Thank God I'm Too Old For More Kids

Kids. Who needs them?

I see pictures of everybody's new babies, and they're all adorable: soft, sweet-smelling, tiny little feet and hands, truly bundles of joy. You have such hopes and dreams for your children, and they're your pride and joy. You watch them grow up, gain independence, find friends, find boy/girlfriends, have one crisis after another, think the world is going to end, talk to you for hours on end about how horrible that new boy/girl at school is, find another boy/girlfriend, go to the prom, learn to drive... all the things that alert you to the fact that your baby isn't a baby anymore.

And then they go to college, get the dream job, get their own apartment, move in with friends, earn their degree, become doctors or lawyers or professional football players or...

They drive dentures from the lab to the dentist's office.

I guess someone has to do it, but why my kid?

I'm absolutely exhausted. I've just spent the past three hours at puppy class and yelling at the thing that emerged from my snatch 30 years ago.

(I knew I'd work "snatch" in there somehow.)

Puppy class was fine. Emma has now realized that the little creatures who are 1/16th her size are her classmates and available for her to head-butt and play with. What's amazing is that all the little creatures have lost their fear and are now snarling and biting at Emma. Then this hideous creature who belongs to the people who sit next to us (this beast snapped at Em last week) tried to hump her face. I was less than pleased, and poor Em was confused. Personally, I think she should have opened her enormous mouth and bitten off his dingle. But she's far too sweet for that. We worked on walking on a leash today, and she did wonderfully. Then we weighed all the dogs, and she came in at 28 pounds. My little baby is a big sausage. However, a past student came into class with her baby, a nine-month old English Mastiff. This thing is close to four feet high at the shoulder and weighs 135 pounds. When she's grown up, she'll be about eight feet tall when she stands on her back feet and weigh 200 pounds. I guess Emma isn't as large a sausage as I thought.

After class, we had to go through all the people who wanted to lavish love on Em (she gobbles this shit up), talk to the staff who think Em is the cutest thing they've ever seen (they have exquisite taste), and make our way out to the car. I told Hubster to drive over to Mom's to see if the thing was there. I wanted to rip her a new one if she was. Unfortunately for her, she was out in front with the kids, so Hubster sort of blocked her car with the truck, and we all piled out. Beast wasn't too pleased to see us, although she did play with Em (Em doesn't know her history, nor does she care; all she knows is that Beast has two hands to pet her with). No sooner had we walked onto the lawn and I handed Em over to Hubster, I launched into a tirade.

Lest you think that I'm a horrible mother and/or person. let me say that Beast has been doing things to us and the rest of the family since she was in high school. She runs off with the first guy she dates; she totaled her brand-new car we bought her for Christmas; she got married to a total loser on the trip where she totaled her car (in Reno - she hit a patch of ice in February and hit a taxi with a cop in it); but worst of all, she has completely neglected her children. She barely gives my mom any money toward their support; she sees them for an hour a day and thinks that's enough; she thinks that Hubster and I should be buying their clothes and anything else they need - in other words, she likes being a mom in name only. I know that I've ranted about her before, but I'm so disgusted that I had to say something.

The face-off didn't go well. It was pretty much the usual bullshit, but after yelling at her for almost an hour, she finally broke down and switched tactics. She wants to sit down with me, mother and daughter together, and just talk without yelling. I told her fine; if she wants to talk, pick up the phone, call us to set aside a day, and come over. I know what will happen. Either she really will call and we'll talk (probably ending up in yelling like we always do), or she said that to shut me up and get away from the problem. I told her in no uncertain terms that this time, I've had it, that she's a horrible mother, that I simply can't believe I spawned a creature like her, and that we'll take her to court to take the kids away from her. I don't really want to do that, because I don't think I have the energy to take care of two rambunctious four-year olds. However, I also can't stand by and see them neglected by her. They have a happy home with mom and grandma, but that isn't going to last much longer. My mother is past 70 and has to have surgery very soon, and my grandma can't walk anymore. We're going to wind up with them one way or the other, and I won't have her using them as pawns against the family. She's self-centered, self-absorbed, selfish, disrespectful, nasty, and doesn't care about anything or anybody except herself - and that includes her children. So what did she do last weekend? She moved out of mom's into a house with three other girls so she could be closer to the boyfriend - and this in a town about 30 minutes away. The child who doesn't have any money to begin with has now taken on another debt which she can't afford. Mom always said she would throw her out, but there's a double-standard at work here. If I had done even half of what Beast has done, I would have been tossed out on my ass. But since Beast is mom's granddaughter, she goes easy on her. I don't think mom has done her any favors. In fact, I think she's made matters worse.

As I said, I've told you about my... my... child (shudder) before, but I'm just so damned mad that I had to rant or I would have exploded. I'm so disappointed, so hurt, so... so... so. I'm truly embarrassed to let people know she's my child. Of course, if you met her, you'd think she was a delightful and well-mannered person. But it's the act she's polished over the years. She's soulless and empty. It's such a waste.

I think I'm going to have a cuppa, work on the shop, and go cry in the corner. Because I couldn't let her see me cry. That would mean she had gotten to me, and that's a mark of victory to her.

It burns a hole in my soul every time this happens, and my soul can't take much more.

Secret Pal 12 Question

Here is this week's SP12 question:

Have you ever entered your knitting (or anything else) in the fair? Would you ever consider it?

Yes. In 1999, I entered my baklava in the Pastry Division for Baking, as well as a king-sized bed hand-pieced sampler quilt, in the California State Fair. I took first place with the quilt (which was later auctioned off for Habitat for Humanity at a black-tie dinner - my best friend had organized the event), and also took first place, Best of Class, and Best of Division with the baklava. I would have taken Best of Show, too, but I lost out to a chocolate pie. When I received my score sheet, I had a score of 100 and the comment, "Perfect!". That must have been one hell of a pie. I think that traditionally, pies win Best of Show in pastry. That's okay - I got a shitload of ribbons and the rosette I had been coveting. One day, I'll enter my knitting or crocheting or spinning - if I can get my shop update done, that is.

