (helpful soul that he is, he left everything on for me), made sure the door was locked and the "Do Not Disturb" sign was out, and crawled into bed. Ahhhhh. Comfy. I got to enjoy it for all of three hours. Or so I thought.

A little later that morning, Hubster finally got me awake. It was 6:50 a.m. Our wake-up call never came. It was only due to the static of the clock radio which I had set when we arrived that we woke up at all. I had a ciggie or ten, dragged my ass out of bed, and tried to get ready as quickly as possible. Despite my best efforts, I was still late. It was now the time I was supposed to be at the prison. So I tried to get ahold of Bill. No go. I got his voice mail. So I left a panicked message telling him I was running late but would be there and for him to call the tower to let my guys go. Mission accomplished, we headed down to the parking lot. Hubster let out a groan and said, "Ohhhhh noooooooooooooooooo". Huh?

One of our tires was as flat as my ass.

Another panicked phone call ensued. Another panicked message was left. This took a while to do since I couldn't get the damn phone to work. I hate Hubster's phone - he's had it for ten years - and I'm electronically challenged to begin with. He finally had to dial the number for me - with his work gloves on. His nice clean clothes were now covered in parking lot crap from laying on the ground and jacking up a four-ton vehicle. The only good thing was our location - we were right next to an America's Tire, and Hubster always goes to them (or did - there aren't any out here that I know of). I tried calling the prison again, but now the mailbox was full. Oh great. My boys were going to be patrolling the grounds and worrying about me.

We got into the truck and sped out to the prison. I didn't even bother asking if Bill had been to the guard shack - he was long gone if he had been - so I began the walk of death (no, not to Death Row - to the cell block). I only fell once this time, but I scraped up my toe and kept walking out of my sandals. Bad shoe choice. Note to self - do NOT wear ancient sandals anymore. I finally made it to the sally port where I was greeted by those dreaded words: "C Block is in lockdown".

"But I called!", I wailed. "They said just the Crips and Bloods were locked down!" The guard (who knows me by now and even deigns to talk to me) called over there to see what was up. In the meantime, I passed the time of day with the guard on the other side of the walkway. "Yep", he said when he got off the phone, "they're having TB testing done this morning. No duckets have gone out.". A ducket is a list of men who are to be released for a function. In other words, all classes had been cancelled. I just looked at him, said a few choice words, and began the trudge back to the truck where Hubster was waiting for a phone call from me to ensure I had actually made it inside. I had almost made it back to the main shack when this ear-piercing scream scared the shit out me. I looked all over the place, wondering if I should hit the ground, try and run (my legs freeze up from the knee down and don't work, so running is actually pretty much out of the question), get ready to fight, or what. Then I saw what had happened.

There is a large variety of wildlife in and around the prison - turkeys, deer, quail, etc. What had screamed was a peacock who had had a cat sneak up on it. There he was in full fan, that magnificent tail waving in the breeze, while the offending cat took shelter in the sewer. All you could see of the cat were his ears peeking up above the grate. That peacock stood there, turning a little this way and that, until he perceived that the danger had passed. Then he let his tail down to lay upon the ground and went back about his business. No wonder the sultans used to keep them to guard their harems! I finally made it out the gate, had the guard called Hubster so I could find the truck, and collapsed inside. Major bummer.

We went out to breakfast and then back to the room and air conditioning (it was hot already - I had forgotten just how brutal the temps in Sacramento are) where we intended to work for the rest of the day. We worked, alright - at snoring. Both of us fell fast asleep and didn't wake up until around 6:00 p.m. Bummer. Another day completely wasted. I had purchased a notebook computer to take with me so I could work on the shop while away from home. It sat there pristine and untouched. I decided to get ready for dinner and work when we got back.

Dinner was yummy, and the heat from the day finally disappeared. We sat down to work (damn, that computer is sweet), watched TV, worked some more, dozed, knit, dozed, and put in our wake-up call for 6:30 a.m. The whole reason we stayed two nights is because I had an early-morning doctor's appointment with the pain doctor. I had had to reschedule it because the dumbshit nurse had made it too far out to begin with - I would have run out of methadone (that would have been a bad scene). This time, I went to bed earlier so I could enjoy the damn thing. We both fell asleep instantly.

The next thing I knew, Hubster was shaking me awake. Once again, I didn't hear the phone. Maybe that's because it didn't ring. They never called us. The only thing that woke him up was the static from the clock radio again. Now I was late for the damn appointment at 8:45 a.m.; what's worse, they didn't begin answering their phones until 9:00 a.m., and we didn't know where the doctor had moved his office to - all we knew was that he had moved. We decided to wait until they were answering the phone, call, and explain what had happened. They were good enough to work me in so I didn't have to come back or, worse yet, stay another night. It turns out that my doctor had broken off from his partners and gone solo. I talked to him for a short time and told him what was going on with the falling and my legs not working. I'm now going to be the proud possessor of a gimp sign for my car so I don't have to walk far. It's a two-edged sword. I'm happy that I now have that privilege; on the other hand, it makes me realize that there's no turning back. The disease has progressed to the point where it's going to affect my walking for the rest of my life and isn't going to improve. I'm going to wind up being one of those nasty old ladies on a scooter with a basket full of rocks to throw at all the kids I pass.

