Into the Heaven Knows What Have You...

The Serbian Spindle

2012-03-01T21:39:00.007-05:00

I think it was just about a month ago, when I stumbled across a lady on Ravelry, who happens to live in Serbia, and happens to buy hand made spindles from the local purveyors of such things. She had a bunch on hand that she was hoping to sell, so I wrote to her and learned I could have one for a mere $5.00, plus $10.00 for shipping. Well! What a deal! So, I ordered one and, not knowing how long it might take for the spindle to arrive on my doorstep, I sort of forgot about it.

Today, there was a package in the mailbox, and the return address said Serbia. It took me a minute to remember having ordered the spindle, and I gleefully tore of the package and went to find the perfect fiber for my first try.

I had some lovely pin-drafted roving I scored at the Happy Hands Yankee Swap around Christmastime, and that seemed perfect: a pretty color, and properly rustic.

It took me quite awhile to get the hang of it, and while I am getting a pretty sturdy thick-and-thin single for my trouble, I probably am not spinning EXACTLY like a Serbian lady would.

It's not a supported spindle, nor is it a drop spindle. It's somewhere in between, and you spin off the point, as one would do with a Navajo spindle. One flicks the tip of the spindle between thumb and forefinger, and if it's being done properly, there will be a little "pop" sound on each spin. It's actually quite a cheerful sound, and made me think of "Pop Goes the Weasel."

So, as you can see, this spindle is rather plain and simple. Nothing ornate about it. It's a basic tool: a workhorse. I think it's quite elegant in its austerity.

For something so light weight, it spins a rather heavy yarn, and it reminds me a lot of the skein Grant bought me in Serbia a couple of years ago. Based on the way my yarn is spinning up, I'm beginning to wonder if perhaps that beautiful skein of handspun was actually spindle spun rather than wheel spun. I suppose I'll never know, but that does not stop me wondering!

New Creations

2012-02-28T22:17:00.005-05:00

Being an avid spindler with a vast collection of spindles and multiple projects-in-progress, it really was sort of shocking that I only possessed one wrist distaff. So, a couple of weeks ago, I made one for myself, then made another, just for a lark, and listed it in my store. I figured it would sit there a long time, so imagine my surprise when it sold with an hour!

So, I made a second one, and it sold very quickly, too, and then I got a request for a custom one, and then a request to barter a distaff and some yarn for some luscious spinning fibers!

I made a bunch more. This one is one of my favorites so far. It lives in Minnesota now, with a very happy owner who says she wonders how she ever managed to spindle without one. Well!

This next one was a custom order. The lady wanted a chartreuse sort of mix, and that's exactly what she got! I love this one, too.

And here's a custom one I just made today. Could I stand to make it with supplies I already hand on hand? Of course not! The good news is, I have enough of the yarn and beads to make a couple more, so I'll cover my costs and make a wee profit, too. I love making these things, even though they are a bit time-consuming. (It takes me about an hour, if I don't have any interruptions).

Now, because I can't show this off on Ravelry until I've mailed my samples, let me introduce my "Blinded by Science" hand-blended, hand-pulled, hand chained roving, "Curie." Unfortunately, the picture doesn't quite capture the vivid lime green of the Angelina Glitz I blended in with the Merino wool. But I was thinking of Marie Curie, and her tons of pitchblende, and her Radium. This fiber puts me in mind of Marie walking into that shed and seeing the glow of radium for the first time. Wild. Not fully isolated yet. Just...glowing in the dark from piles and piles of pitchblende.

OK, maybe it wasn't really quite like that, but permit me to hang on to my romantic notions....

It's Not About the Haircut...

2012-02-17T15:07:00.003-05:00

I can't argue with success. As of this morning, I was down a total of 17 lbs. When I started Weight Watchers on January 3rd, I weighed 212.8 lbs. Around the holidays, which is when the picture on the left was taken, I would guess I weighed a bit more than that.

If this keeps up, I am going to need to make a trip to Sallie's Boutique and see if I can find some smaller pants, cheap. Even the smaller size pants I have now, from my last go-round with Weight Watchers, are fitting me like clown pants!

What amazes me is I can already see a BIG difference in my face, especially in my nose and chin. Who would ever think of someone's NOSE getting fat? But it was definitely looking more bulbous than pointy.

I celebrated by dusting off the hair clippers and mowing my head, and now I feel more like myself again.

I also have a new song in the works...a blues tune about my wool obsession...and I know a bunch of knitting and spinning folks who will just about die laughing when they hear it. I just need to be absolutely certain of how I intend to perform it before I make a recording. Once it's set and uploaded, I'll post a link here.

Yesterday was a marathon day of working on my shop, so today I have not really done anything with wool, beyond a little bit of knitting on a hat I am test-knitting for a designing friend. It's coming out nicely, but I am taking my time and enjoying the process, and using the "Space Jazz" yarn I posted pictures of earlier in the week. It's wonderful yarn to work with, even if I do say so myself. :-)

Edited to Add -- Adorable teapot earrings by Cofanetto! People, this woman absolutely SINGS with fimo clay creations! I have a pair of her blue-flowered teapots, too -- a present she sent me when I was having a bad time and feeling, very, very down. Let me tell you, it is IMPOSSIBLE to feel "down" when I look at these little teapots, and I really treasure them!

Back to Etsy!

2012-02-14T19:38:00.005-05:00

Well, from what I've heard from a bunch of my fellow vendors and customers, no one really likes Artfire very much, so after a little over a month, I've quit that venue and migrated back to Etsy. There is now a "widget" in my sidebar, below my profile info, that will give you a glimpse of some of the items I currently have for sale. If you like something you see, just click on it, and you'll be magically whisked away to that particular item's page in my shop. Ta-daaaaaa! There's lots of cool new stuff, including some hand-painted Merino/Cashmere/Nylon blend yarns. Please do take a look if you feel so inclined, and if you love anything in particular, grab it while you can. I dye/hand-paint yarns in very small batches, and while all my colorways may be approximated again in the future, they will never be duplicated exactly.

Weight Watchers has been going rather well, and I am down a whopping 15.6 pounds since I began this journey on January 3rd. This puts me under 200 pounds for the first time in awhile, and I have been able to maintain this status for the last week or so, and have been losing a bit every week, slowly but surely. Now, if I could just get to a point where I enjoy exercising and actually want to do it...

Well, up and down the stairs several times a day to stoke the furnace with wood will have to suffice. That, and sitting down at the spinning wheel. See, a long time ago, I made sure I bought a double treadle wheel, so at least there would be the illusion of exercise, and maybe it's not such a joke after all. Treadling steadily with both feet for a couple of hours every day is a gentle form of exercise, and I don't notice that it's work, because I'm too busy watching my yarns take shape. And do they ever take shape! Here are a few examples.

This is "Black Gold," a totally sumptuous and decadent blend of gold silk and black alpaca. I have no idea what it wants to be yet, but it sure is gorgeous!

"Pumpkins A-glow" is a wonderful blend of superwash Merino wool, Cashmere, and Nylon. I guess, because of the nylon component, this means the yarn would make good socks, but somehow I cannot justify putting anything with cashmere in it on my feet!

The lady who made the batt I spun this next one from did not have a name for the batt, and since it made me think of outer-space and general delightful astronomical oddity, I decided to name it after a favorite song of Grant's. "Space Jazz." It's got alpaca in it, and I think some wool, and firestar, and angelina, and God only knows what else. Gorgeous and soft. It is being made into a hat I'm test-knitting for a designer friend on Ravelry, and I can't wait to wear it!

And last, but certainly not least, is a piece I'm especially proud of for a couple of reasons. One, this was my first attempt at dyeing yarn with black walnut juice. I had an abundance of walnuts fall from the trees after Hurricane Irene blew through, and thought it was high time to see what I could do with them. We got as far as gathering a big bucketful and putting the bucket in the garage. Luckily, before I forgot about them completely, I mentioned my plan to Grant, and one day after I had forgotten, he wrote and asked what kinds of yarn I was planning to dye, and cautioned me to make sure I wore gloves when I started working with the stuff.

There is nothing like a nudge from someone by whom I do not want to be perceived as a slacker, and it wasn't long after that when I got some fabulous "tweed" yarn dyeables, and into the kettle of prepared walnut juice they went. It was totally a done deal, unbeknownst to himself until the box landed on his doorstep, that Grant would get the first item I ever made from the stuff. I started this scarf in the car on the way to Maine on December 29th, and finished it in the car on the way home from Maine on New Year's Day. I'm rather proud of it, and delighted that it will be helping to keep my singing friend's golden throat warm and protected during the bitterest part of the winter.

And Shortly After The New Year Begins...

2012-01-04T18:49:00.002-05:00

I'm not one to make New Year's resolutions, BUT I have been noticing my weight creeping upwards again, a pound here and a pound there, until I gained back a good 15 lbs of what I had lost. I knew before the holidays that this upward trend must stop, not so much for the sake of my looks, but for the sake of my general health.

So, yesterday I "re-upped" with Weight Watchers Online. I use a military term for re-joining the program, because it must be regimented as strictly as military units are, or I will start cutting myself too much slack and/or rationalizing.

The good news is, Weight Watchers has revamped the old Points program to something called "Points Plus." Well!

On the old program, it was really hard to stay within my daily allotment of points, because almost everything I put in my mouth had a "value," even healthy stuff like fruit, and certain veggies. Now, every fruit and veggie I have looked up says 0 points! I no longer have to regretfully allow myself 6 sugar snap peas and sacrifice valuable points, and discover that I have no points left by suppertime. Even a whole cup of the darn things has 0 points now!

Tonight when I was famished and supper wasn't even close to being done, I could -- and did, with no guilt -- eat 5 fresh strawberries and one celery rib to take the edge off. It worked, and again -- 0 points!

Trouble is, I am allowed 29 points per day, and am going to have a really hard time racking up my total daily allowance! Yesterday I made it to 16 points by bedtime. Today I've done better. I only have one point left to use up, and being that it's nearly 7 PM, I probably won't bother, though I suppose I could eat a few almonds, and that would take care of it.

I've been told that it's not good to eat less than the daily limit, and that this could force my body into "starvation mode," and I might end up putting on weight instead of losing it. So I will have to be careful to consume them all in a day, or come within a point or two of it.

So much to remember! But I am so excited about the fruit and veggies. I think this time around, I won't be anywhere near as hungry and cranky as I was last time.

OK, for that final point of the day, the almonds won! (6 of them equal a point, if anyone wants to know...)

2012 Begins...

2012-01-01T22:08:00.004-05:00

New Year, new online shop.

I decided to give Artfire a whirl, but will also continue to maintain a presence on Etsy, at least until I see which will be the more successful venue.

In the next few weeks, I'll be adding more hand painted yarns and hand blended spinning fibers, and continuing to contribute to the Phat Fiber Sampler Box.

As soon as I can get some decent photographs of the latest yarns, I'll be making new listings and posting a few shots here, and hopefully lead folks into serious temptation.

Hey, it's a New Year. New yarn will make it a HAPPY New Year...and cashmere blends are coming soon!

My Work is on Tour with Grant Hart!

2011-12-12T13:29:00.000-05:00

Grant wore the sweater I designed and knitted in a performance in Frankfurt, along with the matching headband I made to show him what the cable bands would look like on the sweater, long before the sweater was actually done and presented to him. He looks fabulous in the full ensemble.

In terms of how the finished items look on the recipient, I think this is my most successful design to date. (The sweater I designed and knitted for my innkeeper friend in Maine runs a very close second.)

But as I believe I have mentioned previously, Grant never did tell me what size he takes, and I had to guess, solely based on the few times we've hugged. The potential for error -- and failure -- was huge. Not to mention that we sort of disagreed about the cabling. He thought the yarn was complex enough to stand on its own without cables, and I stubbornly refused to give up my vision of him sporting cables.

The original sweater I was trying to copy (and enhance, pictured below) gave Grant this Viking Warrior look that refused to leave my mind, and the wheels started turning. And while the original sweater was a "found" item, mine was specifically intended for him, and based on what my gut instincts were telling me. So, I made the headband and told him to look at it a lot, hold it, maybe wear it now and then, and give it some consideration, because I really was seeing cabled bands on that sweater, and he was going to have some at cuffs and hip, with the body of the sweater being plain to the neckline, which I decided to stabilize with a twisted rib stitch band.

My memory of the sizing was pretty darn good, as it turns out. The sweater fits him perfectly, and as I promised him he would, he looks like a million bucks, and I do not mean green and wrinkled!

There are photos kicking around on the web, too, from Birmingham, England, and Essen, Germany, in which he is wearing the ensemble, and others from Belgium in which he is just wearing the sweater, but no headband. I am thrilled that it's been keeping him warm on his journeys, and also that it suits him so well.

It is truly a great pleasure and privilege to knit for him.

Black Walnut Dye

2011-12-05T13:45:00.001-05:00

So, here's how the black walnut hull dye experiment turned out. Amazing, how many different shades of brown I got! A lot depended on the type of fiber used, but I knew that before I started. Pretty cool, huh? I'll be selling some of it, and dyeing up more over the next few weeks.

Trying Something New

2011-11-29T13:05:00.001-05:00

No, this is not an epic failure of a batch of homemade meatballs, nor is it a strange and frightening incarnation of tofu.

Hurricane Irene left me with a plethora of fallen black walnuts, which my daughter kindly gathered and put in one of those big Homer buckets from the Home Depot.

These are pretty damn big buckets, folks. The thing was 3/4 of the way full of walnuts with bright green husks. Where to stow them until I was ready to deal with them? Why, the garage, of course, where they were promptly forgotten until this morning.

The top layer of nuts was pretty well dried out, but underneath -- oh, joy! A whole lot of nasty, soggy, dark brown husks just oozing their almost-black juice (and a few maggots, but those will be strained out later).

I have two 12 quart kettles full simmering on the stove now, one of which you can see in the picture.

I figure I'll let the kettles stew for a couple of hours, then set them on the back step to cool. Tomorrow I will strain and filter the liquid, and we shall see what we shall see. Allegedly, I do not need a mordant to dye yarn with this stuff. It will be interesting to see what color I end up with. It will be brown for sure, but -- dark? Light? Somewhere in between?

It will be an adventure, for sure.

Earth & Sky Shawls in Maine

2011-11-28T20:43:00.001-05:00

Earth & Sky # 2, size large, in Mad Angel Creations

Kettle Dyed DK weight yarn.

Colors are: Rory's Blues, Olivine, and Wild Grapes

Earth & Sky # 1, size large, in 2 ply New Zealand Sport weight yarn.

Colors: Juniper, Mocha Java, and Terra Cotta

And here they are, side by each, on the deck
outside the room we stayed in at the
Inn on the Harbor in Stonington, Maine.

I have spent many happy hours knitting at the Inn on the Harbor, and have gotten a lot of inspiration for my own designs while staying there and exploring the general area. It is one of my favorite places on earth -- a place where I can really and truly relax and forget all about anything that troubles me.

Umm...

2011-11-28T12:20:00.001-05:00

Long time no blog, I know. I've been a little preoccupied with the yarn and fiber biz, and in fact there are two dye kettles on my stove as I type, filled with silk noil top. I'm no fool. Christmas is coming, and the dyed silk noil top is one of my best sellers. Today's run will yield purple and teal. I'll bundle it in 1 ounce packages when it's dry, then take pictures and make more listings.

For fun, I've been playing around with some new spindles. Anyone at all who likes to spindle and reads this blog, you can find these absolutely terrific and beautiful Turkish spindles at Threads Thru Time on Etsy.

I always liked the idea of Turkish spindles, but never really met one I enjoyed using until I discovered these.

The listing said "tiny," and they weren't kidding!

This is my hand holding the spindle, and I do not have large hands.

My favorite colors in the wood, too --

purple and green -- what's not to love?

This is the yarn I made from the sample
included with my spindle.

Exactly 1/4 ounce of wool yielded 51 yards!

Using an Amercian quarter as my "scale model."
Can't quite believe how fine-gauge the yarn is!

Now, this is the "medium" spindle. Significantly larger than the "tiny" one, and I'm spinning one of my own hand dyed and blended wool batts. "Magus" did not sell after 6 months in my shop, and I was wanting to keep it, anyway, as the colorway reminds me of a friend who passed away in June. I have four ounces to do, and then I will find exactly the right thing to make from the yarn. Something really nice that will always remind me of my friend.

I've spun 0.7 ounces so far, and plied it into a heavy fingering weight 2 ply yarn. I got 86 yards done so far!

I'll post pictures of the yarn when I have more of it done. So far, I am REALLY pleased with how it's coming out!

Oops -- timer's going off -- that means my silk is done!

Earth & Sky # 2

2011-10-23T15:08:00.001-04:00

I have finally finished the second Westknits Earth & Sky Shawl, which I started almost immediately after finishing the first one back in August. It's bright, it's vivid, it's bold, and it's all made of yarns I dyed myself. The colorways are Rory's Blues, Wild Grapes, and Olivine.

I actually have two, or maybe possibly three, dresses this will go with. I really love this pattern, so there will be more of them, in various colorways, in my future.