Some Weeks I Can Do Without

WARNING: LONG POST AHEAD

You know how some weeks start out badly, giving you a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach because you just know that things are going to get worse? Well...

We've stopped going to Folsom the night before prison day for two reasons: we can't afford spending $100 every other week for a hotel room, and we don't like the idea of leaving Emma home alone for that long. We decided that taking her with us to a hotel isn't feasible right now. Even though she's potty trained, she still has accidents; I don't want her to pee on the bed during the night. We also take her out every four hours or so to go potty (and to allow her to roll in the grass), which is kind of difficult to do when you're in a hotel. Anyway, it's turned out to be easier leaving the same morning as I'll be in the prison, and Emma does just fine in her playpen for the day.

So yesterday, we headed out at about 5:15 a.m.. Traffic was light; I managed to stay awake for the entire trip; the weather was lovely. We got there, I got my crap out of the truck, and Hubster took off. After I got up to the guard shack, I saw that Bill wasn't there. I called him and found out that something was wrong in the cellblock - nobody was on the yard, and there were guards prowling about. Bill said he would try to find out what was going on and would come get me. In the meantime, I sat on a bench and waited.

When he came to get me, he had bad news. Something had happened (although none of the guards would tell him exactly what), and the block appeared to be on lockdown. He suggested that I call Hubster and have him pick me up. That would have been fine except for two reasons: I couldn't remember his phone number, and his phone didn't have any bars showing; hence, no power. I was stuck at the prison for two hours with no ciggies, no shade, no nothing. Bill bought me breakfast, said goodbye, and I was on my own.

I sat out in the sun wondering how in the hell I was going to survive for two hours until Hubster came back; I was craving a ciggie something horrible. In fact, I asked everybody who walked past me if they were a smoker (nobody was). Then I found out how I was going to spend the time. A great deal of it was spent falling asleep and catching myself as I rocked forward on the bench. Then it happened, and right in front of a group of inmates who were tending the grounds.

I fell flat on my face.

Apparently, I fell asleep, rocked forward, and didn't wake up in time to catch myself. What made matters worse is that I had a sundress on. All I know is that I was being lifted in the air by five inmates, all of whom looked really concerned. They sat me back on the bench and crowded around, asking if I was okay and if I needed anything (yeah, I needed a ciggie, but I don't think any of them were holding). Then a guard came charging down the walkway, yelling at the inmates to get away from me and asking if they had molested me. I calmed Rambo down, thanked the men, and noted (thankfully) that it was almost 11:00 a.m. Then Hubster FINALLY showed up, and we headed for home. I lasted as long as it took to get to the gas station; then I don't remember a thing until Hubster said we were home. Emma was beside herself with happiness when we walked in the door. I'll have some pictures to bore you with in a little while.

I've been trying to get an update for the shop done for a week now, but I keep falling asleep or being so weak that I can't move. I have high hopes for tonight, even though I already feel sleepy. I also hurt. Why?

I fell flat on my face. Again.

This time, it happened out in front of the dentist's office. I went today to get that damned bottom partial adjusted so I can wear it. Hubster went outside about halfway through the appointment; when it was over, I headed out to the truck. I was walking next to the truck on one of those raised cement curb bumpers when my ankle folded in half. I tried to catch myself, but when you weigh as much as I do, it's difficult to do. I went down on the curb and hit the parking lot, scraping up my left calf pretty good. I also scratched up my ring (sigh); back to Lance's to have him buff it out and check the setting. I began banging on the truck because Hubster didn't come right out. It turns out that he was snoring away, but he finally heard my screaming and banging and ran outside. After picking me up, he stuffed me in the seat, looked at my leg oozing blood, and took off for the gas station to get me something to drink (if I'm drinking, I'm not crying). Then he cleaned it up when we got home. Now my teeth and leg hurt. Shit.

As many of you know, I'm participating in the Secret Pal 12 swap. I got a package from my pal the other day full of goodies. One in particular uh... stood out. Our camera just died, so I won't have a picture of it until later. She made it for me after making sure that I wouldn't be offended (me? I make obscene phone callers weep). No, it's not a cock pillow, but close. I'll post the whole bunch of gifts later, too. She's a doll - I couldn't have asked for a better pal.

OK... time to bore you with Emma.





Emma in her bed with her toys.





Emma on the couch.





Emma sneaking up on Mommy.





What Mommy saw when she looked down from her knitting (that white thing at the bottom of the picture is Mommy's white leg).

The other lovely thing that happened is that I was making a swap gift for another swap pal when I fell asleep (this was last night, shortly after I looked down and saw those little fangs). When I woke up this morning, about half of the stitches had dropped off the needle. Bear in mind that I was using Addis - large Addis (size 10-1/2) - which I'm not used to using (I use size 1 in wood these days), so I had forgotten how slippery they are. I looked, horrified, at the mess which was formerly a difficult sequence of stitches per row. It took well over an hour just to sort the thing out and another hour to put it all back together again. Sigh.

So tonight, I'll be using Bento (the new program which has a cool spreadsheet) to log in all the new vendors which I hope to include in the shop update in the next day or two. I had hoped to have this done a week ago, but as I said earlier... Let's hope that everything goes well.

Oh... I have a comment to make. One of my vendors, Drooling Over Yarn, had another fiber artist call her work "a hobby". She was deeply hurt by this, as Laura takes her work very seriously and does an outstanding job on her yarn. In fact, she was chummed by L&V today. I have a large amount of her yarn in my shop and am proud to carry it. So to this fiber artist (I don't know who it is), maybe you should think about how you would feel if someone looked at your work and said, "That's a nice little hobby you have". I doubt that you'd be very happy about it.

I have now done my Public Service Announcement for the week.

Signing off.

My Brain is Going to Explode ...

... from all these questions. You know how much I hate thinking. It taxes what little resources I have left.

What is your favorite supper for a hot summer evening? This is a hard one, as Hubster and I don't eat much of anything anymore. I even asked him what the answer is, and he had no idea; instead, he rambled on about his favorite meal when he was a kid. I don't give a flying fuck about what he ate. His parents and I have a mutual hate society going on, so the less I hear about anything having to do with them, the better. That being said, the only thing I can think of is anything that doesn't require cooking indoors, which boils down to BBQ. Because we don't have A/C, if this little house heats up, we're doomed.