Before we left, I called the front desk and began to bitch to the lady who answered my call about our lack of wake-up calls for two mornings in a row. She wasn't the manager but said she would comp us one night (nice) and would talk to the manager when he arrived for work. It turns out that the dude on the night shift had never entered our call either on the phone system or in the log. I hope they fire his lazy stoned ass. I bitched about it again on our way out - both managers were there, so I got a chance to give them an earful. I really just don't want that to happen to anybody else.

Back to the doctor. There was a lab right across the hall from the doctor, so I went over there to get my blood drawn (I've had these orders for months and keep forgetting to do it). Then the lady there informed me I had to do the pee in a cup gig. Sigh. I sat on that john for almost 30 minutes and succeeded only in glueing my ass to the seat. I ran the water. I dreamed of pools with waterfalls. I imagined what Tahiti must be like. I bounced up and down (partly to keep my ass from falling asleep). Hubster knocked on the door to see if I was still awake, on the floor, or just having problems. I couldn't go no matter what. The lady asked if we could come back later. Swell - that meant I had to stick around Sac for another day. I was already having trouble with the memories - we were too close to my old house, and it was beginning to take its toll. So Hubster decided to take me out to lunch, and off we set.

When we drive somewhere, he drives and I read aloud to him. It used to be the opposite: I drove and he slept. Anyway, my nose was buried in the book, and I didn't realize where we were headed. I looked up to see that we were way out by Rocklin. After asking him where the hell we were going, he remarked that he thought he could catch the freeway we needed from there. I told him nope, that we were way out by ... THE CASINO! He began giggling and grinning - he had hoped I wouldn't look up at all until we were there so he could really surprise me. I got treated to a Fatburger and a few hours of gambling. Fun! And at last, the golden waters flowed. Back to the lab, dropped off the cup, got a Jamba Juice, and hit the freeway for the ride home. Oh... I also got to go to Filati to see my old friends. I found a wonderful sock yarn I hadn't heard of before, talked briefly with Sally, and managed to find a swap pal gift. All in all, a wonderful end to the shittiest trip I've taken out there to date.

So now I'm back home recovering. We got home very late last night, so I tried to knit a little to no avail. I'm going to try and work a bit later, but I think that tonight is a knitting night while I recover. Then tomorrow, I'll be hitting the shop hard and working for the rest of the week on it to get a lot of new vendors up and reorders posted. I'll also be working all weekend on it. The Yarn Harlot is coming to a craft show across the water from me, and I was supposed to go with my buddy, but I won't be able to make it. Sigh. I just have too much to do, and the place will be swamped with people. I can't stand in line that long, so it would turn into a nightmare for me. Maybe if I ask her nicely, she'll get me an autographed copy of the book if she decides to go and wait in line. If not, there will be other opportunities. I'd like to hear the Harlot speak, and I don't know what the afternoon holds for her appearance. It's also going to be warmer this weekend, and I need to help Hubster with the jungle out front. So much to do, so little time, so very little ambition.

Before I close out this edition of the ongoing show which is my life, there's something that's been bothering me. About a week or so ago, I heard about MagKnits up and closing because of something someone on Ravelry said. I've seen this happen a couple of times already; somebody gets a wild hair up their ass and says something (or rather, starts something). Then all the women jump on the bandwagon like a bunch of rabid lemmings; they all knew it was going to happen, they all saw it coming, they all are experts on the situation, if only the person (or business) had done this or that, blah blah blah. They're not happy until they drive the person out, and then they talk about that until their teeth fall out or their fingernails drop off. It makes me sad and not at all proud to be a woman. What the hell is wrong with people, anyway? Are their lives so empty and devoid of compassion that they live only to see others suffer? Are they so jealous of another person's success that they feel compelled to destroy them? It really worries me that all it takes is a word from someone to start the ball rolling. I was afraid this would happen when Ravelry became so huge and so many groups began forming. Cliques are forming over there, and I've heard of several instances where friends of mine have been drummed out of groups because they had the audacity to speak their minds. The same is true of the yarn business; there are shop owners who are so large and powerful that both vendors and other shop owners are afraid to say anything against or about them for fear that they'll be drummed out of business. Why can't people just enjoy something without having to dominate the situation? Why do some people feel they have to get rid of people who are different? Why are some shop owners compelled to try and dominate the market instead of realizing that there are more than enough vendors - both indie and commercial - for everybody to represent? I don't understand it, and it's part of the reason I don't use Ravelry very much. I know of women who spend hours every day on there, who have logged every needle, every skein of yarn, every EVERYTHING, into every category, and if they don't, they feel like they've failed somehow. While Ravelry is a wonderful resource (and I do advertise over there and have found some wonderful vendors and made some friends), it becomes a powerful weapon if not used correctly.