This Week's Spinning

2011-10-22T15:54:00.000-04:00

I've been having a lot of fun with my spindles and wheels this week. Finished off spinning the singles, then plied them all. First up is my own color blend, "Cthulu Rising." I've been selling the full-size batts in my shop, but of course held back some of the "leftovers" to play with. I wanted to see just how much yardage I could get from a small amount, so I spun the fiber (100% Merino wool) as fine as I could on a drop spindle, then made it into a 2-ply yarn. Between the two skeins, I have a total weight of 0.7 oz and 146 yds. That's probably the highest yield I have done with such a small amount to date. I have at least a half ounce of the fiber left, and figure I will very likely make it past the 200 yds per ounce mark. I should be able to make some nice, lace accessory out of this. And yes, I realize that the two skeins look very different, color-wise, but this is part of the charm with a hand-blended batt. Each one is a little bit different, even though I used the exact same amount of each color in each one. Any finished item made from this stuff will be truly unique.

This next one came from Dyeing for Color -- a nice blend of wool and firestar. Firestar adds the most beautiful "bling," and I just love a bit of "bling" in my finished yarns. It dresses things up so nicely. 4.1 oz, 2-ply, 254 yds. Wheel spun. No idea what this wants to be yet, and I have another 4 oz to spin up, so whatever I make will be bigger than a hat.

Lastly, here's some incredible Polwarth wool from Friends in Fiber, in one of my favorite color combos. They call it "Elegant Eggplant." 4.1 oz, 2-ply, 324 yds. Wheel spun. I have another 4 oz of this one, too, and when it's done, I'll have a better idea of exactly what I might be able to make with it.

This was my first experience with Polwarth wool, and it will not be my last. It was so soft, and practically spun itself.

I'm tempted to begin trying to sell some of my handspun yarns, but that's a bit of a wrench, as I have a very hard time parting with handspun. But I really don't have enough time to knit everything I spin, and it would be wonderful to see someone enjoy it, and create something beautiful. The trick is, getting to a point where I can let the yarns go to a good home, and once I am at that point, figuring out what might be a fair price for a yarn that's quite labor-intensive to create.

The Europa Sweater

2011-10-11T12:09:00.004-04:00

A one-of-a-kind Mad Angel Creation officially went to its very special recipient on Saturday Evening.

The "Thanks, I Love It" Pose

(a.k.a. the "Aren't I Cute?" Pose)

The GQ "Hottie" Pose

The Obligatory Punkatude Pose

But seriously, folks...I'm amazed that this fits Grant as well as it does. He never would tell me exactly what size he wears, and though it's a little bigger around the middle than he usually likes, it will accommodate lots of warm layers, which is a good thing when one lives in a cold climate and winter is on the way.

I'm very pleased at how closely this resembles Grant's original "Europa" sweater. The original one was a "found" item, and I did my best to copy the shaping faithfully, while adding a couple of unique features of my own.

Since this one was specifically for Grant, I will not duplicate the pattern for anyone else but him. I might draft out some variations, and maybe document my first prototype, but Grant will be the only kid on the block who gets to wear this exact style.

Here is my first prototype for comparison. Grant did not want a high neck, so I got rid of that feature for his sweater. And yes, it is indeed the same yarn in both sweaters. I had a lot of this stuff in my stash. Still do! Grant's sweater has some dark brown Persian tapestry yarn box-stitched around all the edges for contrast. Mine has no contrast stitching.

Here's Grant, getting his very first look at the afghan I made him, which would have been a Christmas present, if I could have stood waiting that long to give it to him. I made him shut his eyes and turn his back while I snuck up from behind and wrapped it around him.

And now I have to take a break from "yarn bombing" him and get on to some other projects!

Not Knitted By Me, but...

2011-09-18T10:20:00.002-04:00

Being of the mindset that one can never have too many Westknits shawls, I jumped when I saw, among the discussion threads on the Wesknits Ravlery group, the subject, "Thendara Giveaway."

Much as I love knitting and wearing stuff myself, it's very seldom that a knitter ever receives a hand-knitted gift. So, the possibility of winning a giveaway is the next best thing.

The Thendara shawl is from the yet-to-be-released Westknits Book 3. I am simply dying to get my hands on a copy of Book 3. So are a lot of other folks. For me, there are a scarf and a gorgeous blanket in that book that are already on my "must knit" list.

The knitter of the giveaway shawl does FABULOUS work. Take a peek at his blog and see the shawl I'm trying to win, and look at his other stuff, too. Beautiful!

Alas, he is not offering his French Bulldog as a consolation prize...

My Earth & Sky Shawl

2011-09-12T20:49:00.001-04:00

It was not enough to simply finish my Westknits Earth & Sky Shawl. In our Westknits fan group on Ravelry, we are now challenging each other to photograph our shawls and/or selves in interesting locations when we travel. Granted, I did not have to travel too far to have these pictures taken in Swan Point Cemetery, in Providence, RI. I think it's not even an hour's drive from my home, as the hubby ~~flies~~ drives.

Of particular note here is the gravestone, which unfortunately cannot be read too easily, since the sun was a little too bright. I think it was about 10 years ago when my sister and I finally stumbled upon this modest little stone, after years of searching for it. Now I'll never forget where it is, though I might take a wrong turn or two or three on the way there.

This, my friends, is H.P. Lovecraft's grave. H.P. Lovecraft was sort of the godfather of gothic horror, and spent his short life in Providence, so his stories are replete with locations and landmarks I know well. "The Shunned House" was across the street from a house in which my sister once had an apartment. From this same apartment, the church described in "Haunter of the Dark" was visible. There really wasn't anything evil about that church; it was just spooky-looking, with a black roof on the steeple and black shutters enclosing the belfry. Sadly, this landmark was demolished a few years back, since it was a poor parish and the building had fallen into disrepair. The R.C. diocese deemed it too expensive to repair, and now there is a little park on the site where the church used to stand.

The epitaph reads, "I am Providence." A bit of a pompous statement, that, but Providence was indeed his hometown, and he obviously loved the place. He will be a part of it forever.

This picture was taken in the vicinity of the Lovecraft gravesite. The hat I am wearing is also a Westknits pattern, "Bandwidth." Easy, fast, and fun to do, and a good use for all the yarn I had left over from the shawl.

A bit later, I explored my favorite spooky mausoleum while hubby took a nap in the car. The place looks like the front of a very large, imposing brick house, and is set right in the side of a big hill. Every now and then, the paper covering the "front door" sidelights falls away, and if you stand there for awhile and let your eyes adjust to the darkness, you can see inside. There's a big chandelier with candles in it, and some free-standing stone thingies that seem the right size and shape to contain coffins. But the only marking on the building to indicate who rests there is the name "Perry," carved above the door. It's reminiscent of the Collins family mausoleum in "Dark Shadows," and has always fascinated me. I tried to take pictures, but didn't have a lot of luck getting any document of the inside, but I did get this cool shot of my own reflection, with the trees and the Providence River in the background. The bar in the center of the picture is part of the iron grillework covering the sidelight.

Not too far from the Perry place is my favorite cemetery monument of all time. The statue was done by Isidore Konti, and is a modification of a famous piece of his called "The Genius of Immortality." The original statue is small and has no angel wings.

I have found myself drawn to this statue for years now, since I first discovered it at age 18 or so. I had never seen anything like it before, and indeed, I have yet to see anything else like it. I often wonder, looking at it, who the model was, and what his life was like. And I also wonder about Edgar John Lownes. Who was he, and how did it come to pass that he should be honored with such a large and unusual monument?

Hurricane Treats!

2011-08-28T13:59:00.003-04:00

Miraculously, we have not lost power yet. Perhaps we won't end up losing it after all. I am hopeful, but it's hard to tell whether we'll be that lucky or not. I have no idea how much longer this storm is supposed to go on. What I do know, is the weather is supposed to be glorious tomorrow, and in fact, all week.

We are on the east side of the eye, which means we are having more wind than rain.

Around noon-ish, I decided to tempt fate and make a batch of cookies: oatmeal with cranberries and walnuts. Tried and true and wonderful, so I'll share the recipe here.

1 cup butter ( or margarine), softened

1 cup sugar

1 cup packed brown sugar (light or dark -- doesn't matter -- whatever you have on hand)

2 eggs

1 tsp vanilla extract

3 cups old fashioned oats

3/4 cup flour (preferably unbleached)

3/4 cup whole wheat flour

(or if you don't have whole wheat flour on hand, use 1-1/2 cups regular flour)

1 tsp baking soda

1 tsp salt

1/2 cup chopped walnuts

1/2 cup dried cranberries

Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

In a large bowl, cream together butter and sugars, then beat in eggs and vanilla.

In another bowl, mix oats, flour, baking soda, and salt, and gradually add to the creamed mixture.

Stir in walnuts and cranberries.

Drop by teaspoons 2 inches apart onto an ungreased cookie sheet. Flatten the rounded balls of dough slightly.

Bake 10 to 12 minutes, or until golden brown.

Remove to wire racks to cool.

Makes about 4 dozen.

Done!

2011-08-26T08:56:00.005-04:00

I finished my Westknits Earth & Sky Shawl yesterday afternoon. The first two pics show it hot off the needles, neither washed nor blocked.

I thought I might wait until today to do the washing and blocking, but found I was too eager to see how it would look in the very final step. Here it is, pinned out on my dining room table to dry. If I had more foam interlocking tiles, I could have stretched this out even further. I might have to order a few more of these, since what I have isn't enough to accommodate a really big shawl.
This was a really enjoyable knit. Would I do it again? Answer below...
And if Stephen does another knit-along in the future, you can bet I'll be signing on!

Next step for the first shawl? Overdyeing the dress I want to wear with it. Original dress color is a terra cotta very similar to the terra cotta shade in the shawl. It looked like a different color in the catalogue picture, and the color of the dress that actually arrived on my doorstep was totally WRONG for me. Still, it was a Lands End turtleneck dress, and I believed that surely someday I would find exactly the right thing to wear with it. That day never arrived, but in the intervening years I learned how easy it is to overdye cotton fabric, so I will be doing that, and hopefully the dress will be a lovely dark brown when all is said and done. It won't match the brown in the shawl exactly, but the green border will provide enough distraction to keep most people from noticing.

Oh, dear...

2011-08-22T20:45:00.007-04:00

It has been awhile since I blogged last. Sometimes, it seems, I just don't have an awful lot to say. Having family here for a visit for a week or so at the end of July/beginning of August left me feeling strangely drained of thought and energy.

One positive thing I did was to treat myself to a Mystery Knit Along -- a new shawl pattern from Stephen West at WestKnits. My very first WestKnits pattern was the Windschief Hat, which I knitted for Grant Hart last winter. It was a lucky find while I was browsing Ravelry's cache of hat patterns for something that might suit Mr. Hart, whom I did not know very well yet at the time of knitting.

I enjoyed that hat pattern so much, I have knitted others for myself, and a second one for Grant, and a number of Stephen's other hats as well, plus two shawls.

After my company left, I was despondently cruising around Ravelry and happened to see the announcement for Mr. West's Knit Along. I was only a couple of days late joining the party and figured I could catch up quickly enough, so I paid for the download. It's still in progress, but nearly done now. I just have to put the edging on and bind it off, then wash and block, and it will be good to go. Here's a picture of it, partway through the third "clue."

I have a turtleneck dress I bought a few years ago, which is just about the same shade of terra cotta as I used in the shawl. It's nice in the shawl, but on me a whole dress in that color is...well...gagsome. Luckily it's 100% cotton, so I am overdyeing it dark brown. It won't be the exact same shade of brown as the yarn I used in the shawl, unless of course I am very, very lucky, but it should be close enough to be attractive. And besides, there will be very few places in the edging where the brown is actually next to the fabric of the dress for comparison. The biggest part of the edging will be spruce green.

The shawl was also a great way to test some really beautiful yarn I'll soon be selling. It's a 2-ply sport weight yarn from New Zealand that will be fantastic for outwear. It's not terribly soft, but is sturdy and durable and really has some body to it. Definitely not Merino. It feels more like Shetland. I can see it making excellent hats, boot socks, or mittens, and of course I know now that it's great for a cold winter day shawl.

Anyway, I've been busy skeining it up and washing it in preparation for selling.

I pretty much wash everything I sell, so it's ready to work with the minute it lands in a customer's hands. Washing really brings a yarn that's been compressed tightly on a cone back to life.

In addition to all that knitting and skein winding, I've started playing with dye again, and added some nice new items to my shop. Below is a sampling of spinning fibers, but I added some new yarns, too.

Well, back to my regularly scheduled knitting now, while you enjoy an old favorite of mine, which I rediscovered this week.

Hello, Old Friend

2011-07-21T18:24:00.004-04:00

I made this sweater in 1999. That's 12 very long years ago. It's my own design and is called "Fleagle," and intended to pay tribute to a musician I will never forget: medieval balladeer John Fleagle. There is a lot of love and grief worked into every stitch. He was only 47 years old. Far too young to leave this world bereft of himself, and his musical magick.

The oak leaves and acorns represent a thing sacred to Druid Bards of Old: the live oak. (I do not know if John was a Druid, but musically? Well, he WAS a modern bard. Very much so.)

The XO cables pretty obviously represent love: he was much loved by anyone who ever heard him.

The Heart with Pendant Teardrop represents more love, and grief.

The central motif consists of intertwined cabled hearts: yet more love.

I had some equally weighty reason for choosing a basketweave stitch for the background, but hanged if I can remember that reason now.

A dear friend who passed away, also far too young, just a few months after I finished the sweater, remarked, after seeing this picture, that she didn't see how I could stand to wear it after all that work. What if something happened to it? Oughtn't I to put it in a shadowbox and preserve it forever?

She was only half joking. (And I still miss you, Pam. Yes, 11 years on, I still remember, and wish I could still write an e-mail and have you answer. And yes, I still sometimes play "Elf Bowling" in your memory..."Is that all the balls you've got, Santa?" And I still choke up thinking about the first time you ever sent me "Flaming Bag of Poo" for Halloween...)

Pam would be horrified at the current condition of that sweater. It has long been a favorite, you see. I've worn it more than any other sweater I have ever made. It went to Ireland and Scotland with me, and in order to make room in my suitcase for all the yarn I was bringing back from Scotland, I...GASP!!!!...packaged it up and mailed it home from Shetland. It took 6 weeks to land on my doorstep. Pam would have fainted at the mere thought.

But this sweater has been loved. It has served as a pillow, as a throw blanket, and as a winter coat. You see, it is SO oversized, I can, and HAVE, fit many layers beneath it.

At the beginning of last winter, I noticed some holes near the sleeve cuffs, and broken stitches in the I-cord trim at the neckline, so I washed and dried it, and stowed it in a plastic sweater bag until I could get around to repairing it.

Today, with outdoor temps in the upper 90s, I happened to find the partial ball of yarn I had left from the original project, down in the basement. Finally, repairs would be made, and thank God for air conditioning!

I picked out the frayed I-cord trim, caught up the stitches, and re-knitted. After 12 years of hard wear, the sweater is a little faded -- understatement of the year -- so the new trim doesn't match at all, colorwise. The yarn has mellowed to a smokey blue/gray color from the original vivid blue. So, now the trim is bright and colorful, in contrast to the mellow shade of the rest of the garment. Oh, well. At least the mending in the fabric near the sleeve cuffs doesn't show up quite so starkly, as I was able to do a simple weave repair from the inside.

I tried it on and thought it wasn't too bad a job, except...I was a lot larger when I knitted this thing. It's more oversized on me now than I like any garment to be. What to do?

Pam would call the men in the white coats to come and get me if she knew what I was doing with that sweater right now.

It's in the dryer. On medium heat, not air fluff or low. I WANT this thing to shrink! But being as it's good old Bartlett yarn from Maine, it probably won't shrink much at all. In fact, I have tried this tactic in the past, with minimal success, but those times I was afraid to take too much of a risk, and set the dryer on low heat. There will still be plenty of room for me to move in it, when all's said and done.

I'm happy I finally made those repairs. Too big or not, it will be nice to be able to wear this one again, come winter.

And winter WILL come again. On a day like today, I need to be reminded of that.

OK, I Know...

2011-07-05T20:33:00.003-04:00

This is juvenile of me. REALLY juvenile. But in a chat with a friend this afternoon, I forget how the subject came up, but I asked if he had ever heard "Ooh, Girl -- An Honest R & B Song." He had not!

It's a funny listen, but it's even funnier with the video.

Juvenile, juvenile, juvenile...but so well done, I can't help but laugh my arse off every time I see it.

Families...oy veh...

2011-06-28T14:10:00.004-04:00

Thank God for the non-biological family members we choose for ourselves over the years! I honestly don't know what I would do without such people. Maybe it isn't so for other people -- and lucky you if it's not -- but it seems like all I get from biological family members is pain, and a heavy-duty sense of guilt and obligation.

I'm not talking about my husband and/or kids, though sometimes relations with all of them can be a bit of a mine-field. No.

Once again, I am schmerzing about a sibling relationship that will just never be what it once was, no matter how much I believe that things could change for the better. It's over. It's done with. And if I don't let it be over and done with, and persist in holding on to this ridiculous hope of mine, I'm just going to keep getting hurt. Over and over and over again.