And with that, I have to go take a shower because Emma has bathed me with her doggie love kisses, which means I smell like a wet dog/person. Totally unacceptable for taking her to her puppy classes. Or maybe that's the one place where nobody realizes how bad they smell.

She just stole my slipper off my foot and ran across the room with it, head held high and prancing. The little shit.

'Scuse me.

Just When You Think You're Getting Ahead ...

... you get blindsided by a bucket of shit falling right in your lap.

It all started this morning when I got up and found Hubster sitting on the couch, staring at his computer and not doing much of anything. The TV was off; the room was absolutely silent. Emma had run him out of bed last night, so he came to sleep on the couch so he could get some rest. It turns out that he was sick, and it just got worse as the day progressed.

I should have known something was coming. He didn't finish taking all the pictures for the update, so I had expected him to do it today. Not a chance. He couldn't even get off the couch, so I put Emma next to him; they were both sound asleep in a matter of minutes. Then I began feeling crappy myself and sat down in my chair to try and do some bookwork. No go. I couldn't get motivated to do much of anything, not even knit. I did knit last night while he was taking pictures, but today was set aside to finish the update. All I finished were a few naps.

Needless to say, nothing is getting posted. As I stated before, if I try to do anything when I'm tired (or sick), I make mistakes. So what I've decided to do is have the update on Thursday. We're resting tonight and tomorrow, then we'll finish up the loose ends on Wednesday. I hate to do this to the vendors who have waited so patiently, but when it's me doing all the bookwork and computer listing and him doing all the photography and coding, all it takes is a blip in your carefully planned life and schedule to fuck everything up.

I'm trying to find some dyers who are willing to dye up some special yarns so we may have a sock yarn club. If any of you are dyers and wish to participate, please email me. I'd like to do a theme of some kind; I'm certainly open to suggestions.

Emma has a huge red spot and bump on her head. First, she was playing with her blankie and wool toy when she went toppling over the edge of her bed, whacking her head on the lever for the recliner. Then I went into the bathroom and shut the door all the way. The next thing I knew, there was a huge BANG! and the door shuddered. After that, there was scratching at the door, but I couldn't open it. She had spotted me going in there and charged the door, trying to get in before I shut it. I feel terrible. Right now, she's in her crate snoring away. I'll take her out in a little while when I go lay down. She's claimed Hubster's side of the bed for herself, which is why he got run out of bed last night. She seems to have figured out that licking his ear drives him nuts and causes him to sit up straight in bed, giving her a chance to scoot into the warm spot where he was laying. Anybody who says bullies aren't intelligent obviously haven't interacted with one.

On the bright side of things, that weird dude hasn't shown up again. Thanks for all your comments and ideas about why he was there; I simply don't know what he was doing. I've been keeping my eyes open for intruders, but everything has been quiet on the western front.

Tomorrow is my grandma's 90th birthday, so I'll be making her a tray of lasagna and a cake. As to when I'll be taking it over, I don't know (it will probably be next week before I can make them). If Hubster is up to it, we might drive Emma over there to visit. Mom is waiting for the results of some tests she took. Some of them were from her gyno; she not only got her cooter rooted, she's facing surgery for a prolapsed uterus (which she blames me for - I guess I tipped it or something when I was in it). She also has a cataract in one of her eyes which needs to be removed, and she has to have some more testing done for various things. Sigh. More family shit I don't need, and I can't be over there to take care of both her and my grandma. I don't have the strength, and I also can't leave Hubster alone with Emma all day. That little sausage is a bundle of energy who demands constant attention. She also needs constant supervision as she's developed a taste for electric cords, my expensive dining room set (which is now not worth the money it would take to haul it out of the house, Ethan Allen or not), our slippers, the drapes, my feet, my underwear, any clothes you happen to take off and drop on the floor, and anything else she can fit in that enormous maw of hers. It's all worth it, though. She's so damned cute and comical that I can't imagine life without her.

Now I have to go make Hubster some broth, find something for dinner for myself, and then sit down for the rest of the evening. I think this will be one of the rare times I go to bed early.

Mark your calendars. This won't happen again any time soon.

I have decreed it to be so.

Late as Usual

I just wanted to let you all know that the update I had planned for tonight/tomorrow isn't finished yet. Most of the items are photographed; I have to finish the logging and tagging, and then I'll write the descriptions and upload everything. I'll finish it up during the day and evening on Monday. I'm just exhausted tonight (and, in fact, just woke up), so I don't want to work on it while I'm this tired. That's when I do stupid things.

Something strange also just happened. Hubster went running out of the house (I was typing a reply to a Ravelry flame war), and then I heard him demanding answers from someone in the driveway. I went to the front door and pushed Emma back (I didn't want anybody to see her), and when I got outside, there was some guy backing away from Hubster and babbling as fast as he could. It turns out that he was on his belly and crawling under our truck; he told Hubster that he thought he had lost his wallet either in our driveway or under the truck. What? I asked (loudly) if I should call the cops, and that's when the dude said that we could write down his license plate. Hubster told the guy to give us his name and number in case we found the wallet (cough). The dude said his name was Mike and that he didn't have a phone. Then he backed up as fast as he could, jumped in his car (where someone was waiting behind the wheel - the engine was running), and they burned rubber getting out of here. I don't know what the hell the dude was doing, but he was up to no good. Now I'll have to stay up all night to make sure he doesn't come back (I'm worried about Emma). I'm truly bothered by all this and wish now I had called the cops and had Hubster keep the dirtbag here. Hubster didn't get a description of the car they were driving, so there's nothing the cops could do at this point.

Shit.

This Week's SP12 Questions

What is(are) your favorite place(s) to knit? The Monster (the chair and a half angled perfectly so I can see the TV). I love to knit at night while I watch the court shows I've TiVo'ed during the day. Once in a while, a good movie will come on TV, so I'll watch that instead. As long as the idiot box is on, I'm happy. I really don't like knitting anywhere else. I've tried knitting groups, but I can't talk and knit at the same time. I occasionally take my knitting with me on vacation or to the hotel on prison weekends, but I'm usually too tired to get more than a row or two done.