Ladies, behave yourselves. The only ones you're hurting are yourselves. By getting rid of someone who has a different opinion or way of doing business, you're depriving everyone else of the privilege of knowing someone who could possibly be a good friend or teacher or business outlet. Think before you type. Put yourself in that person's place. Act like a human.

In other words, keep your fucking mouths shut unless you have something to contribute that isn't harmful to another.

Another Day, No More Money

Good lord. I just looked at the date of my last post and realized that it's been well over a week since I last posted. I'm such a loser sometimes.

So what's been going on down here in the shithole? A few things, actually. I decided that since I just sit in the hotel room doing nothing when we go to Folsom for prison day, I needed a laptop to take with me so I could work. It's just too dark in those rooms to knit, but a computer... well, I might just be able to finish this shop update. So we went to Best Buy last night and found a Compaq Presario with all these bells and whistles, a 17.4" screen, and all kinds of software preloaded for only $600. I was shocked. I remember when Tandy computers with 256K were all the rage, used floppies, and cost over a grand. Wow. So I snatched it up (it was the last one; I suspect that its last year's model, but who cares?), bought a nice carrying bag for it, and I'll play with it tonight so I can work on this trip. We have to stay for two nights because of a doctor's appointment on Tuesday, but who cares? Now I have something cool to play with. Hubster is going to help me get it all set up so I can use it in conjunction with my iMac. I wanted a MacBook something or other, but they're twice the price, the screen is only 13", and I just didn't see the point when I could get so much more and use it for the business. Besides, I can write it off. So I'm back in the world of PC's (just for those times when we're gone), and I'll do the bulk of my work on the iMac. Hubster is loading a few different browsers on the new one (I don't know what to call him yet, but he's a graphite color and very sexy, very fast, and very lean - just how I like my cars) so I can see how things look on different computers. I think it was a wise business move, especially for the price.

I'll still bring my knitting along, though - I can't travel without it. I bought the coolest bag when I was at Article Pract with Karen of KaratStix fame last week - it looks like it's made of those needlepunched rugs - so that's the one I'll stuff my socks into this time. I'm almost to the toe of my first swap sock, so I think I'll make this swap deadline. For a change. I'm also bringing my Firebird socks from the Vancalcar Sock Club. They're so cool, and I'm dying to cast on for a pair for myself. So those are my end of weekend/beginning of the week plans. Ain't they a hoot?

I also get to go to the dentist next week for two root canals, new crowns, and hopefully the beginning of the miracle teeth. It's going to hurt like a bitch, but I suppose no pain, no gain. It's also horribly expensive. Why is everything so damned expensive these days? It's like dentists think you're made of money, and if you can't afford it, you can always take out a loan at some ridiculously high interest rate. I don't know what's worse - paying the interest rate or begging my mother to help and then listening to her hound me about the money. Sigh. Sometimes, I absolutely hate life.

This morning, I got about two hours' sleep while Hubster finished cleaning the house (he's a terrific housecleaner). He came to wake me up, and I reluctantly crawled out of bed. Once I had my snowman jammies on (think I'm hanging on to winter?), I tried to exit the bedroom. Bad move. I went careening out the door, slammed into the wall, bounced across the hall, hit the other wall, and cartwheeled my arms to try and catch my balance. Nope. Down I went like a ton of bricks. Fortunately, it was all in slow motion, so I didn't hurt myself. I'm such a comical bitch sometimes. Last night, though, while I was putting away skeins of yarn (holy fuck, I've got a lot of yarn), I must have turned my wrist just right and twisted it. It hurts. A lot. Does it stop me from knitting or doing anything else important, like typing? Nope. But every time I move my hand, it sends shooting pain up my arm. I couldn't believe it. I got injured by a skein of yarn. I have to remember not to buy that dyer's work anymore. It has teeth or something. You know... like some snatches. Bearded cannibal tacos is what they are.

Hubster just got up from his nap (I should have taken one while I had the chance), so I guess it's time to begin working on the shop again. We didn't get my car in for an oil change or smogging, so my registration is going to be late. Oh well. It's not the first time, and it won't be the last. He was so tired that I didn't want him sitting there and falling asleep in the waiting room at the gas station (yes, we have one of the last remaining gas stations that actually services your car - sort of). I also have to wash the thing. It's got sycamore leaves and tree shit all over it, and I don't want sticky sap or paw prints all over it. Then the cover goes on, and I'll probably kill another battery by not driving it.