Stupid of me to let my guard down. Stupid of me to trust. I walked right into it face-first. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

But it did look like things were changing for the better, and I wanted so badly to believe it was true.

STUPID!!!!!!

Time to rebuild the Wall, and hope to God it stays up this time.

My First Video!

2011-06-27T13:38:00.004-04:00

Beware of folkies with video cameras, tripods, and time on their hands!

I did it because I could, and I've been meaning

to attempt it for awhile now.

What better excuse than a tribute song for a friend?

And besides...it was an awful lot of fun to do!

I suspect that "Magnus" is nodding his approval...

One Week Ago Today...

2011-06-24T15:44:00.003-04:00

I didn't yet know that a dear friend of mine had passed into Eternity. I had only just learned a few weeks before that he was ill, and that knowledge had barely sunk in when I had the news he was gone. I found out last Saturday evening. It was better for him this way, that he went so quickly and didn't linger. Pancreatic cancer is incurable, and is one of the worst cancers, pain-wise. So, I am thankful that he is gone, for his sake.

We did not get to talk often, but we did send e-mails now and then. and when I first began recording music last year, he was one of the first people I trusted to hear what I'd been up to. He gave me a lot of positive feedback and some suggestions for how to improve things. He let me know I did not, in fact, suck.

If not for this man, I most likely would not even know who Grant Hart is, much less be able to call him a friend. I would never have met Grant, and without that meeting, I might never have picked up a guitar again, and I certainly never would have written any songs.

I owe this man a lot, even though we didn't see each other often, or speak to each other often, or even e-mail each other that often. Yet he was dear to me, and it was a comfort to know I could reach out and receive a kindly response.

Thinking of him yesterday, I picked up my guitar to noodle around a bit -- an activity of which he would have wholeheartedly approved -- and after a bit, words began coming to me. First a refrain, and then one verse, and then another, and another. I did some minor editing of the text, so it would fit into the song better, and tried several times to lay down a good study copy. That was hard to do, because my own words were making me choke up. It took awhile to get that start-to-finish take. I enhanced it a little with my music editing program, so it wouldn't be quite so in-your-face-naked, and have posted it on my website, so anyone who feels like checking it out is welcome to. There will be a better version at some point, with multiple guitar tracks and harmony and perhaps even a melody instrument and/or a drum. I do want this to be, in time, something that would make my friend feel proud to have inspired. I suppose just writing and recording this first version puts me part way there, and furthermore, I think this man had a spiritual hand in it. Seems he's been going 'round making a lot of visits to various people, and I feel honored knowing I was one of them.

Click on the link to enjoy the song, or just scroll past it and read the words. Or do both. In any case, I hope it moves you in some way.

I will always miss you, "Magnus," and hope someday we might meet again.

Elegy for Magnus

If I knew then what I know now,

What might I have said?

What might I have changed,

If I knew then what I know now?

Would knowledge have made a difference?

Would I have talked with you longer

On that warm October day when kindness

Had driven me to tears?

Ashamed of my emotion,

I chose not to speak too long.

Thought there'd be time later

Some other day in the future.

If I knew then what I know now,

What might I have said?

What might I have changed,

If I knew then what I know now?

Death comes to all of us;

Sooner for some, later for others.

Life's too often snuffed

In the midst of creation.

The pen halts in mid-stroke,

The guitar falls silent

As Death takes your hand

And you follow.

If I knew then what I know now,

What might I have said?

What might I have changed,

If I knew then what I know now?

So hard to believe you're gone

And I'll not see you again,

Or hear your voice

Sharing thoughts about music.

Recordings are no substitute

For a living, breathing person,

But they'll have to do for now,

'Til the day we meet

On that distant shore.

If I knew then what I know now,

What might I have said?

What might I have changed,

If I knew then what I know now?

CP Warner

23 June 2011

Drumming on Pentecost, 6-12-2011

2011-06-17T16:37:00.002-04:00

I was having fun.

Really, I was.

I need to learn to smile

when I'm playing!

16 Years Ago Today...

2011-06-14T13:09:00.006-04:00

Rory Gallagher lost his valiant fight against...oh, so many struggles!

"...but a Heaven does exist where music lives on eternally, a million miles away, and there he plays on, blazing immortal, though still edged in blue, pacing the boards before a legion of saints..."

Please watch, and enjoy this beautiful performance.

Rediscovering Nick Cave

2011-06-10T08:34:00.003-04:00

I'm trying to remember exactly when I discovered Nick Cave. Probably around 2001 or 2002, when I had gotten into Shane MacGowan and the Pogues in a big way, and went so far as to purchase a VHS copy of a documentary about Shane. Nick Cave, having collaborated a bit with MacGowan, was one of the people interviewed. He sang part of "A Rainy Night in Soho," accompanied by his own piano playing, and I was captivated.

Not long after that, hubby brought home a copy of Metallica's "Garage Inc," upon which they performed Nick Cave's song, "Loverman." This inspired me to want to hear Cave's original version, so I bought his CD, "Let Love In." That one CD led to the purchase of many more. I really couldn't get enough of his music, thoughts, and poetry, though at the time, I really had to draw the line at his early punk group, "The Birthday Party." I could read the lyrics from those songs in my books of Cave's poetry and enjoy them as poems, but the music stretched me farther than I wanted to be stretched. (Note to self -- find those CDs downstairs and try again!)

One of my all-time favorite Cave CDs is "The Secret Life of the Love Song," which is a series of lectures he gave on songwriting. He covered a fascinating gamut of subjects in these lectures, and performed solo versions of some of his more sensitive songs, so poignantly, accompanied by his own piano playing. I swear, as a writer, I learn something new every time I listen to these lectures, and I really, really love them so much. In fact, it's been awhile since I last listened to them, so I think that will be on the docket today: listen to Nick's lectures while I get some spinning done. Guaranteed, I will hardly notice the passing of time while he speaks.

Nick Cave is such a contradiction in terms. On the one hand, he writes fantastic, beautiful, and often painful love songs. On the other hand, there are works like "O'Malley's Bar," "John Finn's Wife," and "Papa Won't Leave You, Henry," which are gruesome and violent and graphic, and yet...one is riveted to the stories being told. Nick Cave has an extraordinary way with words, and an extraordinary way of delivering those words. Utterly compelling.

"Loverman" is probably one of the scariest love songs I can imagine, and yet...it's hot. VERY hot. The narrator is obsessed to the point of violence.

"L is for love, baby, and O is for only you that I do. And V is for loving virtually all that you are, and E is for loving almost everything you do. R is for rape me, and M is for murder me, and A is for answering all of my prayers. N is for knowing your Loverman's going to be the answer to all of yours."

The question, I suppose, is WHY is that so hot? Cave's delivery is a big part of it, but also the song is incredibly intense. The louder, the better for listening, so one gets completely caught up in the wash of sounds and the violence of the narrator's obsession.

This next one gives me gooseflesh every time I hear it. The studio version on "Abbatoir Blues" is very good, but the live performance ups the ante considerably. "Send your stuff on down to me," is Nick's way of calling down the Muse for inspiration, and his laundry list of famous, inspired writers, artists, and musicians reminds us that no real artist ever has a completely happy life, and answering the call of the Muse involves a certain amount of suffering. Sometimes the Muse will not come. Often, other people don't give a damn about what you've created, directed by the Muse you have no choice but to follow. But ignoring the Muse is Death. If you are a Creator, you require a Muse, and you must Create or die. And if the Muse declines to come when you're on your knees begging, then you either find something positive and constructive to do with your time while you wait, or you fall prey to various demons, which could include depression, drink, drugs...

Well, it's not an easy way, that's for sure, and "There She Goes, My Beautiful World" captures all of that and distills it into one perfect, intense, violent, and gorgeous song.

Part of the reason I love this next one so much is Warren Ellis, the violinist. His hypnotic minimalism is so perfect in this song, and what an experience, to watch him perform! Paganinni gone mad. What a tour de force! And the song itself tells a story and issues a warning after it meanders through an unhappy, confusing day in the life: "Be mindful of the prayers you send. Pray hard, but do pray with care, for the tears you are weeping now are just your answered prayers. The ladders of life we scale merrily move mysteriously around, so when you think you're climbing up, man, in fact you're climbing down."

And yes, Cave is so carried away in the intensity of the performance, he does indeed trip over a monitor speaker and the mic stand and nearly falls. But he carries on without a hitch, and if you heard this strictly as an audio, with no visual, you would never know what happened at 4:40.

Then, after the fierce violence of the preceding numbers, there are moments like this: "Sad Waters." The first time I heard an acoustic version of this, I wept. The studio version does not capture the same feeling at all, and in fact it's barely recognizable as the same song. This version is the quintessential one, and wild Mr. Ellis nicely displays his sensitive side as well, with one of the sweetest-sounding motifs I've ever had the pleasure to hear.

Next is "Brompton Oratory," which has got to be one of the best documents ever, of how difficult it is to separate one's spiritual side from one's worldly side. A man divided. Aren't we all like this to some degree? And in this case, even in the moments of receiving the Holy Eucharist. Amazing. So real. And each person kneeling to receive -- what are their thoughts? What are yours? What are mine?

One of the things I love best about Nick Cave is his perpetual questioning of the spiritual. There are no easy answers, and much conflict, and he is brutally honest about it. Not an easy thing to do, and I admire him for it, and strive towards a similar honesty.

I must confess, it still jars me that the man who wrote "Brompton Oratory" could also have written "O'Malley's Bar." But this, too, testifies to the man's honesty, albeit in a rather frightening way.

The Business of Not Working

2011-06-08T19:56:00.003-04:00

Except for my new lack of income, being unemployed really isn't so bad. My favorite thing about it is being able to go to my favorite grocery store in the universe, Market Basket. A new store opened just a few miles down the road from me, and it's a nice little rural drive to get there, so I have some time to listen to some good tunes as I travel.

The trouble with Market Basket is, it's SO damn good, if you don't get there fairly early in the morning, you can just forget going at all, if you're like me and HATE being stuck in a crowd. Today I got there a bit later than usual, so it was fairly busy. But even at that, I did a big haul and was out of there in an hour's time.

Their prices are remarkably good, and their fresh produce is to die for. This is the time of year when I crave melons and can't get enough of them. Last week, I scored two "personal" seedless watermelons, and this week got one of the hugest, sweetest cantaloupes I've ever had the pleasure of consuming. Oh, and the red grapes, and the strawberries, and...

My friends, I am doing a lot more cooking, and it's all good, healthy stuff. I have actually LOST about 7 lbs since I quit working in mid-May. Part of that is good quality, healthy, home made food, and part is how much running around I've been doing on a daily basis, catching up with housework.

I find myself looking forward eagerly to making jam again at some point soon. It has been YEARS since I last made any, and I have been CRAVING grapefruit-ginger marmalade, and pear jam, and Italian plum jam.

Our vegetable garden is planted, and I can't wait for the tomatoes, squashes, eggplant, and cucumbers. I've already started plucking some of the herbs for various dishes. Soooooooo good!

Yesterday I managed to cook dinner, do a couple loads of laundry, strip the bed, turn the mattress, spin some yarn, update my shop, AND practice both my drumming, and my guitar/singing. A gloriously full day.

Sunday is Pentecost, and I will be drumming for the Gospel processions. I always enjoy that, and am thinking I need to get back to African drum lessons one of these days. I've missed it, but while working, I did not have the time to practice as much as I needed to, to stay on top of the challenges. If I manage to sell some yarn soon, I think I will use the money to sign up for a series of lessons again. Freeform drum circles are nice, and I do enjoy them, but I need the balance of learning some actual technique, instead of perpetually making up my own rhythms.

Now, to knit or spin? That is the question...

It was the Third of June...

2011-06-04T13:04:00.002-04:00

I had never quite forgotten this amazing song, but sometimes it moves into the background for a spell, and then I'm reminded of it, and then it becomes a beautiful surprise all over again. Thanks to my old friend Paul Metsa for bringing it back to mind this time, via Facebook.

No movie ever had to be made for Ode to Billie Joe. The song was evocative enough on its own and needed no embellishment or speculation. What is wrong with some things retaining a sense of mystery?

Bobbie Gentry's cool detachment in performance is what makes this ballad the great piece it is. She's relating a tragic tale from a place of distance, and yet one can hear that the distance is feigned. She has become the young woman who is narrating the tale, and the pain is so close to the surface, yet she is somehow managing to tell her story with as much indifference as she can muster. You can imagine a sole listener having said, "Just the facts, ma'am. Just the facts," prior to her launching into the story.

These are the bones of it. The narrator does achieve a certain distance, but in spite of that, one has the sense that Billie Joe's suicide could have happened mere hours before. The young woman seems still in a state of shock, even though she makes it clear at the end that, "A year has come and gone since we heard the news 'bout Billie Joe."

Musically, is there any more eloquent a statement of a long fall than the descending chromatic scale that completes the song? You can almost see the flowers spiraling lazily in the air from the bridge to the muddy water below.

Do treat yourself to a peek at this video, from a live performance on The Smothers Brothers Show, way back in the day. I had never seen this until about a half hour ago. The visual makes it even more poignant.

New Sock Design - Do the Bee!

2011-05-26T14:05:00.004-04:00

This is the first prototype of my new sock pattern, Do the Bee. I grabbed a skein of what I thought was sock yarn, but it turned out to be sport weight yarn, so I will have to work one in sock yarn now, and recalculate accordingly. This "oops" pair will be mine.

And here is a close-up shot of the eyelet, bee, and honeycomb motifs.

The new pair is being worked in a superwash merino/nylon sock yarn, but I didn't have the right color, so the yarn is still a natural cream color. When the socks are finished, I will either paint them or drop them in a dye kettle. either way, something interesting will transpire. I just don't know exactly WHAT. That is never fully revealed until the socks have been dyed, washed, and dried. No preconceived notions of what the final version might look like are allowed.

Very exciting!

Confession Time: One of My Biggest Fears

2011-05-25T22:02:00.004-04:00

I like to wear overalls, a.k.a. farmer jeans. A lot. They are great, all-purpose work pants, and I have worn them, if not quite every day, then often. REALLY often. I bought my first pair six years ago when working for UniStar Textiles, once I realized I would have to do a lot of crawling and climbing over boxes and packing crates, loading tractor trailers, packing and shipping boxes, etc. A few months after that business folded, I went to work "upstairs" at Omni Control Tech, and at first was simply a "grunt," unloading trucks, vacuuming floors, and "organizing" everything my "supervisor" didn't feel like dealing with. It was often filthy, physical work, so I continued to wear overalls. They had many pockets and I could move easily while wearing them.

In all those years of wearing overalls to work, my biggest fear was that one day I would go to use the restroom and drop one of the straps in the toilet within the first hour of the work day, and not be allowed to go home and change. But I was lucky. In six years, that never happened.

Until tonight. I accomplished my "business," stood up and got ready to rebuckle the straps, and saw that the end of one strap was submerged.

Oh, yuck. It was only trailing in watered-down pee, but still...yuck.

Well, at least I was home, and the washing machine was just down the hall...

O, For the Life, For the Life of a Cat...

2011-05-25T15:46:00.005-04:00

He has a hard life, this cat of mine.

He would not go anywhere NEAR my bed until I dug out the duvet cover and went through all manner of contortions to get the down comforter INTO said cover. Wrestling a king-size comforter into a king-size cover all by myself was no fun at all, and I certainly did not manage to be very efficient about it. I'm glad no one took a video of me trying to accomplish this task. It would have been embarrassing.

Once all humans had vacated the bed this morning, Steve decided it was the perfect place for him to stretch out. Looks mighty cozy lying there, doesn't he?

His nickname is LB, which stands for "Little Bastard." We pronounce it with a Rhode Island accent for giggles. "L'il Bastid."

I seriously cannot imagine life without this ornery little critter.

And once again, I will post one of my favorite William S. Burroughs quotes, from his essays about cats.

~This cat book is an allegory, in which the writer's life is presented to him in a cat charade. Not that the cats are puppets. Far from it. They are living, breathing creatures, and when any other being is contacted, it is sad: because you see the limitations, the pain and fear and the final death. That is what contact means. That is what I see when I touch a cat and find that tears are flowing down my face.~

So Far...

2011-05-15T09:44:00.003-04:00

Well, it appears that quitting my job was a good thing after all. Still not sure how I'll feel about that when bill-paying time rolls around, but it's really amazing how much more energy I have, no longer living in fear of being fired. The worst has happened. I no longer have a job, and furthermore, I CHOSE not to have a job. I was NOT a victim of an unjust boss' cruel whim. So, though broke, because my final paycheck is already earmarked to pay the last installment on our car insurance, I feel like I am beginning this phase of my life from a place of strength. I do not have to recover psychologically from the trauma of being fired. I do not have to start out feeling like a loser and reject from the get-go. I can just start, feeling like my normal self again, from the get-go.

I know none of this means I won't have my bad days. I do, after all, suffer from chronic depression. It will be interesting to see, though, if my depressive episodes come less frequently. I hope this will be the case, but I have no way of knowing for sure.