What supplies (besides yarn & needles) make the setting perfect for knitting? Ciggies, a cuppa joe, scissors, my miniature crochet hook for picking up stitches, my bendy light that I can focus right where I'm working, stitch markers, row counter, and the TV remote control.

Wow. I need a lot of shit just to knit a sock, don't I? That's me - I've got to have everything made for a particular art (or craft) just to be able to do it. How did our ancestors do things by candlelight? I'm already getting blind as a bat even with a high-powered light focused on my work. Knitting in near-darkness? I don't think so. Oh... I have to be in my jammies to knit, too. It's rare that I knit during the day. I suppose that goes along with being a creature of the night. I also suppose it explains why I fall asleep so often while I'm knitting and drop so many stitches. I call it practice for picking up stitches in every possible permutation.

So in two hours, I get to go back to the dentist. Those lower dentures were killing me last night to the point where I couldn't even close my mouth. The uppers are better, but they still need adjustment. I hate that you can't really tell how dental work is going to feel while you're in the office. Noooooo... you have to go home, die all night, and then try to get an appointment the next day (which means you have to go back to the office) to get the fuckers fixed. I get three free adjustment visits. Let's hope he can fix them today. I hate having to go there (and I hate having to put on "real" clothes when I'd rather be in my jammies). It's necessary, though. You try drinking coffee with no teeth in. They serve a purpose other than making you look like an attractive adult when you smile - they seem to keep coffee from dribbling down your chin and on your shirt, pants, chair, etc.

We're working on yet another update for this weekend (hopefully). Tonight is photography night for Hubster and logging/tagging night for me. We've got a shitload of new vendors, a bunch of Hide and Sheep stitch markers, and something special to list. It's a long story, but suffice it to say that Dianne of Creatively Dyed and I had a falling out over her selling through the shop. As a result, I've got a box of her yarn sitting in my studio which I didn't know what to do with. I've decided that I'm going to have a one-time offering at a bargain price - $12 per skein, no matter what the fiber content. I think it normally retails for $26-28. Once it's gone, it's gone, so have at it. That will be listed this weekend as well.

Emma slept with me in bed for the first time last night (or early this morning, depending on your perspective). After running around for 10 minutes, eating my ears, slobbering all over my face, and sitting on my head, she settled down and went to sleep. When I woke up this morning (or later in the morning, depending on your perspective), she was curled up on the pillow next to my head with the covers over her. She's just too cute for words. I also took her out back yesterday with a big bowl of water and ice cubes. She's discovered the joys of dunking your head in ice-cold water and grabbing an ice cube, bringing it back into the sun, and then dropping it in a pile of weeds. Gack. It didn't seem to bother her much until she discovered that she could lay on the BBQ cover and munch on her ice cube without it getting dirty (and without her having to lay on the concrete). I'll take her out to play again when we get home from the dentist.

Speaking of which, it's time to get in the shower. I have doggie slobber to wash off my entire head and face.

She loves me.

Oh... here's a parting picture of the snorting snausage for your pleasure.

Thoughts and Babbling

I don't really have a lot to say today, but I thought that I would babble anyway.

Yesterday was prison day. We decided that rather than put Emma in a kennel for three days (they're not open on Sundays, and we wouldn't be home in time to get her Monday), we would leave in the morning and come straight home after my doctor's appointment. Hubster set up her playpen, made sure she had her bed, toys, water, blah blah blah, and off we went. Even though I'm normally up at that hour of the morning (5 a.m.), it seems different when you have to shower, get dressed, and get in the car to go somewhere. I was dead tired and slept for part of the way. Amazingly, we got there right on time (who knows what traffic will be like?), and Bill was waiting for me with the golf cart.

The lesson went well until one of the men voiced his displeasure at playing jazz. For reasons I won't go into, I had to shoot him down (obviously not literally, since I'm at home). After a 15-minute rampage, he backed down. Then I had to set another man straight - this one a Crip - so by the end of the lesson, I was a bit tired. After all that, I had to get blood drawn and go to the pain doctor. Oh fun. I slept all the way home, so I can't tell you about the lovely scenery. Well, actually, I can... think flat, brown, and cows.

The doctor called this morning and told me that my thyroid meds are too high, so she's lowering them. Great. I've lost some weight, and now I'll probably gain it all back. The good news, though, is that my sugar was down low, so she's not going to do anything. No needles, no pills, no nothing. Yay!

Emma continues to grow like the proverbial weed. She's almost her full height right now, but her head and chest will continue to grow for two years. She's going to be huge. I burned my leg with a ciggie yesterday (the joys of falling asleep while you're smoking), and it was blistered by the time we got home. Emma was so excited to see us that she bounced onto my lap (it's a good thing she didn't bounce on my chest, or she would have shot across the room), scrabbled with her paws on my thigh to get up on my shoulder, and tore open the blister. Sigh. Now I've got a leaky burn wound that hurts like a bitch.

Then today, we went to get my new dentures. Good news - I can eat real food again! Bad news - they hurt. It reminds me of when I had braces and they would tighten them. I have to get used to them, since they're made differently than my old ones and fit tighter. I have to go back tomorrow to get something adjusted. I think I may be taking a LOT of extra oxycontin tonight.

As for knitting, the socks are going well. I'm using a fantastic yarn from my shop by handkraft, which is made of 50% silk and 50% merino. The color is called "Grass". It's a tone-on-tone and has a slight sheen from the silk. The pattern I'm using is by Knitspot called "Luxor". It's simple as can be and makes a spectacular sock (knit and purl diamonds). I've not done a short-row heel (I usually use a heel flap), so this will be new for me.

Other than that, there's nothing at all going on. We've had delightfully cool weather (in the 60's), but it's supposed to warm up this week. I don't think it will be as hot as it was some weeks ago, though, so I suppose we'll all live. Emma was out in the backyard and eyeing up the pool, so maybe I'll have to buy her a lifejacket so she can swim. Bullies swim like stones, but if I can keep her afloat, it will be a blast to swim with her.