In any event, we're off tomorrow for Folsom, so I won't post again until Tuesday or Wednesday. If you place an order before then, it won't be filled until Wednesday. I'm sorry, but I'm always so wiped out from those trips that I need the night we get back to recuperate. I promise that vendors will be going up while I'm gone thanks to Thor (that name just popped into my head - it's better than Nosferatu and easier to spell). I'll see you all on Wednesday.

If I don't fall off the balcony at the hotel or get attacked by a bearded cannibal taco.

If I Were a Painting, I'd Be a Van Gogh

If you don't understand the title of this post, then you're a well-adjusted, well-balanced person whose life is in order, who has a "To Do" list with check marks next to the items which are done, the requisite 2.5 children, two cars in the garage, a house with lots of equity, and no debt (and probably a chicken in every pot).

Your head isn't smeared sideways in bizarre, running colors with a gaping black hole for a mouth. You know the one - "The Scream".

It's like my life is a runaway train and there aren't any depots - or at least none which you want to stop at. Kind of like in "Hostel".

I've got orders coming out of every orifice (a terrific thing, but getting them filled while I'm awake has been a challenge this week), more vendors to add than vendors already listed, so much yarn laying around the house that I'm thinking of stuffing my mattress with it to make it softer (the mattress, not the yarn), and a pair of swap socks which are, as usual, behind schedule. So what did I do yesterday?

I hauled my sick ass out the door and went lunching and yarn shopping with a girlfriend.

It's not as irresponsible as it sounds. In fact, it's restored some of my sanity. The problems began Sunday.

We checked into our usual rathole motel for prison day and found out that they've renamed it, made some of the rooms into suites, and jacked up the price by $25 a night. Huh? The desk clerk said they had upgraded all the rooms; hence, the increase in price. Okay. I was looking forward to sleeping on a mattress which didn't have springs escaping the mattress cover and nailing me right in the ass. It was with this sense of expectation that we opened the door and found... the same shitty mattresses, Hubster's favorite work table gone, dark ugly furniture, no more safe, and a miniature granite bathroom counter. The rest of the room was the same. The same horrid bedspread which didn't match the "decor". The same crappy shower and toilet area. The same little TV which got even less channels than usual. I opened the nightstand drawer and almost tipped the thing over. Oh swell. I tried to get some knitting done, but the light in there was so shitty that I couldn't see what the hell I was doing. Finally, at 2 a.m., I fell asleep. The clock radio went off at 6:00 a.m. to nothing but very loud static. I dragged my ass out of bed and heard a loud POP. Yep... there went my back.

Off I hobbled to the bathroom area. I got ready as quickly as I could (all the while drinking copious amounts of Coke and chain smoking to try and pry my eyes open); late as usual, we headed down to the truck and drove to the prison. No problem there - I had a ride in this time. Good thing, too - I had a large box full of new flutes which the man who started the flute program had made for my boys. The trip inside was completely uneventful, my boys were waiting for me (one of them chided me for not wearing a coat, and another took the box out of my arms), and we trudged along to the chapel.

Since I didn't have the book I wanted to use, I decided to let them familiarize themselves with the new flutes. That took about two hours; then I had an inspiration. I made them each play a love song to me. They stared at me like I was an idiot; then I explained my reasoning to them. The music they played was beautiful, ethereal, haunting - and they were shocked all to shit. Even Kid (my new boy - we'll call him that) played me a song that would have brought tears to anybody. I talked to him after the class, and it just broke my heart - he looks like he should have a paper route somewhere. I asked him if he had played before going down (and not in the fun way), and he said he'd played tenor sax in his high school band. I touched his cheek, and his eyes welled up with tears. That child does NOT belong there. He said he made a bad decision and needed to be punished - yes, he did and yes, he does - but not there. I hope his appeal goes through in his favor.

After class, I got in the truck and don't remember a thing until we got home. I was so exhausted - that session drained me more than any of the others - and it was an effort to get out of the truck. I got inside, sat down, and fell asleep again. I kept trying to stay awake when I'd wake up, but no go. The same was true of Tuesday. Yesterday, I managed to stay awake and have fun while we were out, but then I came home and managed to do very little work before I gave up the ghost again. I've gotten more sleep this week than I've gotten any other time in the past several months. But it's ominous.

It means I'm really sick again, and it's just going to get worse.