At the moment, I am giddy with excitement over the idea that I can go to my favorite market again, when I want to, early in the morning before too many other people are there to make my shopping experience unpleasant. I'm really looking forward to exploring the produce department I loved so much once again. I'm even thinking along the lines of making some good preserves this week. We have not enjoyed grapefruit/ginger marmalade here in a very long time, and I'm craving it. I guess I'll have to be making some soon.

I'm a morning person, and now I don't have to waste the best, most productive hours of my day trying to meet the expectations of an employer whose expectations change from one minute to the next: whose demands become more ridiculous with each passing day.

Yes, we'll be cutting a lot of corners. Yes, we'll be eating a lot of variations of beans and rice. Yes, I'll be counting more than ever upon the success of this summer's home veggie crop. Yes, I'll be working like a maniac spinning yarn, dyeing yarn, knitting small items to sell, and resurrecting Mad Angel Creations. But it will all be good work, done for myself in support of my household. I lost sight of all that for too many years. Now I've begun to reclaim it. This feels very, very good.

The trick now is to pace myself. I'm impatient and want everything done and settled all at once, but that's impossible. One piece at a time, and hopefully my life doesn't end up looking like the Cadillac in Johnny Cash's song.

Oh, well, nothing wrong with a Wild Ride...ain't that right, Mr. Tent?

It Is Finished

2011-05-13T20:54:00.003-04:00

"It is finished." Well, that does seem to be the thing to say when one has been crucified, yes?

I am now officially unemployed, by my own choice, because cellphones were forbidden on the production floor where I worked, but I carried one anyway. I have children who are often in crisis, an elderly, ailing mother, and an elderly, ailing mother-in-law. I must be tethered to my cellphone, and I thought that was understood. I was answering to a school-related crisis with my younger daughter when the "general manager," who has been gunning for me for quite some time now, caught me and laid into me WHILE I WAS STILL TRYING TO HAVE A CONVERSATION with the woman who called from the school, in hopes of figuring out the best way to help my daughter along, so she will pass this year and not have to go to summer school or repeat 9th grade.

I thought if I explained it was an emergency, that it would be accepted. I would not even mind if the reprimand had been delivered privately and courteously AFTER I had finished the phone call. But I was read the riot act while I was still on the phone with the woman from the school, and this woman got to hear every bit of the ass-reaming, as did everyone on the production floor. And I was marched into this man's office to finish the phone call. Thankfully, he left me alone with the door closed, and indeed left me alone for the rest of the day, and all day today. But yesterday afternoon, following the incident, he was walking around the place looking very smug and self-satisfied. He done put the b*tch in her place again. All in a good day's work for Captain Clipboard. And even better than putting the b*tch in her place? He done made her cry, too. Score!

This morning during break I found out who threw me under the bus. She couldn't stand not letting me know that a) she had done the deed, and b) would be spying on me and was fully prepared to throw me under the bus again. Up until then, I had been intending to give two weeks' notice on Monday. But to honor a final two weeks under those conditions?

No. Just...no.

I have been a good, conscientious, and loyal worker for nearly six years, but none of that counts for anything in the face of my breaking a rule to take care of a family emergency.

I e-mailed my resignation to the big boss a little while ago, and received a one line "thank you for your dedicated service" message, sent from his blackberry. I did not expect that he would want to know what happened, so I am not disappointed in his response.

I am free.

A little scared from a financial standpoint, but I'm not the main breadwinner here, and I never have been. Somehow, some way, we'll get through this, and I will get back to the business of taking care of my family and household, and myself. In time, I will probably feel like writing again, and I may even attempt to resurrect my yarn business on a small scale.

I am sad because I liked many of the people I worked with, and I will miss those people. But I will not miss the politics or the petty bullsh*t or the mean people.

I am free.

Now, what? There are certainly a lot more possibilities than there were when I was chained to that place...

A Profound Bit from Milton

2011-05-08T21:46:00.005-04:00

I confess, until this past week, I had been very lax indeed about perusing "Paradise Lost," but after viewing all these great videos of Grant singing "Awake, Arise" on his recent tour, I got excited about it all over again. Spent a fair lot of time listening to the audio book at work last week, and I have been trying to pick up the actual hard copy at least once a day and browse through the pages. Often, something will leap up at me, totally out of context, and insist I take heed.

"Still govern thou my song, Urania; and fit audience find though few."

The footnote at the bottom of the page identifies this as: "A famous phrase expressing Milton's conviction that it is preferable to address even one just man than a world of false men."

An earlier footnote tells me "Urania" is a name Milton uses to identify the Holy Ghost, though technically, Urania is actually the Muse of Astronomy.

"Govern" seems to mean "guide," and I can certainly dig being guided by the Holy Ghost, and do make an effort to hear Her voice when I attempt to create, be it music, or a poem or story.

As for preferring to "address one just man than a world of false men," well, it's what I've been saying all along. "A fit audience though few" means seeking out discerning folks, rather than aiming for mass appeal. I would much rather "a fit audience though few" of folks who actually get it, than worldwide appeal and an overabundance of material riches.

Being free to create as I wish, and listen for the voice of inspiration -- sometimes subtle, sometimes not -- is worth more to me than millions of dollars and designer clothes and fancy cars.

And those discerning few who occasionally take the time to tell me I have touched them in some way?

Treasure upon which no price can be placed.

It was a beautiful thing, to find this jewel of wisdom within the depths of "Paradise Lost."

Kitty Pics and Music

2011-05-08T15:49:00.004-04:00

This is Steve, our big, fluffy, angry-looking kitty. I'm very thankful I'm no longer allergic to cats, because I've really gotten attached to this boy since he came to live with us. It would break my heart to have to give him up, but it seems that will not happen. I'm still careful to wash my hands after playing with him, so I don't forget and rub my eye, or something stupid like that. My eyes DO still respond to cat fur in a bad way, but I can live with that, as long as it no longer bothers my lungs.

I am slowly -- VERY slowly -- getting used to this new haircut. Hubby hates it, though. Too short for his likes, but I'm liking how easy it is to take care of. There's not even enough to comb. It is, quite literally, wash and go. No fuss, no muss.
I was blessed with some quality "alone time" this morning while the family was off at church, and of course I plugged in the Tascam and got down to business. "I Hope That I Don't Fall In Love With You" is one of my favorite Tom Waits songs, and I basically don't give a damn that it's a guy's song. I love it anyway. The man in my soul is using my voice, and I'm OK with that.

I am up to six tracks now. I sang the song in unison three times on three separate tracks, and recorded two guitar parts on two separate tracks, and added some discreet djembe action on one track. It came together pretty quickly, and I was already doing the final mix-down by the time the family came home. All in all, quite a productive morning and I am well satisfied.

Today my heart goes out to a dear friend who lost his mom earlier this year. Mother's Day will be a tough one for him to get through, I think, so he's in my thoughts and prayers even more than usual. I miss his mom, too, but my grief is nothing compared to his.

Please, God, let him not be overwhelmed by it, and make him aware of ALL the love that surrounds him...

Spindle Spun Yarn - Oceania

2011-05-04T05:11:00.004-04:00

Ever since I closed up my virtual shop, I've had a great time diving into my own yarn and fiber stash. This yarn was spindle spun from one of my own blended batts. I believe there was some blue wool and some green, both hand dyed by me, plus a bit of blue mohair I bought from someone online last year, and a bit of white silk noil top. It does remind me of ocean waves, hence the name, "Oceania."

This is probably my finest gauge 2-ply yarn ever. I began with 1.55 ounces of blended fluff and ended up with a total of 276 yards. It will, no doubt, end up being some kind of lace scarf, probably in some kind of shell or wave stitch, and if I go with a wave stitch, I made add some clear beads as well, for weight and sparkle. This could be quite the elegant piece when all is said and done.

I am still utterly gobsmacked at the amount of yardage I got. If I did the math right, that works out to approximately 178 yards PER OUNCE!

I might just have a Big E entry on my hands. It would be very cool to score a blue ribbon and/or another best of show.

I guess I'd better wash and block the skeins first, before I start fantasizing!

Oops!

2011-05-03T18:18:00.003-04:00

I told the hairdresser to take it down to a quarter of an inch. Does this look like a quarter of an inch to YOU?

It doesn't to me, either. Welcome to the wonderful world of "Oh, Sh*t, What Have I Done?"
Well, it's just hair, after all, and I do have a large collection of festive knitted caps, which will hide a multitude of mistakes.
I'm not sure how I feel about this, but I do think I now know for sure that I never want to shave my head 100%.

The oh-so-attractive discoloration on one side of my forehead is indeed a bruise. If it were Art and needed a title, I would call it "Blind Girl Unexpectedly Meets Bookshelf on a Bleary Friday Morning Just Before Work." Hurt like hell, but at least it's fading quickly.

My hubby is going to have a fit. He thought the last haircut was too short!

Lesson learned. I am going to buy my own damn clippers and mow my own head from now on.

I'm actually laughing about this, folks. It's only hair, and in three weeks' time, it will look semi-normal again. Really...

Of Jellybeans and Klutziness...

2011-04-30T12:34:00.006-04:00

This past Thursday, one of our technicians, an older lady who is a certified curmudgeon and grumbles a lot, but whom I rather like in spite of the grumbling, brought in a big jar of jellybeans to share this week. “They suck,” she explained, “but if anyone wants them, go ahead. I’m not gonna eat ’em.”

Her friend who also works with us, further "encouraged" us by saying, “Try the red ones. They really suck. Try one, and you’ll see what I mean.”

I was game for a little something sweet, so first went digging for black ones – there were NONE – then settled for a modest handful of the other colors. The red ones were not totally awful, just tasted a bit like cough medicine.

“So, what flavor do you think that is?” the friend asked me.

“Robitussin DM,” I replied, happy that they kept my jaws occupied whilst two of my male co-workers bickered about politics, and who was interrupting who. I thought about how pleasant it might be to knock their two thick heads together, and fervently wished that the monologist of the two would take up smoking and go outside for a good portion of our break, or at least stop eating lunch at my table. I even thought it might be better to listen to the other expound about American Idol (FEH!!!!) than to listen to the monologist.

So, how desperate was I for decent conversation? Enough to be happy with crummy jellybeans, my knitting, and a nostalgic wish for some talk about music, even if it wasn’t MY sort of music. Something. Anything.

Alas, no amount of wishing made it happen, and when the bell rang, I thought, “Damn it, I need a reward for sitting through that.”

Juggling my knitting in one hand to free up the other as I passed the table where the jellybeans had been left, I reached for the jar. It was heavier than I anticipated, and the lid had not been screwed on tightly. Oh, sh*t.

There was no way to be discreet about a heavy jar rolling off the table, with jellybeans exploding around the room, bouncing off walls and windows, and rolling under tables and chairs. Busted!

Everyone in the next room heard and started laughing. “You wanted them all for yourself,” someone yelled.

“No,” I called back, “I didn’t. I wanted to sneak a few, but I guess God punished me for having mean thoughts.”

More laughter. My face turned five shades of purple, and the usual post-lunch hot flash came on with more of a vengeance than usual as I crawled under tables and picked the damn things up. There are a LOT of jellybeans in a one-pound jar, and I managed to spill the entire f*cking lot of them. And in our place, no one believes in the five-second rule. It’s just not a chance anyone would willingly take, so into the garbage those jellybeans went, and back to my bench I went, staggering under a load of Guilt and Remorse.

We have so few pleasures in our workplace, and even jellybeans that suck make folks happy. We take what we can get.

Still red in the face and hot-flashing like mad, I sat down and picked up a cable, and promised, “I’ll make this up to you guys. I’ll bring in some Jelly Bellies tomorrow.”

“Aw, you don’t have to do that,” the giver said. “Those other ones were sh*t. I don’t care.”

“Yeah, they sucked,” her friend agreed.

But my mind was made up. I brought in some Jelly Bellies yesterday, and a good time was had by all, and I did NOT end up throwing them all ’round the cafeteria again.

Needless to say, I will never attempt picking up any kind of container one-handed again.

And it was true, anyway: those other jellybeans DID suck, AND there were NO black ones!

There WERE a few black ones amongst the Jelly Bellies, however, and I was able to secure a few of those for myself. Naturally, I thought of Harpo Marx as I savored them, and realized my little mishap with the jar could have been worse. It COULD have been a five-pound bag...

P.S. -- I still don't give a rat's arse about Ryan Seacrest, whoever he is...

Balance?

2011-04-21T18:18:00.009-04:00

I thought I would go out of my mind at lunch today. The same co-worker who informed me last week that Black 47 blows has now informed me that my life is out of balance. Why? Apparently, for the simple reason that I do not watch enough TV to know who Ryan Seacrest is.

To (sort of) paraphrase Ayn Rand and add my own withering commentary:

Who is Ryan Seacrest? And why the f* ck do I care?

It is very bad, I was told, to be so uninformed as I in regard to current events (which includes American Idol, of course). Why, the end of the world could be coming, or the Revolution, or the Bilderberg Group is about to really take over the world for once and for all, and I, who can't abide television and never watch the news, would have no idea.

I am out of touch with reality. I need balance in my life. I need to watch television every minute I am not at work.

It seems to me that someone else's life is just as far out of balance in a direction completely the opposite of mine. Too much television, too much paranoia, too many conspiracy theories, and too much belief in American Idol being the litmus test for true talent.

Oh, puh-LEEZE!

I don't even want to get into any of the political discussions that go on at my lunch table.

I'm annoyed with myself, because I'm too nice to be rude and just up and leave. I have no wish to offend anyone, but the offenders feel no such obligation to me. Shouldn't that nullify my obligation to them?

I suppose if I did not bring knitting to do, I would get up and walk out, but...I have my knitting, and the latest project is one for which I must follow a chart, and pay close attention row by row. It helps me shut out some of the bullsh*t. Not all, but some, which I suppose is better than nothing.

I am weary of being called "Mrs. Hüsker Dü" every time I walk into the cafeteria. It's really getting a bit tedious, especially since I am merely a friend/fan of Grant Hart's, and I delved into Hüsker Dü because I wanted to hear more of Grant's work. That I dig all the music of Hüsker Dü is simply icing on the cake. I wish I could find a really abrasive video of them doing Grant's fabulous-but-short song "What Do I Want?" Instead, here are two videos from Grant's recent concerts in Europe. The first is "Awake, Arise," which is from his upcoming "Paradise Lost" project. This is easily the most powerful version of this song I've ever heard him do. If I had to guess, I'd say this is the prologue to the work, but I could be wrong. Still, it's an amazing performance. He just looks like he's calling down some kind of Power from Above, and I love his fleeting little smirk at the end, when he's through with the words and the guitar is just sustaining on and on with that final chord. He done good, and knew it, or more likely, he reached the high standard he set for himself that night, and was pleased with that accomplishment.

Next up is "Remains to Be Seen," another favorite of mine, and once again, an amazing and passionate performance.

American Idol? Feh. If one likes cookie-cutter music, fine. I guess it serves a purpose. Not everyone can be as intense a music geek as I am. I overanalyze absolutely everything I listen to, with the possible exception of songs like this next one. Romanian Disco at its finest, and one of the happiest, funniest songs I know, even if I haven't a clue what the words mean.

For something a little deeper, here's one that has been haunting me for awhile now. I "won" a copy of this CD by making a donation to WNHU. I wanted to help keep Mr. Tent's Wild Ride going strong, and for a $20 contribution, I got two CDs from their archives. Mr. Tent chose this XTC album for me, along with Devo's latest. I've been enjoying both, but this song, "Rook," really tweaked the old melancholia in a good way, especially: "If I die and I find that I had a soul inside, promise me that you'll take it up on its final ride." God, how that moves me!

None of these songs would make it on American Idol, no matter who sang them. "Numa Numa" is just silly fun, but Grant's songs and the XTC song have way too much substance for diehard American Idol fans to digest.

Don't get me wrong. American Idol serves a purpose, and lots of people enjoy it. But why am I made to feel like I'm suffering from some sort of deficiency because it fails to speak to me? Ever heard the expression, "To each his own?"

I would rather hear Grant while he's fighting laryngitis than an American Idol singer at his or her peak.

Or Jello Biafra ad-libbing his amusing tale, "Night of the Living Redneck."

Or Larry Kirwan chanting about Bridie and the "Funky Ceili."

Or Rory Gallagher wailing out "I Fall Apart."

Or Joe Bonamassa oozing pain and loneliness with "Sloe Gin."

Why have a Fluffernutter when you can have a good, hearty bowl of stew? The stew will keep you going longer. The Fluffernutter? Well, doesn't it leave you feeling hungry again in fifteen minutes?

I rest my case.

Europa Sweater

2011-04-18T18:38:00.003-04:00

It's finally done, and awaiting the recipient's final approval of the design. I sure hope he likes it. Otherwise, it's back to the drawing board...

There's Nothing Like Music...

2011-04-14T22:00:00.002-04:00

...to comfort an aching soul. Grant's music kept me sane while I filled out that nursing home application last night, and enabled me to shed a few needed tears. "She Can See the Angels Coming." "Flexible Flyer." "Signed DC." The worst of the pain and sorrow flowed away with those tears.