Time to go knit before I fall asleep. Sorry for being so boring, but my life is kind of quiet for a change.

Three oxys, and I'll be quiet as a mouse.

Life With Emma and Other Assorted Useless Shit

It just occurred to me that I've missed answering not one, but TWO SP12 questions. My poor swap pal. She must think I'm a horrible flake and/or typist. The first one, sometimes. The second one, no. I'm actually an exceptional typist. I just haven't had the time to blog lately. With that having been said, here goes:

1) Where is your favorite place to go for vacation/holiday? Disneyland, along with San Diego on the same trip.

2) Where is one place you’d like to go? Anywhere I can swim with dolphins.

(Emma is on Daddy's lap, licking his ear and trying to wake him up.)

Okie dokie. Here is the question for this week:

What is your favorite type of project to take along on holiday/vacation? Socks.

(Daddy woke up for a minute, petted Emma, and fell back asleep; Emma is planning a counterattack.)

As for a story about overpacking knitting for a trip or running out of knitting, I always overpack. In fact, I've been known to bring along five or six pairs of socks to work on if I'm going to be gone a week. What usually happens is that I don't work on anything or, if I do, I get a few rows done before I fall asleep. Hence, I never run out of something to work on. I've also been known to find a yarn shop and buy something new. You know... in case I finish the five or six other projects I've brought along.

(Emma is now sucking on Daddy's chin; he's giggling like a loon.)

So what's been going on? Well, I had to cancel prison day last week because the pot roast had her first vet appointment. She's in perfect health, the ideal weight, and loves liver treats. I've never seen a dog (let alone a puppy) fall asleep on the table in the vet's office. She charmed everyone and had attention lavished on her. After her appointment, it was time to go back outside in the horrible heat that we had all week long. I was worried; bullies are prone to heatstroke and can't take temps above 80 degrees. It was 110. We hustled her into the truck where the A/C was blasting and got her home, where she promptly flopped on the couch and slept all evening.

(Emma and Daddy are now both asleep and snoring... another fun evening in the Mann household.)

Before I launch on to even more boring subjects, I've had several requests for baby pictures. I have to warn you that the pot roast is already the size of a Thanksgiving turkey. Please ignore the fat person in the pictures with her.





She's as unladylike as her mother.





This is how the family-size pot roast shows affection - with lots of sloppy kisses (and yes, Syd... she has puppy breath).





Yet another kiss which I can't seem to escape from. You try getting Emma off your lap when she wants to kiss you.





Every girl needs a stuffie.





Just like Daddy when you're trying to wake him up. One eye opens, and then you realize that he's really a zombie who isn't awake at all.





That's her chewy rope and the towel we went out and bought for her (she looks good in/on/eating purple). No, she doesn't have weird white eyes; Daddy fucked up the camera setting. Yes, that's my phone number; don't call and ask if you can have her. I might let you come play in the shop, though.

Speaking of the shop, we had a sale last week which went extremely well. I've also got a lot of new vendors (yes! more!) on the way. Monday is prison day, so I'll be gone this weekend (if you call, leave a message). Hubster will be taking pictures all next week since we can't work on the shop this weekend, and I'll be logging, tagging, and uploading pictures for your pleasure. I've got all kinds of cool things coming and/or here. Poor Emma has to be boarded because we'll be at the doctor's late in the afternoon. I'm worried that we won't be home in time to pick her up Monday night; it looks like she'll be in the kennel Saturday, Sunday, and Monday. Sigh. I wanted to bring her, but she can't sit in the car all day. She could probably come in the doctor's office, but it's hours between when I'm done at the prison and when my appointment is. Maybe I can figure something out... there's a cool dog/cat shop on H Street which welcomes pets... hm.

(I can't tell who's snoring louder; Daddy is slumped over on the couch, and Emma has her back feet braced against his thigh while laying on her side. Yes, her tongue is sticking out.)

Other than knitting (I started two new pairs of socks, which I'll show you if I actually finish them), I had a showdown with the beast that came out of my snatch. No, I'm not talking about lint or moths; I'm talking about our not-so-dear daughter. It seems that she's been paying for the kids' preschool and that's it. Mom is broke, and we're not far behind - we've been splitting all their expenses, and Hubster has the kids on his medical policies at work (mucho expensive premiums). Lily has to have speech therapy, which our insurance covers to a point - we're paying the remainder. All in all, everybody is being drained dry. Hubster and I ran out of money last week (literally); thank god we have overdraft protection, because we overdrafted. Quite frankly, I'm getting tired of eating sandwiches and holding my breath to see if we'll have enough money to last the entire pay period. If we didn't have so many fucking bills to pay, it wouldn't be a problem. We're being good citizens, though, and paying everything which got neglected during the nightmare a year ago. Don't worry - Emma has plenty of food, and I don't need to eat.

Anyway, the thing refused to call me, so I told Mom to pass along a message: either she called me the following evening, or I would drive until I found her. She knows I'll do it; I've done it before and always found her. So when she called the next evening, I lit into her. She thinks we're made of money and didn't understand why I should be allowed (that's what she said) to spend it on anything I wanted. Uh... excuse me? If I did have money, it would still be none of her business what I spent it on. She knows her grandmothers are broke (and with my grandma not able to walk anymore, their expenses are going up due to medical crap), and she just doesn't care. It's all about her - not us, not the kids, not Mom and Grandma - her. Or so she thinks. She likes to spout off a lot of shit about how she doesn't feel like the kids are hers (we don't let her take them anywhere because she has a nasty habit of taking off with men; who knows what would happen to those kids?), and because she feels that way, she doesn't think she should pay for them. I informed her that she did the nasty, got two buns in the oven and chose to keep them, and then popped them out her now floppy stomach (I'd like to say snatch again, but she had a C-section), and that made her their mother, like it or not. After a half-hour of railing against her, I finally got tired of hearing her snotty voice and hung up on her. Will it help? Will more money be given to my mother to help with their expenses? I don't know, but I hope so. She flat out told me she wants to marry this joker she's been dating, and I know it's because she wants to move out of Mom's house. All she does is bitch about it because things aren't the way she wants. The kid doesn't fork over a dime for rent, food, utilities - nothing. Find me a deal like that anywhere else and I'll take it myself. Sigh. I don't know how I spawned such a beast.