So I'm working on orders as fast as I can, both of us will be working on the shop this weekend (Hubster is sick with a flu-like thing), and I might even get some knitting done. Surprisingly, I didn't drop any stitches when I managed to get in five minutes of knitting, nor did I spill coffee on it. These socks are made of Posh, which is a dream to knit with, but I'm a little apprehensive. It isn't as soft as I thought it would be. In fact, many of my merinos are softer, and this has something like 20% cashmere in it, which is why I chose it. The colors are perfect, though - they're exactly what my pal specified.

On the brighter side of things, I've got some exciting vendors about to hit the shop. Hubster will be updating the "Coming Soon" part of the front page (in fact, the whole front page will be updated), I've just ordered some new colors of the Debra's Garden needle sizers, KaratStix has a new product which will hit the shop this weekend (she was the girlfriend I goofed around with yesterday, and she handed me the new thingies), I've now got point protectors in sock needle sizes custom-made by Designs by Tami, and a bunch of other really terrific stuff. I also spoke with Jenny Boully today; she is definitely supplying yarn to the shop. It'll be a while for that one because of all the stuff going on in her personal life (you go, Jenny!), but I don't care how long it takes - she's embarking on an exciting new life, and I couldn't be happier for her. She's even nicer on the phone than in emails, and I didn't think that was possible. I don't know what she'll send, and I don't much care - just to have her yarn is an honor. So you all have that to look forward to. :)

Another thing that's going on is an email I just received telling me that my signature yarn is done! It's on its' way to me as I type, and I think you'll all love it - I know I do! Speaking of siggy yarns, all the people who entered that contest will have their skeins put up for sale when I introduce the winner. All proceeds will go to the ladies who dyed them.

Starting next month, I'll be highlighting a vendor each month. I had wanted to do it this month, but... well, you know. The first vendor I'm highlighting is Karen of KaratStix.

One last thing. One of the emails I got today included a suggestion, and I'm taking her up on it. I am officially announcing the S.A.B.L.E. Sock of the Month club! It's open to 10 people, will cost $70 for six months (three shipments including shipping), and will include brand-new yarn taken from my stash (and you know the kinds of yarn I use). There will also be fun things, really neat swag, and whatever else I dream up. If you'd like to join, please send me an email at pamtheknitter@gmail.com. If I don't reach 10 people by the end of the month, we won't do it, but this is the first of it's kind as far as I know! My thanks to the lady who suggested it (and I'll keep you anonymous unless you tell me otherwise). Our Stitch Marker Club is a no go due to only three people signing up, but we'll try it again later in the year.

I also wanted to mention that Yarny Goodness is proud to be supporting a breast cancer cause. Check out the patterns by Randi K.; some of them are designated for that purpose. YG is picking up the shipping for them.

I think that's it. I'm going to take a break and try to knit. Then I'm going to fry some baloney for a sandwich (you have to be there) and hit the packages again. All orders will have gone out by Saturday. Thank you to those of you who - again - have patiently waited for your items. It's appreciated. :)

At least I can sit on the Monster and knit without worrying about a spring shooting into my snatch.

Sometimes, I Just Feel Like Hiding in the Closet

Whew.

What a week this has been.

Chewed up packages, torn labels (both courtesy of the post office), over 30 orders to fill, the Flat Feet frenzy - I feel like I've been stuck into one of those rides which spin around so fast that you're plastered against the wall and can't move. There's so much to do that I almost feel paralyzed. It's wonderful that so many people have shopped with me (thank you!!), but I'm slower than what I wanted to be in filling the orders. Please bear with me - I've slept pretty much nonstop for the past two days because my body gave out again, but I'm raring to go today. Hubster is out buying me new wrapping supplies as we speak; as soon as he gets home, I'll be packing.

On knitting news, I've begun knitting my Monkey Swap socks with Posh yarn. I've got a lot of it in my stash, but this one had to be special. I was lucky enough to find a colorway which contained all the colors my pal wanted. It's knitting up beautifully, too - the colors are dancing around each other instead of doing boring stripes. I didn't realize it's a cabled yarn, which is really nice to knit with. There's no halo around the finished knitting, and it forms perfect stitches. The cashmere is a nice touch, too. I would have knitted them out of pure cashmere or camel, but the durability factor would have been in the crapper. I want these socks to wear well, and just from the construction of the yarn, they should wear like iron. I'll post a picture when one of them is done. They're going fast, too - could it be because I've knitted this pattern so many times in the past and could probably do it in my sleep? I don't know - I've fallen asleep with my knitting in my hand at least 10 times in the past few days, so I must be knitting in my sleep.

Oh geez - I've got Steve (he of Jerry Springer fame) on TV, and he's yelling at some loser who walks around the house naked in front of his 14 year old daughter and masturbates. Egads. I've got nothing against masturbating, but doing it while you're walking around the house with a beer in one hand and doing it in front of your child? This fool should have his tool cut off and stuffed up his ass. That poor kid. She needs a family who loves her and doesn't walk around in the nudie rudie in front of her. I also have nothing against being nude - I do it all the time - but NOT in front of kids. Holy shit. I consider this type of TV educational.