Today was easier, though I'm still very glad I stuck to my guns and insisted on being driven to the post office the moment the envelope was sealed. I still don't want to send my mother to a nursing home, but there is no other choice at this point. Friends assure me I'm doing the right thing. I'm slowly accepting that truth. The ball is now in the nursing home's court. They will need to evaluate my mother, and if they agree she's ready for their place, she'll be put on the waiting list, and in the interim, I will continue managing her meds, and hope she doesn't mess them up too badly.

I came home from work to find that I had an empty house all to myself, so after a quick snack, I got down to business. The Tascam is becoming more manageable, in that I'm actually beginning to remember all the steps I need to follow in order to successfully make a master I can transfer to the computer. Once I've got it transferred, I have additional audio software to further enhance things. This one came together very quickly, and I'm probably way prouder of it than I have any right to be, but...

This is all me, folks. I played the two guitar lines, sang the two vocal lines, and drummed on my djembe. I love the heartbeat the drum adds. It seemed especially appropriate for this song to have such a heartbeat.

Enjoy!

Dancing Barefoot

I've Done All I Can

2011-04-13T22:42:00.004-04:00

I went to my mother's place as usual to take care of refilling her pill containers. Many of them still had pills in them, that she had not taken, and on the counter she had the "Tuesday" bottle next to her water glass.

It's Wednesday, and I told her so. She insisted it was Tuesday.

I went home and took the nursing home application from the place where I'd tucked it away, hoping I would never have to send it.

I filled it out. It's in an envelope now, stamped and ready to go. Hubby and I are going to the mailbox in a few minutes. If this envelope does not leave my hands tonight, I may well lose my courage completely.

I feel like a traitor. A murderer. An all-round bad daughter.

But she has no desire to be well, and fights everything that might help her every step of the way. I've done everything I can to try and help her, and there's nothing more I can do, except to put her into the hands of people who can manage her.

I am fortunate to have a very good facility down the street from my house. The problem is, they are so good, there's always a waiting list.

At least now, if my sister happens to call and ask, I can answer truthfully: the application has been mailed, and the ball is now in the nursing home's court.

Grant is singing Flexible Flyer on the stereo now, and there are tears in my eyes.

"Soon you will know that you just grow, you're not growing old."

From your lips to God's ears, Grant. Please.

I am so scared that someday my mind will turn to mush, too, just like Ma's has been doing these last few years.

Oh, help.

11:15 -- The application has been mailed. The process has begun.

Proof Positive...

2011-04-12T22:24:00.002-04:00

...that Black 47 does not, in fact, suck. They may not be everyone's cup of tea, but they are certainly my cup of tea...with a good shot of Jameson's Irish whiskey thrown in for good measure.

This band changed my life. I'm not kidding. The people I've met, the places I've been...it all began with Black 47, in the year 2000.

I hope I have as much energy as Larry Kirwan does when I'm in my 60s!

My Art in Belgium!

2011-04-08T19:53:00.003-04:00

OK, it's true, he's wearing it inside-out, but...check out the link!

"Evergreen" Windschief Hat

I actually rather like way this hat looks inside-out, but am very thankful I paid close attention to how carefully the ends were woven in!

Many of you saw me working on this hat...or, rather, on its fraternal twin last winter. (That one was lost in a fire. This is the one I made to replace it. Same yarn, but a different dye lot, so it's not got as much blue in it as the first one.)

Grant, if you happen to peek at this blog...dunno if you do, but on the off chance that you might sometime...

You sure do look beautiful in that colorway. The only problem with still photos is I can't hear you singing, but it's nice to see pictures, anyway. And also nice to see that no matter how far you travel, my Art is keeping you warm.

No Commercial Potential...

2011-04-06T22:03:00.005-04:00

...and PROUD of it!!!!!

I'm feeling every bit as stubborn as I felt yesterday, and am thinking I may start bringing a book with me to work, as I was doing for awhile last summer, and hanging out at my bench during morning and afternoon breaks. I would rather spend a quiet 10 minutes with William S. Burroughs messing with my head than be a silent audience while People Expound and Pontificate. If I could actually converse and have an even exchange of ideas instead of enduring attempts to convert me to thinking along the same paranoid lines as some of my table mates, then I might reconsider. But the constant one-upmanship and my complete inability to get a single syllable in edgewise is really beginning to get to me.

At lunch, The Expounders so dominated the "conversation," I never made a sound throughout the entire half hour. I ate my sandwich and knitted, and was very thankful I had the knitting, because without it, I might have just started ranting loudly. Knitting keeps me peaceful.

From now on, taking my morning and afternoon breaks with Burroughs or Bukowski will help keep me peaceful, too. Or perhaps I could get back into Milton, now that most of life's crises seem to be past and I could actually concentrate on what I'm reading, and retain some of it. I'd really like to be able to discuss it intelligently when Grant and I have a chance to catch up again.

That performance of "Awake, Arise" I posted yesterday is totally awe-inspiring. Grant was channeling something very powerful, no doubt about it. I need to save the video and convert it to an mp3 so I can put it in my player and listen more closely.

I played guitar for awhile tonight, though I felt pretty brain-dead. I worked on one original, and a whole passel of songs "American Idol" devotees wouldn't recognize in a million years. If I keep practicing as much as I have been, I'll be in good shape to record, if I'm ever alone in the house long enough.

Next up for consideration are, not necessarily in this order: "50" (my own original song), Dancing Barefoot (Patti Smith), I Hope That I Don't Fall in Love with You (Tom Waits), Hanky Panky Nohow (John Cale), Green Eyes (Grant Hart), and Apeman (The Kinks).

After I've accomplished all that, I have three more originals I need to re-do.

Where will this get me?

Big fat f*cking nowhere, but I don't care. I'm content to make a pleasing noise, and know that I do not sound like I've been homogenized, or had the life pasteurized out of me. Yes, I'm mainly doing cover tunes, but I am doing them my own way. I'm making them mine and owning them, albeit in a small way. And no one is "pulling my strings." (God bless you, Jello Biafra!)

Some anti-TV sentiments:

"We lost our faith and prayed to the TV. Oh, we should've known better." ~Sting~

"And when you're the object of complete derision, I'll make you a star on television." ~T-Bone Burnett

"I'm the tool of the government, have you guessed me yet? I'm the slime oozing out from your TV set." ~Frank Zappa~

Grant Hart in Granada

2011-04-05T17:02:00.001-04:00

This incredible song, "Awake, Arise," is from Grant's "Paradise Lost" project. The performance is utterly mind-blowing. I'm still reeling...

Artistic Integrity -- RANT!

2011-04-05T16:16:00.010-04:00

This afternoon when I went into the cafeteria for my coffee break, I was greeted, quite unnecessarily, with the statement, "Black 47 blows."

"They do not," I replied, trying to maintain a semblance of calm.

"Yes, they do," persisted my co-worker. "Black 47 blows."

"Stop that right now," I said, a little more sharply, "or I might have to defenestrate you."

What I really wanted to say would have been a stream-of-consciousness, run-on rant along the lines of:

American Idol sucks * Simon Cowell is a pompous twat * I hate television * I never watch TV if I can help it * do not ask me if I am familiar with such and such a commercial * I DO NOT WATCH TV!!!! * money does not equal talent * boobs are not more significant than brains * no, I do not want to discuss politics or conspiracies * this subject does not belong in the workplace * since when is literature not "real?" * it's people like you who never read a novel that force me to work in a f*cking FACTORY...

...and so forth.

As far as music goes, I have no intention of ever dressing fancy, putting on make-up, getting contact lenses, or wearing foundation garments that will make my boobs stick out further. It's about my words and music, NOT how good I look, or how many Simon Cowell types I can impress if I play the game. I ain't playing. Period. F*ck that sh*t. If I have no integrity as an artist, then I have no right to BE one. To mine own self be true, dig? Like it or lump it.

Jello Biafra has it right, and I grinned like an idiot as he fanned the flames through my headphones this afternoon. "Pull My Strings" is f*cking BRILLIANT!!!!! But if you're looking for a G-rated song, DON'T click on this video. It's quite naughty, but to me, delightfully so.

The Dead Kennedys - Pull My Strings

As far as writing goes, I want to write novels I can still be satisfied with after publication. If it doesn't mean something to me, why bother? Chances are, it wouldn't mean anything to anyone else, either.

I may vanish in obscurity, but by God, I will NOT go to my grave with a big brown stripe running the length of my nose. I may not have a fortune to leave behind, but I will go with my artist's soul intact, knowing I have stuck to my guns and maintained a high standard.

So, put that in your pipe and smoke it!

And here is Mr. Hart, to further bolster my resolve...

Grant Hart - It's Not Funny Anymore

Sam Amidon

2011-03-30T21:02:00.003-04:00

This video is not from last night's show at Club Passim, but it's close enough. This is one of my favorite songs that he does. Last night he messed up the lyrics and had to stop and start again, which made everyone laugh, and that was a good thing for me, 'cause I was starting to cry.

I first saw Sam a few years ago, in a performance at the MFA in Boston, along with Nico Muhly, Nadia Sirota, and Doveman. It was one of the most exciting concerts I had ever been to. Years and years ago, Nico was in choir with me, so it was really nice to see what great things he's been up to in the intervening years. To hear him play so beautifully, along with his very talented friends, was really a treat.

I found out, completely by chance, that Sam was coming to town, and I bought tickets and took Phoebe. Sam is every bit as good now as he was at the first concert. His voice is unusual, and so is his approach to the music. How does one manage to sound so coolly detached and intensely expressive at the same time?

Phoebe and I arrived way early for the show, and while we waited for our supper to come, of course I kept myself busy. I am now well on my way with the first sleeve of Grant's sweater. The sweater will have some lovely Sam Vibes stored up in it. Very appropos, as he and Grant are both magickal in their own unique ways.

Freak Out!

2011-03-24T19:47:00.005-04:00

I guess I have been a little more anxious about hubby's cancer situation than I realized.

Today was the post-op follow-up, and he is now happily without catheter and pee bag, and feeling more like himself again. It's a clear night, and he's planning to stay up late with his telescopes. Two more weeks at home, and then most likely, he'll go back to work.

He had one of the best surgeons in the prostate business working on him and got excellent care, but for an office visit, you wait a long time past your scheduled appointment time. I knew this, and planned accordingly, and brought Grant's "Europa" sweater with me to work on. The appointment was scheduled for 11:45, and we didn't end up leaving until 2. Not a problem for me; I had my knitting.

It astounds me, how many people go to a doctor's appointment with nothing to do, as if that will somehow guarantee that they are whisked into an exam room instantly upon arrival. So, I got to hear a lot of spoiled brat grouchy people bitching their heads off. Here they are, in Boston, being treated by one of the best urologic surgeons in the business, and all they can do is bitch about how long they are having to wait. And of course, these folks are empty-handed. No books or magazines to read, or enjoyable craft to occupy mind and hands, just a bad attitude and a sense of entitlement: "How dare you keep me waiting???"

I was very, very glad I had my knitting. Gran't sweater kept me company through waiting for Keith's surgery to be over last week, and it kept me company the day after when we were waiting for Keith's release. It has kept me calm for a few precious minutes each day at work, on my breaks and at the end of lunch. And today it kept me content, despite my being surrounded by grumpy people who wanted to do nothing but complain.

There were a couple of bright spots in that waiting time, though. One lady, also a knitter, came over with her sock project and wanted to know about what I was working on, and asked for a couple of pointers on how she might improve her own knitting. It was so refreshing to talk with someone else who knew the "lingo." I.e. when I said I prefer using a long circular needle and the "magic loop" technique for sock knitting, she knew exactly what I meant. I even said "circs" instead of "circular needles" at one point, and did not have to explain myself. She was very sweet, and I hope she and her hubby got good news from the doctor today.

See, sitting there, I forgot that the doctor is a urologic oncologist. Everyone in that waiting room either had cancer, or was being touched by it through a loved one. So, maybe I can understand the grumpy people a little better, based on that. I just wish they could understand how comforting it would be to have something to distract them while they wait.

For some reason, all the nurses kept apologizing to me for the long wait. Maybe because I looked happy with my knitting, and unlikely to bite their heads off? And when one of them had a minute, she came by to feel up the sweater and ask me about it. I was wearing my "Fraternal Twin Europa," which was my first prototype for Grant's sweater and is knitted from the same yarn. I got a lot done, and felt very peaceful until hubby finally came out and said the nurse told him he could not drive home. OK, well, it was 2 o'clock, and I figured traffic wouldn't be too bad, and I could handle it.

First nerve-wracking thing was getting out of the parking garage. The one we use when we go to Mass General is confusing at best, and I loathe driving in it. Then, since hubby loathes my driving, he kept giving useless driving advice, loudly, then got mad when I barked back at him.

Then we got out of the garage and landed in three separate traffic jams on the way out of town, one of which was in one of the tunnels of the Southeast Expressway. Driving in tunnels frightens me at the best of times, so by the time we hit the exit for the Mass Pike, I was swearing like a sailor, and inviting everyone who tried to cut me off to s*ck my d*ck. (Funny notion, that, since I don't have one of those. But I guess imagining I did made me feel more up to the challenge? Who knows?)

But from the time we left the hospital until we were well west of the city, I was literally shaking all over, and couldn't explain why. I've driven in bad traffic before. Why did it rattle me so much this time?

And then it occurred to me that there was a great deal of momentum and energy behind that shaking. I'd been holding this whole cancer thing in since November, trying to be tough and a good sport, and pretending I really wasn't nervous about it, when of course I was.

Hubby got a clean bill of health today, but also the sobering news that it's a good thing he dealt with this as quickly as he did. The cancer turned out to be more aggressive than the doctor originally thought. Luckily, it was all contained, and excising the prostate fixed it. No radiation and/or chemo will be necessary. Life can go pretty much back to normal.

Hubby can drive short distances, so had no problem with driving us home after lunch at a local Mexican place. I rarely ever say I need a drink, but today I did, and when the waiter asked if I wanted a small margarita or a big one, I ordered the big blue one. It did a lot to reduce my tension, but considering its size, the effects didn't last too long. My daughter and I went out and did some grocery shopping, so she could make one of her vegan extravaganzas tomorrow night, and by the time we were through with our side trip to the "Whole Paycheck" market a few towns over, I was completely sober again, and able to drive home. (My daughter had done all the rest of the driving up to that point, and wanted to eat on the way home from the market, so she had her supper while I drove.)

Much as I hate how much extra time and money it takes to go to "Whole Paycheck," it was worth the trip. I just had a sample of the vegan pesto she's making to stuff into the "tofu steaks," and it was fabulous. A little heavier on the garlic than I would be inclined to make, but still very good.

I'm hoping that the sun is finally breaking over the horizon for real, and I can count on having a clear, trouble-free path for at least a little while, though the next headache -- applying for Ma's spot in a local nursing home -- is not going to be a picnic. We don't have a great relationship and never have, really, but I still hate the thought of putting her into one of those places. Perhaps it's wicked of me to say, but I wish she would just quietly pass in her sleep some night soon, and never have to go anywhere near the nursing home.

Happy Birthday, Grant!

2011-03-18T16:23:00.001-04:00

Today is Mr. Hart's big five-oh.

Many happy returns, my friend!

Whupped...

2011-03-15T23:16:00.002-04:00

It has been a long, long day, but it looks like everything has turned out fine for hubby. Doc says he found no unpleasant surprises, and is pretty sure he got everything that needed to go. Pathology report should confirm this for sure. Not sure how long it will take them fully analyze that pesky prostate, but maybe by the time we go in for the follow-up appointment next week?

Hubby is sore and tired, and me, I'm dead exhausted but still a little too wound up to sleep just yet.

I knitted like a fiend for hours today, and am nearly up to the underarms on Grant's "Europa" sweater. Funny thing, but I had hoped to camp out alone in a corner of the waiting room, eat my lunch, knit, and listen to music. After an hour or so, though, some ladies came and sat with me and asked all sorts of questions about what I was doing. They wanted to pass my finished sweater around and feel it and look it over. Then, while they were at it, I handed around my Quincy hat -- the one I made from the beautiful yarn Grant bought me in Serbia last year -- and I told the story about the yarn, and how I thought it was probably hand-spun, and what a wonderful surprise it was to find it in my mailbox last May.

Since I chopped my hair as short as I did last week, I have really been appreciating that hat! It pulls all the way down to cover my ears, which get very cold very fast, now that there's no hair to keep them warm. The hat is perfect for keeping them toasty until Spring is really in the air. (Last Monday's temps were a mere fake-out.)

O, I think I should try to get some sleep now...

John Cale

2011-03-12T12:48:00.002-05:00

I was reminded yesterday of yet another semi-obscure musician whose work I have always loved: John Cale, formerly of the Velvet Underground. I'm really not familiar with his entire oeuvre, just mainly the VU stuff, a couple of solo albums, and Songs for 'Drella, the tribute he did with Lou Reed, in honor of Andy Warhol. I'm not what anyone would call a big Warhol fan, beyond being very grateful that he gave us the Velvet Underground back in the day, but the tribute album is stunning, with Reed and Cale at the tops of their respective games, both musically and lyrically.