And so life goes on. I've got my puppy; I've got stash; I've even got some English muffins. What more do I need?

Some butter for my muffins would be nice.

Question

This is just a quick question for my vendors. I'll write a real post (holy shit... I'm becoming prolific again) later tonight.

For those of you whose work I put up for the first time with the recent update, please tell me if you didn't receive the vendor page instructions. I've sent a lot of them out, but I know I've missed a couple of people. I'd appreciate it. :)

Thanks!

SALE ALL WEEK AT YARNY GOODNESS!

Just a quick note to let you know that there is a 15% sale through Friday at Yarny Goodness:

http://yarny-goodness.com

Everything is on sale, and I've added a lot of new vendors. I've also updated a lot of existing vendors. Come on by and see if there's something you might like - things are already moving!

And that ends this public service announcement.

The other thing I wanted to say is thank you to everyone who commented about my little snoring pot roast. :) I tried to write to each of you, but some of you have your email addys hidden. That's not conducive to letter-writing. To those of you whose addys I do have, you'll be hearing from me - probably later tonight.

Right now, we're under a massive heat wave, and Emma can't take temps much above 80 (when it hits 90 in San Francisco, you know we're all ready to die). We're well above that, and with no A/C in the house, we're all suffering. We're going to buy her a little plastic wading pool because Bullies can't swim well. Because of their shape, they swim like rocks - at least, most of them do. We could sit in the pool with her and let her sit on the top seat of the steps, but that water is COLD. It would be too much of a shock to her little system. So maybe later tonight, we'll hit Le Target and get her a pool of her own.

Right now, I'm going to peel off my clothes, sit in the tub, and knit socks.

After I have a cuppa, that is.

Busy, Busy Weekend

Lots of things are happening this weekend at Chez Mann. First, since I forgot to answer the SP12 question last week, I figured I'd better answer the one for this week. Here goes:

1) What yarn (that you don’t have/haven’t used) would make your stash “complete”?
2) What yarn do you never want to be without?

1. I think that any indie yarn which I don't have is what would make my stash complete. Since my stash fills an entire room, new dyers are the ones I don't have. Who are they? Beats the hell out of me! I'm always keeping my eyes open, though, so if I see someone whose work would be a good fit for the shop, I can drop them a note.

2. I don't have an answer for this one. As you all know, I don't use commercial yarns. Even though I have some favorites in the indie world, I don't want to name them for fear of offending others who might sell through the shop. Let's put it this way - if I don't have sock yarn, I might as well not knit.

Whew. Those questions make me think, and that hurts.

So Thursday, we headed over to San Francisco International Airport to pick up our baby. When we arrived, her flight had just landed, so we had to kill about 15 minutes before she was unloaded. Once we went back into the office, they gave us a stack of papers and told us to go over to Customs (Homeland Security) in order to clear her through. That took all of 10 minutes, from the time we drove over, gave the papers to the man behind the counter, and came back. Then we were told to go into the warehouse to get our baby. Oddly enough, there was another puppy from the same breeder (she was the other one I was trying to decide upon - it was going to be either her or Emma), so Emma got to travel with her sister. Then I saw her and my heart melted all over the floor. There, in a large, sturdy carrier, were these soulful eyes peering out at us. I stuck my finger into the cage and had a paw rest on top of my hand, and then a velvety-soft muzzle rubbed against it. We picked her up and carried her out to the truck so we could get her collar on and take her to go potty. Just as we were doing that, the owners of the other puppy arrived and ran over to see our girl. They were as excited as us and absolutely thrilled to see that the babies had made the trip successfully. So, Syd:

EMMA IS HOME!

She is absolutely the sweetest puppy in the world. We've had her two days, and she's already potty-trained. She understands "no", "come", and some other basic commands, and is truly a Velcro dog. Right now, she's laying by my feet while I type.

Here's a picture of us sock knitting:





She's the cute one.

She did really well with the fireworks last night; in fact, she completely ignored them because we did. She's literally glued to us and has to sit with me in the chair, no matter what I'm doing. And she snores with her tongue sticking out. I'm so in love that I can't stand it. She begins her puppy training classes next Friday, and I can't wait to show her off. She's now gotten up off her towel and is helping Daddy take cookies out of the oven. Oops... she's back with me now.

Other than playing with Emma, I've been working on the shop. I can't do too much at a time, but I work on it as I can. I'll be finished with the update by the end of the weekend and will have everything posted on Monday. Monday also starts a week-long sale on everything in the shop, so check in - there will be lots of fun things, both new vendors and updates to established ones. I'll put a list of all the new things to look at in the newsletter and also at the top of the home page. I also wanted to mention that anybody who placed an order this week will have it mailed out on Monday. I've just not been well, so I haven't gotten everything done. That's why I've been slow with updating. I think it will all be worth it, though.

So that's what has been consuming all my time this weekend. Thank you, everybody, for all the comments about Emma; she's even cuter in person. I'll most likely bore you all with pictures of her as she grows. I won't have a prison visit this Monday; she has her first vet appointment (I had to schedule it ASAP because if I waited, it would void her health guarantee). It's really strange to think that she lived in Russia and came all the way over here. That little pot roast has traveled more than I have; she flew over the North Pole to get here with a layover in Amsterdam (she came in on KLM). For those of you who have yarn with me, don't worry - she's not allowed in the studio where the yarn is kept, and she also won't be anywhere near it when I go to list it. Even though she has short hair, she still sheds. I also don't think you want your yarn to smell like a puppy.

So back to work on the update. I may have to take a few breaks to have Snickerdoodles, though.

And to cuddle my little snoring pot roast.

Time Still Flies Even When You Ain't Having Fun

Another week gone by. So many plans, so many things I had to do, so many... and none of them done. Why? Because I've been absolutely exhausted and have done nothing but sleep all week and weekend. All I managed to wake up for was to shower, eat, and go to the can. Then it was back to the Monster to sleep again. I don't know what's going on, but it clearly needs to be checked out. I think it has to do with the diabetes, because I'm also getting these really strange red blotches all over my legs (poor circulation). Great. Another doctor's visit, another possibility of winding up on the floor. I have to have more blood tests, so maybe those will show something. The hell with it. Nobody wants to read about this shit. On to happier things.