I realize that this post is really disjointed - I feel like I'm out of my body today - so please bear with me. I'm trying to think of what's happened since I last spoke to you all.

I got some really cool shit in the mail. One of them was a swap gift from Tara for the Cancer Birthday swap. I'm not telling you what I got - I'll take pictures of it tomorrow - but suffice it to say that we had a spending limit, and she did a fantastic job of selecting gifts for me. One of them (I'll tell you this one) was a new set of Golding DPN's. I'm in heaven. I've got a special pattern and an equally special yarn which is begging to be cast on. That's my reward for filling all my orders - I get to cast on socks for myself. What a concept! You'll see the other cool stuff she sent tomorrow. The rest of this stuff are things I bought for myself. I got a bunch of yarn (pictures of them are forthcoming); the book "The Principles of Knitting" (I bought it off Amazon and paid dearly for it - it's out of print, but TKGA recommends it for the Masters program; what kills me is that I had it and it got ruined in a box in my garage); the update for my Mac to bring the operating system up to Leopard; an equally cool thing made by FileMaker called "Bento" (it's a personal organizing system that's also good for small businesses - spread sheets, contact listings, places to put appointments and events, etc.); a custom pouch for my purse to hold all the small stuff which falls to the bottom of the beast, never to be found again (it's leather and has the winged heart on it, along with crystal studs to hold it all together); a bunch of new sock patterns; and a bunch of other stuff which I can't remember. I think I've spent too much money lately. Oops. Hubster will be pissed. Speaking of him, he just got home with my loot. Now I can start wrapping all the orders.

Monday is prison day, so you all know what that means. I actually got ahold of the chaplain; he's going to meet me at the gate so I can ride in. I got all the new flutes for my boys, and I can't carry them in (I think I already told you that part). This way, I can just stick the box in the back of the golf cart and not have to walk. I'm going to have to talk to him about my trek inside; I can't walk in the heat, and it's coming soon. Either he's going to have to pick me up or have someone else do it. Sigh. I hate being ill.

I'm having lunch next week with Karen of KaratStix (we're friends, and what a delightful lady she is!), and then we're going to Article Pract to get into trouble. They're having a 25% off sale on their bags, so I KNOW I'll get in a lot more trouble than I would like. I just can't resist knitting bags, and if this one particular one is there, I know I'll buy it. It's made from a hand-punched rug-like fabric and is just gorgeous. They also have some killer sock yarn which I probably won't be able to resist, either. Karen is no help; we both enable each other. This will be the first time in ages I've gotten out of the house to have lunch with a friend. I was supposed to meet a prospective vendor for coffee a few weeks ago, but I was up all night and got no sleep, so I had to cancel. I'm not canceling this one - I really want to see Karen. Besides, she may have new things for the shop. :)

I don't have any funny stories for you, and nothing really exciting has happened - I've just been feeling out of sorts and not quite myself. I had a bad night last night (when I was awake, that is) - the Apple stuff I got was from the Apple plant which wasn't far from my old house. It triggered a lot of memories, and I finally told Hubster what's been bothering me - I wanted to go home, I wanted my house back, I wanted what was lost and will never be returned. I wanted my Corvette back, I wanted my pool, I wanted... a deep, searing pain that consumes me when it rears it's ugly head. I miss my friends from back there, I miss turning mahogany in the summer, I miss the cool tile under my feet and the soft carpet, I miss my kitchen, I miss, I miss, I miss - and it's tearing me apart. I guess seeing a therapist didn't help me as much as I thought. While it's nice to be back in the Bay Area and close to my family, I want to be back in my old location. The other thing that pisses me off is that houses are now so available and affordable, and we could have bought one with the equity money we received - but all that is now gone. Most of it went to paying off bills, $33K went to paying for a year's rent, and I got my ring (I had to have something to mark this new phase in my life). I'll become an Elder in June, and I thought for sure that I would be settled in my home. I'm not. We haven't even received the lease for the upcoming year for this place, and that scares me. Hubster wants to clean the house before he calls the landlord in case he wants to come over, and I agree with him - but I don't have any desire to clean this shithole. I know there are many people who are in worse shape than me, but I can't even begin to think of anybody but myself when the depression hits. I'm a sorry sack of shit right now, and I know it. We're arguing a lot, and I don't know if I'm the cause of it or not. I know we'll get through this like we've gotten through every other bad thing that's happened to us, but knowing that the housing market is going to get better scares the shit out of me. Our credit is slowly getting better, but we don't have the money for a down payment. I'm also scared to talk to our landlord about houses the bank might be holding - he might not extend a lease to us. I really think we need to talk to a realtor, but Hubster doesn't want to do it right now. He always wants to wait, but if we haven't done it in six months, I'm going to insist. This may be the only chance for us to get back into a house. I know it won't be like my last one (and that's probably a good thing, although I loved the setting and the acreage); I just need and want my own house again. Fuck.