John Cale has an uncanny ability to write the simplest, prettiest songs with the most shimmering accompaniments, and I forget that if I haven't listened to him in awhile.

Back in October, on a Halloween show I recorded so I will never forget it, Malcolm Tent featured a song of Cale's called "Ghost." I had never heard it before: a sweet, baroque-sounding gem, telling, obviously, a ghost story. It utterly captivated me, and I went around humming it for days before I decided -- hey! Why not google around and see if I can find out what album it's on? Maybe the rest of the album is just as good, or better.

The album in question dates back to 1973, and is entitled "Paris 1919." Every song tells its own story, and the musical arrangements all have that sweet, pretty, chamber orchestra sort of feel to them. It is beautiful, charming, delightful, and...as utterly captivating as the one song which was my introduction to the work.

Yesterday after lunch, I found myself filled with a longing to listen to the whole album, so I cued it up on my mp3 player and turned to the work at hand.

One song in particular spoke to me, so strongly I grabbed a post-it and a pen and wrote a note to myself so I wouldn't forget: find lyrics and tab for "Hanky Panky Nohow." The chord progression sounded simple, and so eloquent and lovely in its simplicity. But such an obscure piece! It would be a miracle if I could find it.

But I did find it, on my first search, and since the chords were not ones I knew off the top of my head, another quick google gave me all the information I needed. The chords are indeed simple, yet sound so sweet and elegant, and it's under my fingers already: so satisfying! Now, all I have to do is memorize it.

I wish I could do the song in the original key, as it sounds so rich that way, but my voice will not go that low, and if I sing it up an octave, it sounds too "girly" for my tastes. I want it to sound deeper, richer, huskier. I was afraid it would sound silly with a capo on the 6th fret, but it doesn't.

So, there is another gorgeous song I've been gifted with this week, along with "Dancing Barefoot" and "I Hope That I Don't Fall in Love With You."

I have played so much this week, my calluses actually have grooves in them, and my forefinger is starting to blister from messing around with barre chords. I really never thought I'd see the day when I would even attempt barre chords, but now I am actually playing some. I feel like I have made a lot of progress in this past year.

And I love my new Ibanez so much, I'm thinking I have to give it a name soon....

It Was Time...

2011-03-08T17:16:00.008-05:00

I was thoroughly sick of my hair, and there was more than a foretaste of Spring in the air yesterday. Too many curls and weird hat hair as a result of letting my hair grow out since November.

"Between 1/2 and 1/4 inch," I told the stylist, "and I'm serious."

Usually, they don't listen, and I emerge from the salon with my hair much longer than I wanted.

Not today.

Not only had I been displeased with the way my hair was behaving, but I felt as if, symbolically, cutting away as much as possible would free me of a lot of the stresses I have been carrying in my head since mid-November. A lot of stresses and emotional trauma. I am more than ready to emerge re-born.

I am also more than ready to kick Ol' Man Winter out of my life for another year. (I realize that's a little unrealistic. But to be free of him until, oh, let's say, next December, would be awfully nice.)

Now, it would be nice to have a little supper, enjoy the rest of Malcolm's show, knit a bit, and then play guitar for awhile. Can't wait to sink my teeth into "Dancing Barefoot" again!

There Must Be Some Significance...

2011-03-07T18:58:00.004-05:00

So, here I am, just turned 49, and entered into my fiftieth year.

As the result of an e-mail penned after work this afternoon, the Crone Goddess (and I mean that in a good way), Patti Smith, took up residence in my head with two poetical outro lines from her fabulous "Dancing Barefoot."

"Why must we pray screaming?"

"Why must not death be redefined?"

And after a bit I moseyed over to my You Tube account and watched my favorite rendition of this song ever, with just Patti herself, live, accompanied only by Oliver Ray on an acoustic guitar. This performance never fails to move me.

After quoting those two lines to my friend in that e-mail, and watching the video, in which Patti does not recite either of those lines, the simplest thought occurred to me. I could have followed this whim years ago, but didn't think of it.

The video does not show enough of Oliver's fretwork for me to be able to figure out the chord progression. It sounds maddeningly simple, yet it has eluded me since I first picked up my guitar seriously, ten or so years ago. (I was working on a novel about a guitarist. I thought I should have some notion of how to play so I could tell the story with somewhat accurate guitar references, so I picked one up and proceeded to refresh my attempts at self-teaching from my high school days. It sucked, and I don't know exactly why I kept going, but I did, and now I'm not half bad at accompanying myself. It is enough, and satisfies me.)

But from those days until now, I just could not for the life of me figure out exactly what the progression was, or where it should sit on the fretboard.

I've come to the conclusion that there is a good reason for this.

"Dancing Barefoot" is not a young woman's song, and I was a much younger woman when I first sought to play it. I had not been shaped and deepened enough. I needed to be older, perhaps on the brink of Goddess Cronedom myself.

Here I am.

Here is the internet.

Here is Google.

Tablature for "Dancing Barefoot" on the first hit.

As my friend Mal has been known to sing, "It rules to be Old."

Now that I am poised at the brink of Old, I may have this song and possess it, and make it somehow into an expression of my own as life marches on and the road slopes gently downward.

I will never even come close to being of Patti's calibre in any realm, but I will be forever grateful that she continues to uplift me in my later years as much as she did in my younger ones.

The song is Patti's, and can never really "belong" to anyone else, but for some reason, today, in this time, in this place, I have been granted permission to play with it, and to spin it in my own way.

O, I am happy...

Better Today

2011-03-06T13:07:00.005-05:00

Actually, I've been feeling better since Friday, but did not haste to deliver the good news, lest it just be the Prednisone talking. I still have some rib pain, can't draw a full, deep breath, and am a bit shaky and weak, but compared to last Sunday?

Oh, yes, so much better! And a good thing, too, since I must return to work tomorrow, on my normal schedule. This would not trouble me in the least if I was not taking Prednisone, which does not allow me much in the way sleep.

Know that sound that high electrical tension wires make in the summer, and you happen to walk near or beneath them and hear? That hyper-charged hum? That is how my body feels when I have to take Prednisone. This is only day four of my treatment course. I have eight days left. However, once I get to the 30 mg per day dose and head seriously towards the final tapering off, I know I will settle into a more normal semblance of being. In the meantime?

Do not cross me. Not nobody, not no how. I breathe fire and all hapless victims are crunchy and taste good with malt vinegar. (I despise ketchup.)

I finally caved in and went with hubby to occupy a space in church this morning, and it turned out to be a good thing to do. He was not as jumpy as he sometimes is, so I was able to settle in for the most part, and stay settled in my own little zone. It had been awhile. I was surprised and rather pleased to note that it seems the final separation has occurred. Listening to the choir music, I no longer felt any pain at not being in the thick of it. My own music has made such a shift, I no longer feel a need to express myself in that old realm. Not to say that the old realm was never of any value to me. It certainly was. It helped shape me, to some degree, into the musician I am in the process of becoming.

But I need to balance my spirituality in a more healthy way, so the prime focus can be one or the other (music) when necessary, but easily shift back if one side is in danger of overwhelming/obliterating the other. To recognize the moment when that is about to happen -- ah, yes! That's the tricky part.

Here is a picture of the sweater I've been laboring over since mid-January: my own design, and prototype number one for a potential sweater for Mr. Hart. I have some suggestions from him now, in regard to his requirements for The Ultimate Sweater and will soon be heading into prototype number two. I am enjoying this. I have not unfurled my designer's sails in a long time, and they are a little bit creaky still, but it feels very good to stretch in this way again.

After the craziness of the last few months, I was in far too much danger of folding in on myself, and I believe the pneumonia had to happen, because anything less subtle would have escaped my notice.

A lot of less subtle things have escaped my notice in recent months.

As my wise friend has been known to sing: "Awake, arise, or be forever fallen."

My voice is returning after this illness. It won't be long before I am flying again.

"Awake, arise," indeed!

Feeling Very Cheated Right Now - RANT!

2011-03-02T17:17:00.003-05:00

I keep telling myself it could be worse. I know it could be. But sometimes, no matter how optimistic I try to remain, life just seems an endless sh*tstorm. There is no escape from life, or the storm.

Ladies and gentlemen, I could not even have my modest little retreat to Maine, to relax, unwind, and enjoy.

The first massage I have allowed myself in years had to be canceled because the therapist fell and injured herself. Not her fault at all, and if I ever go to Maine again, I will book with her again.

The ride up was fairly pleasant and less stressful than usual, because I drove us as far as Freeport. Hubby was not pleased, but my response was to ensconce myself firmly behind the wheel, proclaiming: "It's my birthday, and I'll drive if I want to." And so I did, peacefully and uneventfully, straight to the parking lot of Gritty McDuff's in Freeport, just in time to beat the madding crowds. I had a nice pint of Scottish Ale, some perfectly divine fish and chips, and a lovely slice of strawberry-rhubarb pie. After that, I was content to let hubby take over the driving, and broke out my knitting.

Stopped at a couple of favorite shopping spots and found some bargains, moseyed on up to the grocery store in Rockland, bought smoked trout from the smoked fish guy on Route 1, and were then seriously on our way to Stonington, arriving before sunset -- sort of a first for us. We had time for a nice dinner and a nice evening, and in the morning we went off for a few more shopping runs.

Mind, I'm not a recreational shopper as a rule, and neither is hubby, but there are a couple of places we never miss. Reny's. The Big Chicken Barn. And some other antique place on the way to Acadia that we call The Red Barn, even though that is not its official name. Even had time to stop at the co-op in Blue Hill for a few things, including the Tofurky Bratwurst I now so heartily regret, and a brief stop at String Theory to confirm that they were indeed having a Saturday morning knit-in. I was really looking forward to that, and to making a few yarn purchases, since they had some gorgeous new colors I couldn't resist. "But no," I thought. "I'll be good. I won't leave hubby waiting now, I'll just shop on Saturday."

But after a lovely day on Thursday, I began to feel a heavy-duty chill seeping into my bones and joints, and in spite of blankets, extra clothes, and the heat cranked, the chill lasted five hours. Unconsciously, I tensed a lot of muscles good and tight and tried to generate more heat, which didn't work, then started having horrible, intense heartburn that lasted from around 4:30 PM to 6 AM the next morning. It resisted all attempts to be quelled by Tums, and the joint pains got worse, and I went through a couple bouts of what I thought were hot flashes, and basically did not sleep all night.

Friday morning, it began to snow. The heartburn was gone by then, at least, but the pain persisted, and finally worsened to a point where every movement hurt, and I would spend an hour convincing myself that maybe it really wouldn't be so horrible to get up and go pee, but...it was. Every time.

Though I have never been a "not tonight, I have a headache" type of person, and one would think Mr. Sensitivity would know this after nearly twenty-six years, I -- well, I couldn't stand accused. It was more like, curled on my side in a groaning fetal ball accused.

He has cancer and is facing surgery soon. This was supposed to be a romantic weekend, probably one of the last for awhile. I could understand him being a little frustrated -- miffed, even. But could he really believe I'd rather be curled in a groaning fetal ball than playing hide the salami? I mean -- really!

I finally had enough strength to tell him just what I thought of that idea this morning, and he apologized, but what I want to know is, where are the flowers? Where is the chocolate? Oh, well, I guess one can't expect him to do something that has never come naturally to him. And I still don't feel like eating, anyway. I have consumed exactly 2 pieces of pizza (not on the same day), two yogurts, a couple of bites of muffins, a handful of cheez-its, a bunch of popsicles, and some ginger ale since Saturday. Oh, and water, so I can wash down the meds I have to take.

Hubby was all set to scrape me into the car Friday night and drive me home, which would have got us started well after 9 PM, but I refused to budge, hoping I'd be better by morning. I wasn't. So, we left a day early, and I had to eat the cost of the additional day that I was supposed to stay but didn't, and the ride home was the longest, most miserable 6-1/2 hours I have ever spent in an automobile. No knit-in, no yarn shopping, just a box of Nyquil tabs and a hope that the Nyquil would render me unconscious for most of the ride. This might have worked, if not for all the frost-heaves.

We got home at 6:30 on Saturday night, and excepting a visit to the doctor and a brief shower this afternoon (I could no longer stand the smell of myself), I have been in bed.

Nyquil, Tylenol 3/Codeine, and muscle relaxers do not begin to take the edge off the pain I was experiencing. Vicodin and a strong antibiotic are a more successful, if not perfect, combination. What we thought was intially a weird flu is actually pneumonia. It hurts to cough, so I've been avoiding doing so, but sometimes what must come up, must come up, whether we like it or not. Bloody lung mucus is really disconcerting.

I'm supposed to go back to work on Monday, but unless there is some miracle drug they haven't tried on me yet, I don't see how that's possible.

Ever had a charley-horse in the rib-cage? If you haven't, DON'T. If you have, I've felt your pain way more than I would have liked to today. Especially festive when it wakes one from a Vicodin-drenched sleep at 6 AM.

I hope there's some improvement tomorrow, 'cause if not -- well -- it's good thing I don't have an obliging friend with a shotgun...

End Rant. For Now.

Tofurky?

2011-02-25T16:59:00.002-05:00

What was I thinking?

Well, in pursuit of being healthier (me) and being kinder to pigs (hubby) I bought, on a whim, a package of Tofurky Beer Brats at a local co-op. (We're on vacation at the moment, in a place where there actually is a local co-op.)

The jury is still out as to whether we like these things or not. The spicing is interesting and tasty, and the label says that Real Beer from a microbrewery is one of the ingredients, but...

The only thing about it that says bratwurst is the label on the package, and the shape of the things.

We have two more to consume before deciding yea or nay.

Perhaps eating one alongside a helping of barley, farro, and sauteed veggie salad was a bit too much of a couple of good things. I am so stuffed right now, I don't feel much like I want to eat again for maybe...oh...six months or so. Too bad I cannot hibernate as bears do.

Have gotten a lot of knitting done and am nearly finished with the me-sized prototype of the sweater I am in the process of designing for Grant. So far, so good, after a few serious mistakes back in late January necessitated ripping the whole thing back down to the waistband and doing some re-calculating. It looks pretty good now, but I've tried two different neckline styles, and both were epic failures. Maybe the third time will be the charm. I'll know in a few days, I guess, and if all goes well this time, I'll soon be starting Grant's. It won't be done in time for his next tour, but maybe by the next time he comes through Boston. The weather will probably be far too warm for sweaters at that point, but I can have him try it on, anyway, and see if the fit is good. If not...copious notes will be made and measurements taken, and I will simply go back to the proverbial drawing board. I don't mind, one way or another. Knitting for my friend is an honor, and a labor of love.

Free Sunday Morning!

2011-02-20T12:34:00.004-05:00

I had some alone time today, and dove right back into the recording process, and implemented some of the changes I notated in yesterday's entry.

I recorded each track straight and added reverb during the mixdown, and I took a relaxed pace. Just because I can play a song faster doesn't mean I should.

I've spent a lot of years mucking about with the hymn "Wondrous Love," trying to get a version of it documented to my own satisfaction.

This one comes closest of any I've done so far.

I've been working on this hymn for twenty years now, in one form or other, and will continue trying to hone it down as close to perfection as is humanly possible. It's a worthy piece of music, and has long been a favorite of mine.

It's not my vocals that disappointed me this time, but a little bit of faltering in one of the guitar parts, which most people probably wouldn't notice, but to me sticks out like the proverbial sore thumb. I won't even mention where it is in the piece. If it's obvious to you, the listener, please say so, 'cause I'm curious: is it, or isn't it?

Your opinions will not change my decision whether to re-record or not. I'm going to do it again, anyway, 'cause I wouldn't feel right about it if I didn't try to do better.

For this first take, though, I am pleased enough, and hope you will enjoy it, too.

More Tascam Experiments

2011-02-19T19:28:00.005-05:00

I was in a hurry, so this isn't as polished as it could be. However, I am definitely having some success with the Tascam 8-track unit, and am actually picking up some speed when it comes to blasting through the learning curve.

I love T-Bone Burnett, and a particular favorite of mine from his oeuvre is a song called "Shut It Tight." Obviously, I am no T-Bone Burnett when it comes to playing my guitar. I play rhythm, mostly, as an accompaniment to my own voice, and I do a lot of cover tunes, and do my best to put my own spin on them, rudimentary though that spin might be.

Some folks have said recently that they think I'm a good guitarist. One, a guitarist himself, went so far as to say he thinks I'm a better guitarist than he is. This embarrasses me. I don't take that sort of compliment well, especially when I think the guitarist in question is better than me, because he can do things with his guitar playing that I will never be able to do.

I prefer to say, we are different from each other, in technique and style of playing. One is not necessarily better than the other. Just...different.

That said, here is my hasty, recent attempt at Shut It Tight. I sang the vocal three separate times and layered them one on top of each other, just for a lark, to see if it was possible.

It was. What a hoot! A chorus of "me."

Things I plan to change in future:

1) Position the microphone in such a way that certain consonants and exhalations aren't painfully audible.

2) Tempo. Crikey, it's not a race!

3) Harmonies between verses should be more than a vague, off-the-cuff idea performed on the fly.