Before I relate all the other birthday stuff, I want to thank all of you again. Many of you sent me emails, snail mail cards, gifts, and well-wishes of all kinds. I was truly, deeply touched by each and every thing. You all made me feel loved and a vital part of this community. I am so blessed to have you as my friends, confidants, companions, people who work with me in the shop. I had no idea when I began blogging that my presence here would even be acknowledged, let alone celebrated. You've made me happy beyond belief, and that's priceless. Thank you. :)

On to the rest of the stuff.

The birthday visit to the prison was amazing. Hubster didn't even let on about what he had planned, so I let it ride. When he dropped me off at the prison, Bill was waiting for me and drove me in. When I got inside, my boys were waiting and escorted me to the chapel. A few times, I came out of the office and caught them huddling over the table. Hm. All was revealed when the class began and they made me sit in the "big chair" (it's just more imposing than the others). I was then presented with two cards - one from the Indians, one from everybody else. Then the presents were given. The first one was a necklace and earring set, hand-beaded, with a perfectly rendered turtle at the end of the necklace and earrings. Then the large gift was given. They had procured two eagle feathers and made them into a smudge fan for me. I, of course, burst into tears. They don't know what to do with me when I do that. So two of them wiped my tears away while they shuffled their feet. Then another of my boys handed me a bracelet he had woven out of sinew and beaded. It has a wooden medicine wheel in the center which he carved out with a very small tool; he then singed the wood with a lighter. It's on my wrist as I type. In fact, I don't ever have to take it off. The more I wear it, the better. I stuck out my wrist for him to put it on. I don't think he's put jewelry on a woman in years; he was taken aback for a second, but then he gently placed it around my wrist and fastened it. Perfect. Then they all took turns playing me a birthday song. After the class, one of the men took me out back to show me the sweat lodge and the area where they drum and pray. It was amazing.

As many of you know, I'm allergic to bees and everything else which stings. They had planted a certain plant which attracts bees and butterflies. As we walked down the gravel path through the flower garden, all the bees transferred themselves from the plants to me. I freaked out, but my companion told me to relax. So I did, and I found myself surrounded by bees and butterflies, all keeping a distance of about a foot al around me. We looked like a cloud of flying beauty as we walked down the path. Medicine. It's all medicine. Now that I'm an elder, they respected me (which is how he described it). All I know is that they never touched me (other than the butterflies, who periodically landed on me), and kept guard over me while I was in the sacred area. Then he walked me out, and I left for the day.

Once I got in the car, Hubster gave me my card. On the front was an English Bulldog puppy. Inside, he wrote something like, "The bearer of this card is entitled to one puppy like the one pictured on the front". There was a lot of other mushy stuff, but that was my gift. She arrives this Thursday from Moscow, if you can believe it. She has a layover in Amsterdam, but the breeder has assured me she'll be just fine. I won't stop worrying until she's safely in my hands, though. Emma will be flying into San Francisco at 1:30 p.m., and we'll be there to pick her up, take her out of her carrier, and cuddle her. The breeder is selling her for a friend in Moscow who is also a breeder. What I've found out is that some of the finest Bullies come from that region. Normally, I would go to the pound to adopt a dog, but I've always wanted an English Bull, and they're hard to come by in the shelter. I've already got her signed up for puppy training classes, her first vet appointment, and will be shopping for all her goodies this week. She's also been microchipped, but I'll be sure to put a "regular" tag on her as well. Would you like to see a picture of her? Well, here she is, whether or not you want to see her. Humor me.





After the card presentation, we took off for Reno. We didn't have much money to gamble with, but it was nice to get away for a night. I won one small jackpot, which kept us gambling for the evening, but my luck pretty much stank. They've also switched all the machines over to tickets, so you don't get to haul around racks of dollar coins or tokens of larger denominations. Gone, too, are the buckets for quarters and other coins. They have that fake money-dropping sound when you cash out. Sigh. Another wonderful thing gone. They've even removed the trays and coin slots, so you can't drop a quarter in a machine as you pass by. It's beginning to feel like the Indian casinos. I don't go to Reno for that - I go to Reno for the neon, the noise, smoking at my table in the restaurant (now prohibited). I don't think I'll be going back too often. It's just not the same, and I don't understand why they can't leave some things alone. As for shopping opportunities, forget it. The kinds of things I shop for just aren't there. The only really good thing is that we found Emma on Hubster's computer while we were lounging in the room.

I'm working on a huge update for the shop, which I had hoped to have completely done by now. Since I've slept all week, though, I may not have it finished until tomorrow. I'll also be having a sale sometime this week, but I'm not sure when. I'll announce it here, as well as sending out a newsletter. Look for new vendors, updates to existing vendors, and my siggy yarn back in stock.

That's about it for now. We'll be busy early this week cleaning the house in preparation for Emma's arrival. I can't have crap on the floor for her to eat, and I'm not known for my housekeeping prowess. If I could afford it, I'd hire a maid, but that isn't happening any time soon. We've also got a possible crisis coming up with the house, but I'll tell you about that if and when it happens. We may also go to the county fair tomorrow night or Tuesday - I love the fair. Besides, I want to test out my gimp sign.

That means I'll have less opportunity to fall flat on my face going from the truck to the gate.

I'm Not Dead - Yet

Just a quick note to let you all know that I'm still alive and sort of kicking. I had a rather busy birthday, so I've been doing nothing but sleeping for the entire week. I'll be posting about all my adventures (and misadventures) either tonight or tomorrow, but I wanted to say hi and thank all of you who were kind enough to send me cards, presents, and well-wishes. They were appreciated more than you'll ever know. :)

Mark bought me a special gift. And it's not jewelry.

Back to the Monster for some quiet knitting before I work on the blog and/or shop. I'm so far behind, it's not funny. Sigh.

I'll talk to you all soon.