I'm sorry. I'm rambling and disjointed. I think it's time to knit, watch Steve and Jerry, and then have a cup of coffee and work on the order filling. I won't have it ready for today's mail, but we can take it all to the post office tomorrow.

I hope you all have a lovely weekend and do something wonderful. We're going to San Francisco tomorrow; maybe I can talk Hubster into taking a cruise on the bay. Then I can relive my childhood.

Back when I was happy.

FLAT FEET ARE MARCHING INTO THE SHOP TOMORROW!

I know... I said I wouldn't use this blog for shop news, but not enough people are reading the shop blog yet. This is too important to risk having you miss, so here it is:

FLAT FEET WILL BE STOCKED IN THE SHOP TOMORROW, APRIL 9th (Wednesday).

I'm sorry for shouting, but this is just too cool.

I've been waiting for these since February, and they finally arrived today. They are too cool for words. We'll be taking pictures tonight and posting them - they'll be there when you get up tomorrow morning or arrive at work (or whatever). I can't give you an exact time; as usual, I'll be working all night to get them listed. They come in warm, subdued, and cool, and within those categories, there are bright, neutral, and pale. It's difficult for me to tell what they are (unless it's on the label - I haven't looked yet), but you'll see the colors as true as we can get them.

For those of you who don't know what these are, they're blanks of yarn which have been machine knitted into fabric. Then they're handpainted. You unravel the yarn as you knit, which means that you don't have any mess to contend with, no knots, no nothing except blissful knitting - and it's very portable. Plus, it's a lot of fun to see how the design develops.

There is a strip made of waste yarn which runs right down the middle, selvedge to selvedge. You cut it apart on the waste yarn so you can knit two socks at once, or you can leave it as one piece and knit one sock at a time. It unravels very easily, but only from one side - if you have trouble unraveling it on one side, merely use the other. They're all painted individually, so each is a work of art. You also can't tell what the pattern is going to be on the finished sock, which is a great deal of the fun - the blank may not look all that gorgeous, but the socks turn out too cool for words!

They're also portable - you can roll your needles up inside the fabric and stuff it in your purse or knitting bag. There are no balls to roll around on the floor, no winding (you do NOT wind this on a ball winder) - you merely lay the fabric on your lap and pull out enough yarn to cast on, then start knitting. I can't wait to begin knitting with mine.

The cost is $25 for approximately 400 yards. You also get your choice of one of three patterns, which will come to you in hard copy - Basic Socks, 3 Ridge Socks, or Ladder Socks. When you check out, please indicate which you prefer in the message box. I'll stick it in a sheet protector and send it along.

Please... no requests to hold one aside for you. I tried to do that, and it's just too complicated. I also don't have the time.

I've already placed my second order - this time for 50 - but it won't be in until the end of June. The good folks at Conjoined Creations are working as fast as they can to get these out.

Good luck tomorrow, and have fun!

Small Update Completed

There has been a small update completed on the shop site. You'll find new bags from Stuck in Illinois, as well as two additional new vendors:

Craftiness - nostepinnes, knitting needles, pens

Japanese Handmade Etc. - exquisite sock knitting bags by Satomi

There will be another update next week.

Enjoy!

Hand Cream on Shop Site

I just wanted to let you all know that I'm working on an update and have just added a delightful hand cream by "Purple Ducks & Stuff".

Thank you!

Murderers Are a Girl's Best Friend

I keep saying to myself that I need to start putting pictures in my posts. It's kind of hard to do with prison day posts, though, since they don't allow me to take anything inside (not even my clothes sometimes; I've had to have the chaplain run all over the prison to find me a pair of black pants that fit because the outfit I was wearing violated prison rules). I can't take anything that could potentially be taken from me - things that inmates find valuable. Things like... pieces of paper.

In any event, Monday was prison day. What a day it was.

To begin with, Hubster and I both fell asleep Sunday afternoon and didn't get up until around 7:00 p.m. Oh swell. I hadn't even packed yet for the trip, had no idea what I was going to wear, blah blah blah. So I threw some things together, took a shower, and two hours later, we set off.