4) If dogs bark and family invades, I should just erase the botched track and try again later when it's quiet.

5) Add reverb during the mixdown, not while I am laying down individual tracks.

This is an interesting process. Nice thing is, I don't need a quiet house to lay down guitar tracks. I can plug directly into the machine and record any time. The guitar parts for "Shut It Tight," for instance, were recorded while everyone else in the house was watching the Super Bowl. I monitored through headphones and saved the tracks for later. Nice to know I can proceed in that manner any time I want to.

Sometime in the next year I should have something of much better quality to share with friends. If enough people like it and say nice things, maybe I'll break past the shyness barrier and play and sing in public someday.

And by the way, if it wasn't for the fella in the two videos posted below this entry, I would never have gotten this far. Watching him play and sing in person for the first time, a little over a year ago, made me realize how starved I was to play and sing myself, and I picked up my guitar again after an eight-year hiatus.

The circumstances of my giving up playing eight years ago were traumatic and painful. I thought I could never do it again, or care enough to try.

Grant Hart changed that in a single evening. I owe him a lot for helping me get that healing process started, so I could come this far, and focus my intent on going even farther. To make music is, for me, the very breath of life, and I had forgotten.

Grant Hart infused me with that breath of life, and called me forth from the tomb I had hidden myself in.

That is no exaggeration.

What can I say, but -- thank you Grant. God bless you.

And what can I do, but -- keep on keepin' on.

Grant Hart - 2541

2011-02-19T17:10:00.001-05:00

Two wonderful videos of my dear friend playing two of my favorite songs of his. The fella who shot these did a fantastic job, and captured some excellent performances. Have a watch/listen and enjoy.

Grant Hart - You're the Reflection of the Moon on the Water

2011-02-19T17:09:00.000-05:00

Damn that Ice Dam!

2011-02-18T17:25:00.003-05:00

Like many homes in New England that were utterly swamped with snow in the last six weeks, ours developed a massive ice dam on the roof. I'm not just talking a little ice dam. I'm talking a foot thick ice dam. Too late, hubby started picking at it, and filled cheap Wal-Mart hosiery with calcium chloride, and waited for the miracle to occur. When the sun hit these things, it was supposed to magically create channels for water from the melting ice to pass through, and hopefully would leave us with an ice-free roof, sooner rather than later.

All it did was turn the snow green.

We had a warming trend this week, so the roof is bare now, but it was too late to escape interior house damage. I watched the paint on my office wall blister out as water dripped in behind it. Luckily, these blisters did not burst, and now they have completely dried out, and the wall doesn't look so bad. But the ceiling...ugh! There's a patch near the window that look like an incurable skin disease. And the dampness traveled across the room and very nicely loosened the top layer of paint and weird sandy stuff, and it's peeling like a bad sunburn.

I could deal with this, no problem. I still have a house, even if it's a mess and spring will mean doing some cosmetic work in my office and bedroom. What is disconcerting is having bits of this paint/sandy stuff drop down on my head while I'm sitting at the computer typing, or sitting here playing guitar.

I was trying to learn the riff for "Where Did You Sleep Last Night" from Nirvana's "Unplugged" album when a rather large flake descended on my head and instantly broke into smaller flakes.

Maybe if I plug in to my amplifier the vibrations will shake the rest of it down, and we can be done with this for the time being...

Dementia and Terror

2011-02-16T19:43:00.005-05:00

My mother has been slipping mentally for years, ever since my father died in 1983. She decided there was no point to anything in life after his demise. Her children and grandchildren meant little, if anything to her. Every ounce of devotion was reserved for her husband, my father, who was not so wonderful as to deserve canonization. He wasn't very nice to her, and he certainly wasn't nice to us. He was a master of sarcasm and put-downs, and he had a bad temper and a free hand and/or paddle when he was displeased. My arse remembers this well.

Her refusal to live her life after he was gone is finally going to land her in a nursing home. She has been in an assisted living facility for a couple of years, and up until recently, I could trust her to take her medications if I set them up in containers for her every week.

Today I went to fill the containers and discovered she had moved them all from the spot they had been living in for the last two years, and had placed them in a different cupboard, with all the days of the week out of order. Some containers still had pills in them, though she swore up and down that she had taken everything I gave her as usual.

She also swore up and down that today is Tuesday, and indeed, she had the Tuesday container near her water cup. No amount of assuring her that it is, in fact, Wednesday, could divert her from believing today is Tuesday.

Two weeks ago, trying to get her meds to her in a snowstorm, my car spun out and slammed head-first into a snowbank. My daughter and I weren't hurt, nor was the car damaged, and some men came and pushed us out so I could continue on my way. But I thought, as we drove along, that the time has come for me to accept that I can't do this anymore.

Ma doesn't care about anything, and has been longing for death for the past 27 years, and I risked my life and my daughter's for the sake of this miserable person who does not love us and would rather be dead.

I'll be filling out the nursing home application in the next few days. I don't expect to be able to accomplish it in one evening. There's too much to document. I'm exhausted before I even start.

And more than anything, I'm afraid. Desperately afraid. Is this my future, too, when I hit my 80s?

If my husband is not one of the lucky ones in dealing with his cancer, will I, too, bury myself alive? I'd like to think I wouldn't, but let's face it people; I suffer from chronic depression. Even though my life isn't really so bad, and in fact sometimes it's damn good, there are days when I get bogged so far down, I wouldn't mind lying down for a nap and not waking up again.

Luckily, I have a few wonderful friends who cheer me up in their own special ways. (Hello, Mal, and Mary, and Grant, and Sue, and...) But sometimes I get so far down, I'm not capable of reaching out, or even hinting that I'm in trouble.

Right now, I'm bordering on being in trouble. I don't want to fill out that application. I want to bury my head in the sand -- or my own personal equivalent, bury my head in knitting. Thank God I have a good project going!

This hurts. Too much. Retreat. Run away...

Vitamins?

2011-02-09T19:30:00.005-05:00

So, in my never-ending quest to be healthy / less fat, I decided, after first lecturing my dear friend to eat well, take vitamins, and keep up his health, to start taking a daily vitamin myself. How can I expect my friend to follow a regimen if I don't follow one myself, right?

I had been feeling run-down and tired a lot of the time, and coffee wasn't providing its usual kick in the arse anymore, so I went to the local pharmacy and browsed the vitamin aisle.

One-a-Day Energy formula! Wow! That sounded like the one for me, so I bought it. Two whole bottles, and I commenced taking, well, one a day.

Hey, this stuff really works! Or so I concluded after a couple of days. What on earth do they put in it to make it so effective?

I should have read the label before buying. The "energy" boost comes from a whopping hit of caffeine. 90 mg of it, to be exact. Suffice it to say, I no longer "need" 3 large cups of coffee to keep me going in the morning. I have one now, and then switch to my old favorite herbal tea, Red Zinger.

I love the taste of Red Zinger, and always will. And the best thing about it? When it starts to get cold, I can -- and do -- still drink it. Cold coffee makes me gag. I will never understand why some people love iced coffee. Just the thought -- ! Ugh.

Now, if only these vitamins would give me enough "energy" to make me want to exercise...

And now, back to my regularly scheduled knitting!

Got It!

2011-02-06T15:39:00.004-05:00

I have successfully completed my first two attempts at multi-track recording! Yes, I had to jump through a bunch of head-spinning technological hoops, but I did not in fact lose everything I had recorded. Just took a while to figure out how to get the stuff from one place to another, between the computer and the Tascam.

I know I have a lot to learn about how to manage the files, but I think I'm off to a decent start, despite the fact that hubby squirmed his way through listening to Coverdale's Carol, and left the room laughing outright before the first verse of Never Talking To You had finished playing. Just because Mr. Unless-It-Makes-My-Ears-Bleed-It-Sucks didn't much like it, and right away started making suggestions for how to "improve" the recordings, doesn't mean that my efforts do, in fact, suck. They are far from perfect, as I have a lot to learn, but they do not suck.

I intend to keep working on this stuff over time, and it will get better as I go.

Hubby is not a musician himself. Hubby listens almost exclusively to death metal. Hubby is really not in a position to judge my work. I'm feeling disinclined to let him hear much more of what I'm doing.

He said my harmonizing sounded like something from outer space, and I do not believe he meant that as a compliment.

I have news for him. I am not staying in whatever box he might think I belong in.

I will not even feign interest in the Stupid Bowl today.

I can lay down more guitar tracks and save the vocals for another day this week, when hopefully I might have the house to myself for a bit. If no such opportunity arises, then I'll just have to play hooky from church again next week.

Feel free to give a listen here if you like.

Never Talking To You was the first thing I laid down because a) it's short; b) it's easy; c) I've memorized it to a point where I don't have to think about it too hard; and d) well, because I like the song, damn it!

The Tascam

2011-02-06T13:47:00.002-05:00

Oh, the dreaded Learning Curve strikes again! But this morning was time well-spent, or so it seems. I still have to try transferring what I recorded to the computer. Apparently, I missed the part in the owner's manual that talked about initializing and formatting the SD card. I guess I now have "backup" files of the songs I was messing with, but no "wavs." Further investigation will be necessary, but there is a possibility that I lost everything I put down this morning. Stay tuned for further details...

Recessional

2011-02-05T14:39:00.003-05:00

My friend Malcolm has written a song that so perfectly distills sorrow, regret, disillusionment, and resolution into two simple verses, I am, simply, blown away. It's still a work in progress, and not fully fleshed out by any means, but I can hear its potential, and I have this driving hunger to work on it, myself.

Mal's voice soars over the accompaniment, a lone bird flying above the clouds beneath, high and beautiful, disappearing into the eye of the sun.

It hurts to look, but the song will not allow me to turn away.

I have a great need to study this one, take it deep within, and work with it.

He has used a chord organ for the accompaniment, but I am hearing it in my mind's ear with a more full-bodied accordion sound, the chords mounting and ebbing like an ocean tide.

I have an accordion, and I have the chord progression and the lyrics. This may be one of the hardest things I've ever done in my life, musically speaking, but I have this burning desire to at least attempt to achieve the impossible: to help that which is already perfect surpass its own perfection.

I have not played the accordion in years, and I wasn't very good at it when I did play. It was just another musical toy that captured my fancy for a time, but I lost patience with it when I hit the learning curve. How I despise learning curves! They stand in the way of my doing immediately whatever impossible thing I'm envisioning.

I don't care if I never play anything else on my accordion, but now, next time anyone asks why I bought the darn thing in the first place, I can give a good answer.

"Well," I would say, "I didn't know at the time, but I bought it so I could play my friend's song."

Yup. That's why. I'm convinced.

Off to practice for a bit, because the learning curve is still there, despite my dreams and visions...

Grand-Baby!

2011-02-01T17:43:00.001-05:00

Let the pictures speak for themselves! :-)

Dragon's Blood, Irish Whiskey, & Land Speed Record

2011-01-24T19:32:00.004-05:00

I came home from an eight-hour factory shift to find a still very pregnant, bored daughter just waking up from a day-long nap. "Can we go somewhere? Can we do something?" she queried.

"No." I retorted.

Just plain and simple, no. Had been hoping for a dinner date with hubby, but he phoned awhile ago to let me know he's disinclined to go out in the cold, so no date, and I figured I'd better go and see about starting dinner.

I don't know how I failed to spot the Leaning Tower of F*CKING Pisa in my kitchen sink when I came in from work. I must have been tired. (Imagine that!) Or preoccupied. (Imagine that!) Or dreaming of relaxing and knitting, or listening to music, or ALL THREE AT ONCE. (Imagine THAT!!!!)

Oh, well, I'll just unload the dishwasher and re-load it, since bored, pregnant daughter couldn't be bothered, and then I will push the rest of the dirty dishes aside and cook something.

But the dishwasher has been ailing and failing, and ladies and gentlemen, today it finally bit the dust, and its replacement will not be here until February 5th. I turn in dismay to the Leaning Tower of Pisa and realize, with sinking heart, that it equals four dishwasher loads, plus I have to re-wash, by hand, the dishes the dishwasher failed to clean.

I thought about how satisfying it would be to smash crockery, then realized that would make an even bigger mess to clean up than simply washing. All. Those. F*cking. Dishses. So, I commenced washing and grumbling, and even the divine Mr. Hart on the headphones only managed to bring my blood pressure down about half a notch.

After listening to me grumble and bang things around, Miss Preggers finally bestirred herself to come dry and put things away. Still, the job took over an hour. My desire to cook anything had long since evaporated, so hubby has been ordered to get himself a sandwich on the way home from work, or else he won't be eating tonight. He will pick one up for younger daughter as well, who has been out having Social Plans all afternoon, la-di-da!

Pissed, pissed, PISSED!!!!! This one has "gone to 11" yet again. Twice in less than a week, but at least this time it hasn't brought on chest pains.

So, here I am in my office -- my sanctum sanctorum -- burning Dragon's Blood incense, quaffing a big auld honkin' helpin' of Mr. Jameson's Finest on the Rocks, and blasting Husker Du's most excellent, noisy, abrasive "Land Speed Record." Since this is a very short album, and I probably have only 5 or 10 minutes of listening pleasure left, I'll probably be switching over to some Dead Kennedys or perhaps checking out another Flipper album.

Angelic chorister turned punk rocker. All those albums I never dared to bring home when I was 18, I am enjoying now. Yes, ENJOYING! No shame, no guilt, no apologies, no regrets.

The only odd thing, really, that doesn't quite jive with this picture is, when I'm done with this little rant, I'm either going to pick up my knitting or sit down at my spinning wheel. [TILT]

But the incense, whiskey, and Grant's raging against "Data Control" are calming me down. The f*cking dishes are done, the kitchen is clean, and I don't have to cook. This could be a relatively pleasant evening after all, especially if I add another wee dram of Jameson's...

On W.S. Burroughs

2011-01-23T17:39:00.006-05:00

I confess, I do not always understand William S. Burroughs. At first, I wasn't even sure if I liked his writing or not. Part of this may have been due to the fact that I first picked up Naked Lunch for a serious read while I had the flu and was taking Nyquil. Too weak and sick for anything else, I would eat a popsicle and read a bit, then pass out cold, the empty popsicle stick still clutched in my hand. Nothing I read made any sense at all, but I forged ahead and finished, not long after the flu had finished ravaging me, and left behind only weariness and a vague malaise. No wonder none of it made sense. No wonder I failed to find any humor in it. No wonder there are so few lines highlighted.

I fared better with the Nova Trilogy. All three books have been pretty well marked up with vivid, hot pink highlighter. Some passages are gross, scatalogical. Some sexually intense, no matter what your proclivities. Some out and out funny. And some -- my favorites -- shimmer up from the page like jewels accidentally dropped in the mud, and they take you by surprise and leave you breathless with wonder.

~vast music in the throat of God~

~Dream singing came before body without a shadow without relics

--face healed and half-healed in wind and rain~

~These colorless sheets are what flesh is made from

--Becomes flesh when it has color and writing

--That is Word And Image write the message that is you

on colorless sheets determine all flesh.~

~So I am alone as always

--You understand nova is where I am born in such pain

no one else survives in one piece

--Born again and again cross the wounded galaxies

--I am alone but not what you call 'lonely'

--Loneliness is a product of dual mammalian structure

--'Loneliness,' 'love,' 'friendship,' all the rest of it

--I am not two--I am one

--But to maintain my state of oneness

I need twoness in other life forms

--Other must talk so that I can remain silent

--If another becomes one then I am two

--That makes two ones makes two

and I am no longer one

--Plenty of room in space you say?

--But I am not one in space I am one in time~

And startling profundities:

~who programs you

~who decides what tapes play back in present time

~who plays back your old humiliations and defeats

holding you in prerecorded preset time

~you don't have to listen to that sound

you can program your own playback

you can decide what tapes

you want played back in present time~

~Modern man has lost the option of silence.

Try halting your sub-vocal speech.

Try to achieve even ten seconds of inner silence.

You will encounter a resisting organism that forces you to talk.~

I could quote a lot more. There are many highlighted passages in my copies of the Nova books. But one last quote, this from Burroughs' beautiful book of essays/visions, "The Cat Inside."

And at that, my friends, I found tears flowing down my own face. O, dear God!

The risks one takes, in simply making contact with another soul, knowing one day it will end! Or at least, what we have known will end. Life will go elsewhere. To Heaven or Hell, or recycled by the Almighty into another body. (Some might call that sort of recycling a form of Hell...to relive and have only vague memories of what you might have f*cked up in a previous life, yet know, somehow, that you did indeed f*ck up, and you have been sent back to right that wrong.)

The end brings change. If I have known "you" before, will I know "you" again? Will I recognize "you," or at least have a sense of "you," and who "we" were?

Dear old Bill, sometimes the way you make me think hurts...

New Sweater Prototype & Musings from Within the Bubble

2011-01-23T08:02:00.005-05:00

I will have plenty to keep me busy when the kid does go into labor. I've started a new sweater design, using the basic shape of one Grant got in Austria and adding some special Mad Angel Creations features (braided cables) for a sort of medieval look. This first one is for me, so I can get it right before going on to do one for him, in his choice of color.

Here are the beginnings of it, draped over my amplifier.