Reflections

Well, since this is the last day before I turn into a relic, I thought I would take stock of my life and see what's happened these past 50 years. Shit, that sounds old. If I were a car, I'd be an antique.

When you're faced with the prospect of knowing that your life is truly more than half over, it's a sobering thought. I know that a lot of people say that 50 is the new 30 or some such thing. Bullshit. 50 is 50, no matter how you look at it. I'm now a card-carrying member of AARP. I have a handicapped placard (which does, I must admit, come with all sorts of cool privileges). I'm beginning to see wrinkles appearing on my formerly smooth face.

I'm getting old.

The strange thing is, I don't feel any different than I did when I was 16 or 26 or 36 or 46. How am I supposed to feel? Illness aside, my mind is the same. I still listen to the same music. I still like fast sports cars, big diamonds, swimming pools, and walking around naked as much as possible. Is there some switch that's supposed to flip when, at 8:04 a.m. tomorrow morning, I enter the second half of my life? Is it time to wear red hats? What the hell am I supposed to do or feel that's different than now or the previous decades?

So in taking stock of all the things that have happened, I've lost one husband and married another; I've lost two houses; I've gotten a disease which is slowly and painfully killing me; I count a group of murderers among my dearest friends; I've made the most amazing friends online (who have showed their love by sending cards and/or gifts); I became sterile at age 27; I've lost more people to death than I would have imagined possible; I'm a grandmother to the two most amazing and beautiful children; my daughter is getting lazier and more disgusting by the day; I drive a convertible (finally!); I've lost many of the things that were near and dear to my heart because of the debacle that was my life two years ago; I find myself renting again and wondering if I'll ever own a house again; and so many other things that would take far too long to type out. I have learned one important thing, though. This is going to sound strange coming from me, the queen of excess and materialism, but here it is:

The material things don't mean shit. The important things are your family, friends, and being with the man you love more than life itself.

There. I said it. Don't tell Hubster that, or he'll make me give up the stash.

Seriously, though, I look at life a lot differently than I used to. I've had all the things which I thought were important. It turned out that even though it was painful and horrible to lose them, the really important thing is that Hubster is still here and always will be. He is my soulmate, the other half of me, the man who completes me and loves me for who and what I am, and the man who will walk with me into the twilight of my life. I have no illusions about living for another 40 years. Ain't gonna happen. If I hit 60, it'll be a miracle. But that's okay. I've lived an amazing life, complete with playing blackjack with a mobster (from the Gambino family, no less), having my boobs pop out of a black leather bustier onto a roulette table and knocking all the chips all over the table in Vegas, driving my brand new 2000 Corvette at 90 MPH through the Sierras, literally going from riches to rags and having to start over at 30, and still having men trying to pick me up at my age. There is so much more, so many more colors to the rich tapestry which has been my life, that I would have to write a book to contain it all. I can barely keep up with email, so the book will have to wait. I hope that the second half of my life will be as exceptional as the first.

I typically get depressed at birthdays because they usually suck. Because of all my friends (you guys), you've made me feel loved and special. My boys at the prison have something planned, so that will be special. I hope that Hubster has something planned, because he's the one who can make or break the day. But whatever happens, it's a landmark birthday. I'm now an Elder in the tribe, and I now command respect just because of that. Amazing.

I've been fortunate to live during a time when amazing things have happened. The first man on the moon. The first artificial heart. Amazing medical advances. Tolerance becoming more the norm than the exception. A shop which makes people happy. Too many things to list here, too.

So, my life is really a rich tapestry woven with decades of change, love, tears, heartbreak, friends, lovers, husbands, family gone, family come, animals who are family gone or going. The colors of my life are bright and constantly changing. They haven't changed to autumn colors yet; I'm not ready for that. I have too much left to do, too much left to give, too much. I'm a better person for all the shit that's happened, and I'd like to think that I've made a difference somehow, somewhere.

So now, on this, the last day of my 40's, I'm going to pack my knitting, my flute books, my flutes, my healing oils, and all the other things I take with me, and get ready to go to the prison. They'll be the first ones to celebrate with me, and I wouldn't want to be any place else. I love these men, and they love me. Where else would I be?

Well, maybe Vegas in the Hunka Hunka Burning Love Chapel renewing my vows.

But you know what? I can do that with Grandmother Moon as my witness, just me and Hubster, in the still of the night.

That sounds perfect to me.

SP12 Question No. 2

In the spirit of being a good secret pal person, I'm playing along with the questions of the week. Here is the second one:

As a kid, what did you look forward to most about summer vacation/break/holiday?

This was a tough one, mainly because I've been out of school for so long (32 years since I graduated from high school) that it took some real thinking (and you know how much that hurts). I decided to focus on high school instead of grammar school, because all I did in grammar school was sleep in, go swimming, and watch TV. Wow. High school was more interesting, mainly because of two things:

Boys and cars (and not necessarily in that order, but usually utilizing both at the same time).

Summer meant being able to go to a lot of parties (either with a lot of other people or private ones), going to the drive-in on a warm summer night and being able to rip off my uh... uh... let's skip that one...

Going to the fair, concerts at the Oakland Coliseum (Day on the Green, for those of you who lived in the Bay Area during the 70's and were a teenager then), being able to stay out really late, going to Santa Cruz to the Boardwalk and swimming in the ocean, vacations with the family (ick), and finally getting my own car (a '55 Chevy BelAir, all restored, jacked up in the back with Monroe gas shocks, and with slotted dish mag wheels) into which we crammed a bunch of people and went cruising with the 8-track blasting out of the two dinky speakers on the rear deck (and we all thought we were so cool). We would cruise through Livermore (their high school's mascot was the Cowboys - lots of ranches there at that time), and would yell out the window, "Come ride me, cowboy!". Oh geez.

Now I'm just hot and miserable and wait until winter comes around again. I could go cruising in my T-Bird with the top down, but I never know what will happen when I drive now.

God. Those were the days.

Secret Pal 12 Question

This question (and answer) are supposed to be put on my blog, so here goes:

What is your favorite summertime drink??

I'd have to say it's a toss-up between lemonade and limeade. Ice-cold and slushy. For me, they're the most refreshing things to drink when it's hot.

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.