Arriving at the motel at midnight doesn't bode well for any type of sleep. I was wide awake; Hubster can sleep anytime, anywhere. So while I sat there knitting and looking at the clock ticking the hours by, he was laying there snoring. Finally, at 5:00 a.m., I fell asleep. I never heard the phone for our 6:00 a.m. wake-up call, so it's a good thing he did and got me up. It took a half-hour for me to peel my eyes open (aided by a lot of ciggies and Coke); then I stumbled to the bathroom to get ready. That part went fine until I put on my outfit. It's a pants/top/long vest concoction that I bought in San Diego last year. It fit great then. Now it fit... uh... well... let's just say that I looked like a piece of overripe tropical fruit whose skin was about to burst. Great. I didn't have time to worry about it, so I threw the stuff I needed in my flute bag and we took off - at 8:00 a.m.

Getting there was non-eventful; however, once I got there, I had to go to the admin building for new chits. They're these little round brass tags which have your name stamped on them. You hand them to the guard at the final checkpoint to receive your keys and emergency siren. I had been using the chaplain's extra chits, so this was the first time I had my own. Of course, they kept me in there for almost half an hour while the dipshit guard was looking for them. Once I had those in my hand, I went hiking.

Stupid me didn't realize that Monday was a state holiday - Cesar Chavez Day - so the inmate taxi wasn't running, the parking lot was empty, and I was on my own. I got no more than 20 feet when I realized that I was in trouble. I fell five times before I even made it to the A/B sally port because I couldn't walk. It was a combination of not having slept and being sick, but I had to get there. So I stumbled, stopped, rested, stumbled some more, and finally got to the sally port. Halfway there. I got through the metal detector, gathered up my shit, and set out for the second half of the journey. The only way I could make it was to put my head down and trudge without looking at the cellblock WAYYYYYYY in the distance. Fuck.

I finally got to the block, exchanged my new shiny chits for my keys and alarm, and shoved my way out the last door. I saw my boys walking around the track, so I hollered at them. They turned around, took one look at me, and hotfooted their way over to my side. It was a good thing, too. I took one step and my legs went out from under me.

It was like I was ascending into the clouds. I was suddenly lifted in the air by four strong arms - two around my waist from each side and one on each arm - and they carried/walked me to the chapel. The guards must know that we have an unusual relationship because they didn't intervene. Being overly friendly with the inmates is one of the things they'll throw you out for.

While fumbling with the keys to open the chapel door, I dropped the siren, popping the back off it. All the guys jumped like I had jabbed them in the ass with a cattle prod. They get really nervous around those sirens because they're REALLY loud; when one goes off, all the guards from everywhere come running. They didn't particularly want to be thrown on the ground, cuffed, and put in the cages.

Once inside the chapel, I found out that my class had been cancelled because I was more than a half hour late. The chaplain wasn't there (again), so I had to call the guard tower, the captain of the guards, and finally the lieutenant. They wouldn't release the rest of my class, so I had my four regulars.

We convened in the office and decided that since it was just us, we would sit around and shoot the breeze for two hours. Then they proceeded to gift me with some healing items they had made for me - two medicine bags and a special stone. Because they're considered religious items, the men are allowed to buy things like beads and beading supplies, herbs (not the fun type), leather, etc. One is a beaded bag that hangs around my neck. It's actually the first bag one of my boys made and has been through many ceremonies. He had a dream where he saw me wearing it, so now I am. The other is a leather bag tied shut with a thin strip of leather with an owl feather on the front. That one is supposed to stay near me. The man who made it whispered to me the words I'm to say to it should I need its' help (Apache words - they're a prayer), and gave me a picture of him. The stone came from my "hardest" man. He's tattooed from head to foot and looks every bit the biker who would rather shoot you than say hello. He wouldn't even give it to me himself; he had one of the others give it to me because he was too shy to do it himself. No matter - it's a tiger's eye that he's had for a very long time and a powerful healing tool. I gave them all big hugs, they chided me for even being there (and not having on a coat - I didn't need one, but they're like mother hens around me and are convinced that if it isn't 80 degrees out, I need a coat and hat), and we settled down to tell dirty jokes and just gab. The new boy (he's such a baby - 18 years old with a four-down) sat there quietly because he's new and also because it was a sign of respect for all of us. The others are teaching him how to act in prison - this poor thing looks so out of place in there. He looks like he should have a paper route or something. Anyway, we're the core of the group - the family.

When it was time to go, they did the same walking/carrying motion so I didn't fall again, got me to the door, and bade me good-bye. The walk out wasn't as bad - in fact, I was able to make it without any problems. I was loaded with enough medicine from them to walk through walls, so I'm sure that got me through the rest of the trip out. I made it to the truck, we went to breakfast, and it wasn't until my face fell forward and smacked right into my plate of eggs and linguisa that Hubster realized how tired I was. He got me in the truck, and I don't remember a thing until he said, "There's a HUGE box on the porch!", thinking that would snap me to attention. It didn't. Turns out that the huge box was full of flutes for my class, so I've got to make sure I have a ride in next time; otherwise, I can't carry them all. Maybe I should bring my eagle feather.

Then I can fly.