I haven't felt much like designing in a long time, so I'm especially excited about this one.

Baby is due today, but so far no signs of labor, so hubby and I will grab breakfast nearby in a bit, and maybe hit the bookstore.

Sore from yoga this morning, but feeling calm and relatively content. If you ever have a chance to go to a gong meditation, I recommend it highly. There is something about that wash of sound, especially after an hour of yoga to uncloud your mind. I was able to do a full Reiki treatment on myself while the gong player worked his magic with a wide array of gongs, all with different sounds, sound colors, and pitches. One cannot help but feel a Divine Presence. It is there, whatever Name one chooses to give it.

As usual, social time afterwards was an agony for me, so I simply remained silent, watched from a distance, drank my tea, and left. I managed one conversation in the hallway with one of the class leaders, but no amount of gong music or meditation can blow away the Asperger's quirks. They come back in full force when there is a crowd, all talk, and no more music. I feel a desperate need to stay in my bubble, and will only come out of it in a one-on-one scenario, or in a group of ten people or less.

There is a balance game I sometimes play on my Wii Fit, in which the obese little cartoon icon that represents me is supposed to walk in a bubble down a winding river, avoiding all obstacles. My balance is not good -- flat feet and pronated ankles -- so my little icon inevitably smashes into obstacles after only a few seconds. The bubble bursts, and my icon goes splashing into the river. It's an excellent metaphor for how I deal with social situations. I don't like to do anything that might make me go splashing into the river suddenly, so I am very careful to guard my bubble.

Sometimes guarding my bubble and staying safely within it means I run away as quickly as I can, striving for the balance that will keep me away from obstacles. Sometimes an obstacle surprises me, and I'm in the river before I can draw a breath. Other times, I make my escape successfully, bubble still intact, but what, exactly, do I win when I succeed?

In the Aftermath...

2011-01-22T14:00:00.007-05:00

Still playing the waiting game, and hoping this baby does not choose tonight to begin her entrance into the world. In my quest to find non-pharmaceutical ways to de-stress, I plan to attempt another yoga class this evening, though I'm still pretty damn sore from the last one on Thursday. I really feel like The Deity -- by whatever Name one chooses to call He, She, or It -- directed me to exactly the sort of class I most needed.

First off, music, upon which I depend so much these days, is incorporated in this class. The instructor plays a CD of chakra-related music while we do the poses and exercises. Then there is a time where she plays a gong, while students lie back on the floor and listen, and meditate. I used this time to do some Reiki on myself, which I've been trying to remember to do more often. Then came a time of seated meditation, one hand over the heart for awareness of its beating, and one hand raised in a prayerful gesture. I cannot achieve "easy" position -- which appears to be a variation of the lotus position -- but I expect with practice I will get it in time. For now, just sitting cross-legged on the floor is enough, and it hurts like crazy. My physical flexibility is not the greatest, and part of this process I'm going through is an attempt to improve it. So, eleven minutes of sitting in this posture with one hand raised was probably the hardest thing I had to do all night.

Eleven minutes is a LONG time! But just when I thought I couldn't hold the position any longer, a beautiful golden light filled my eyes, behind my closed lids, and I felt a Divine pressure coming down on my head, and surrounding me. It made me cry, and I didn't want to. I was supposed to be focusing my intent on what I wished to pray for. And then it occurred to me that perhaps I was supposed to re-focus my intent elsewhere. Where better than to ask for help in learning not to be ashamed or afraid of my own tears? To let them come without fighting, and let them pass. By the time the meditation ended a few minutes later, they had indeed come and gone, and I did not feel like a fool.

I stayed and spoke with the instructor for a bit afterwards, told her what has been going on in my life, and about the heart attack scare, and how much I need music to be a part of the things I'm doing to de-stress. She said she felt I had found the right place to come, then told me not to worry if emotions came to the surface. Just let them come, and let them be. Having emotions surface like that is proof that the meditation is working for me. She advised me to build slowly to the eleven minutes, and to try and take my meditation time at the same time every day. To build a habit and create a routine. So far, I have failed in that, but it is in my mind. Now, to implement it.

But I did feel better after the class, and though I did have a couple of crying jags at work yesterday, I simply went into the restroom and allowed them to come and go. Both times, co-workers came in and wanted to talk, and I was able to communicate easily enough, and not fight to hold the tears back. Let them go. Let them be.

I'm really looking forward to the session this evening, come what may emotion-wise. There will be a lot more focus on gong meditation, if I'm reading what the ashram's website says correctly. Some Kundalini yoga, but much gong music. The man who is leading this will have more than one gong, or so the instructor told me on Thursday. I expect it will be interesting, at least.

On Thursday I will go back for another class. I like the quiet focus, and the general atmosphere of holiness without excessive chatter. Sometimes going to regular church with my family is just too noisy, and fraught with distractions.

There is too much talking in this world in general. I find more words of wisdom in songs, and withdraw so those voices are the only ones I hear. They keep me sane, especially, though not solely, Grant's. His voice and words are a great comfort, even though this piece triggered a crying jag just before lunch yesterday.

I'm thinking so much about beginnings and endings and changes lately. Something old in me has died, and something else is rising to the surface. This being is not kinder or gentler at the moment. This being will do his/her best not to hold everything in. This being is determined not to allow a pressure cooker build-up again. This being is striving towards NOT wishing for death during sleep.

"It's not that kind of world. No one knows and no one guesses. There are no nos, there are no yeses..."

Hubby just stuck his head in the door announcing some errand he wishes to do, says he'll be back in plenty of time for me to go out, and says he hopes I don't mind that he isn't going with me. I laughed, and said I had no intention of bringing him in the first place, because he can't sit still and be quiet for five minutes, and I would not dream of bringing him to an ashram. Never mind that he would probably hate it as much as he hates my drumming in church. Repetitive percussion of any kind drives him crazy. Is it mean of me to be glad of that? Is it mean of me to feel I need my own spiritual exercises, separate from those I go through the motions of doing with him?

But after church I am always left feeling as if I got cheated out of the feast everyone else seems to be enjoying. Why do I not feel sustained, fulfilled, uplifted? There are good people in that church, who I like very much.

Perhaps it is the lack of stillness, or my lack of ability to create that still space within my environment, or maybe even a feeling that it would be sinful and/or selfish to create such a space in such an environment.

I don't have the answers, but I am seeking, and hoping it will lead to contentment, and a better tolerance for what works for others. But first I must find what works for myself.

Heart Attack Scare

2011-01-18T17:40:00.004-05:00

I ended up leaving work today at noon, and heading over to the local ER. I had been trying to ignore low-grade but constant chest pain since about 10:30 last night, and at 11:45 AM, I quit trying.

They have come to the conclusion that there is nothing wrong with my heart, which is good news.

The bad news?

It's "just" stress, which is a whole hell of a lot harder to treat. I'm supposed to stay home from work the next two days and rest.

Rest. And how does one do that with a pregnant daughter about to pop, another daughter with Asperger's and hyperemotionalism, a workaholic husband with cancer who isn't doing too well emotionally himself, and a mother who is fast becoming senile enough to be transferred to a nursing home?

I feel like I am really losing my grip, here. And despite spending an afternoon at the hospital trying to sort things out, I still don't feel good.

I desperately need to de-stress, but...how?

If the roads are in decent shape tomorrow, perhaps I will drive to the ocean...

Grandbaby Knits

2011-01-16T21:16:00.004-05:00

The countdown begins. Baby is due on January 23rd, but it could be any time now.

All the knitting I intended to do is done.

Hat and sweaters are now just waiting for a baby to wear them!

When Technology Fails...

2011-01-16T17:55:00.004-05:00

...just shut up and play your fuckin' guitar...

Today I learned that I have not forgotten how to plug into an amplifier, nor how to incorporate a vocal microphone. My amplifier will support both, with designated controls and plug-ins for each. It hums something awful, but once I start playing and singing, the hum gets drowned out. Must figure out how to eliminate that hum, but not tonight. It is enough to have played and sung and enjoyed the process.

Later this week, I will be back in business with a new Tascam that works, or so I devoutly hope...

Tascam continued

2011-01-16T14:12:00.002-05:00

I figured I would have to jump through umpteen million hoops, but Amazon has made it very simple to resolve the problem.

No one should have to jump up and down on one foot chanting, "There's no place like home," in Swahili to get a monitor jack in a recording unit to actually monitor a recording. It would be counter-productive, and no musician would ever get anything done.

We never did resort to the afore-mentioned ridiculous tactic to get the machine to work, but I was almost desperate enough to try. What stopped me? Well, not the utter silliness of the concept. Frankly, my dears, I don't know Swahili, and I had serious doubts as to whether some other language would suffice, or make the unit explode in my hands. So...

I went to Amazon to see what to do, and found out how easy it is to do a return. They do not have to wait until they've received the original unit, as I feared might be the case. Au contraire! I even had a nice follow-up e-mail from customer service saying they were very sorry for my problem and would send a replacement forthwith, which should be in my hot little hands by Tuesday! All I have to do is make sure they have the defective unit back by February 17th, and I will not be charged for the second unit.

Hooray for Priority Mail and its free package tracking service! I will know when the package arrives at Amazon, and that will most likely be no later than the end of this week.

Even if I don't have any real time to do serious recording, you can bet your sweet bippy I'll make sure the unit works as soon as I've got it. Not taking any chances this time. I think one of these little units, in good working order, will be a great thing. I did like what I could hear, until the monitor ceased to function. With 8 tracks at my disposal, I should be able to make my recordings a whole lot more interesting than they are at present.

Off to retrieve my amplifier from my kid's closet, and hoping I can remember how to plug everything in without blowing myself to Kingdom Come.

Mad Angel + Machines = Bad Idea

2011-01-16T13:15:00.004-05:00

Trying not to get too discouraged, but it appears that there is something wrong with my brand-new, used for the first time today, Tascam DP-0008. Monitoring what I'm trying to record works intermittently. It'll be great for about 5 minutes, then all sound in my headphones stops dead and cannot be resurrected for love or money. Hubby got it going briefly, and then it died on him, too.

The reviews for this thing said it was "moron proof," so I figured it would be the perfect machine for me.

It is not turning out to be so. I hope it's just a defective unit I can have replaced, and not "operator error."

I am mucho pissed off right now. There are no software or firmware updates at the Tascam website.

Pissed!!!!

Blue Condition

2011-01-15T18:28:00.004-05:00

General inertia is now a cloud of blue, and I feel surrounded, engulfed, obliterated. This is life with chronic depression. Some days just go that way. Maybe it's just simply a matter of having a lot on my mind.

My granddaughter could begin arriving in the world at any moment, though the official due date is not until next Sunday. As I wait, I feel terribly unsettled, afraid to venture too far from home, tethered to the cell phone, knowing at any given moment, I will need to drop everything and run.

I am the labor coach, and perhaps it's mean of me to say, but I am not taking on that role for my daughter's sake. I am taking it on, because that's the only time I'll get to spend with my granddaughter for quite some time. She is being adopted by a wonderful family, and there will be future contact with the child and her new family, but...

She is being adopted. She is not coming home with us.

This is probably for the best. My daughter is not ready to be a parent, and I am not in a position to quit my job and raise an infant at this point in my life. I am nearing 50, and my husband has cancer. Though it has been caught early and surgery should eliminate it completely, there are no guarantees. The doctors say it looks good, but anything can happen. In a worst case scenario, I could not raise a young child as a single mom.

This feels like a huge weakness on my part. An admission of defeat. A testimony to my own selfishness. It makes me feel like I totally and utterly suck.

People say I am talented, I am smart, look at all the things I've done over the years, how driven I am, how accomplished, and all I can do on a day like this is look at them blankly. Who, me? Really. I simply can't see it. The things I'm good at -- where have they gotten me? I can't get a publisher or agent to give me the time of day. My yarn business failed. Music? Well, I enjoy playing for my own pleasure, and I record stuff to amuse myself and share with friends, but it won't go anywhere beyond that. I'm too shy about performing these days, and while refusing to perform might have worked for Harry Nilsson, well, I'm no Harry Nilsson. I just do what I do, and sometimes it satisfies me, and sometimes it doesn't.

Reality check. I work in a factory doing assembly. I like the work well enough, but wish I had the confidence to turn something creative I do into a modest profit, so I could quit my day job.

I had better stop now, before I go off on the loneliness/isolation tangent. :-(

Inertia

2011-01-14T20:42:00.002-05:00

It's one of those nights. Here I am, at the end of a long work week, exhausted, thinking about doing something creative, and completely unable to motivate myself. I feel restless, and can't seem to settle into anything.

As we approach the birth of my granddaughter, the whole household seems to be holding its breath in an odd sort of way. The atmosphere is heavy as we wait.

I have an inch to go on the last baby sweater, which I should be able to knock out in no time, but I don't even feel like picking it up. Perhaps tomorrow morning, before work.

Yes, work. Maybe that's my problem. It's Friday night, but it's not Friday night, because I have to get up at four, like any other day of the week. This weekend, I do not own my weekend. Five hours belong to my employer.

What I really need more than anything is some quality "alone time" in this house. I tried to record a couple of songs last night, but dogs barked, kids galumphed loudly up and down the hallways, telemarketers intruded, the grocery guy arrived...you get the picture. Too many noisy interruptions! I haven't even listened to the recordings yet. I'm afraid to. It was such an unproductive session, I doubt anything is salvageable. I'll face it sometime tomorrow and see what happens.

Right now, I just feel an overwhelmingly pervasive sense of "blue." Perhaps "bedways is rightways," and things will look brighter in the morning.

Future a tad less uncertain...

2011-01-13T22:35:00.002-05:00

Hubby's surgical consult today went as well as one could hope, given the circumstances, if I can believe what he tells me. (He would not allow me to accompany him, so I stayed at work and waited for his phone call.)

We have been extraordinarily lucky. The cancer was detected at such an early stage, surgery should be able to get it all out, and there will most likely be no radiation or chemo to contend with.

They say any side effects from the surgery are just temporary and will resolve within six months to a year.

Phew!

It's not going to be a walk in the park, but it's not going to be a total horror, either, and early demise is not part of the equation.

My frustration now is simply that I cannot just quit my job and deal solely with things on the home front. Work seems trivial by comparison. Damn.

Advance blessings on my dear music friends. You've all pulled me through tough times before, and I know I can count on you now, too...

My Kitty is a Basket Case...

2011-01-12T20:40:00.001-05:00

Lord Steven Catsby looooooves curling up in baskets!

A poem

2011-01-12T14:24:00.004-05:00

Eggshell

Hard-boiling some eggs, I wonder

If I take the lid off the pan

Will I hear the shells singing?

Bubbles dance and rise

As I bend down and listen --

There!

Steam warm against my ear,

And a delicate hiss,

Then a faint chirp and twitter

As the temperature rises.

If a shell has a weakness,

A crack unseen to the naked eye,

The pressure within

Will burst it,

And part

Of the semi-fluid egg

Will twist itself into the water,

Transforming

Into distorted, rubbery nodules.

But these shells

Are whole this time:

Firm, and strong.

They do not explode.

The eggs within

Retain their shapes.

Shells so fragile,

Like the walls of my heart.

Shells so much stronger

Than the walls of my heart,

Which crack, then burst

As the feelings within pour out,

Mangled and hideous.

No one wants to look at them.

No one wants to touch them.

The eggshell heart

Has broken and died.

Now, how to move on,

Leave the pain behind,

When no song remains

For this eggshell

Heart of mine

To sing?

C.P. Warner

21 November 2010

Writing on Computers

2011-01-11T21:53:00.005-05:00

I have been online since 1997. I resisted computers and the internet for a number of years, then finally caved in when we moved to the small town where I still reside. There isn't much going on here, and I don't have much in common with the locals, so accessing the internet turned out to be a God-send.

Being as I've never found it easy to locate friends with even vaguely similar interests in my immediate geographical location, the world wide web really did open up a lot of possibilities for me. I made friends with new folks and learned to communicate with more ease than I ever imagined myself doing. I found my "voice," and real-life social situations, while still sometimes awkward, became a whole lot easier in most cases.

One pet peeve of mine is being told by numerous people that no one can really write anything of worth without reverting to pen and paper. Perhaps that is true of some people, but there are exceptions to every rule, and I believe I am one of those exceptions.

Oh, certainly, I've learned a bit of internet shorthand here and there: BRB, LOL, ROFLMAO, WTF, OMFG, and the like, and I do use them now and then. But by and large, I have never learned the "art" of the misspelled, badly punctuated, poorly constructed e-mail "postcards" an awful lot of people seem to send.

Yes, I will send the occasional brief message consisting of one or two lines, but for the most part, most of my e-mails read the same way one of my letters would. I take care to compose an e-mail, and if I have time, I re-read it and check spelling, and tweak a word or phrase here and there. No paper is wasted, no trees are killed, and in the end I am pleased with my efforts.

I can and do really write on a computer, and have been doing so since approximately 1986. I only resort to pen and paper when I have no computer access, and then, as soon as I can get my hands on a computer again, whatever I wrote on paper gets entered and saved as soon as possible.

I realize what works for me may well not work for other folks. They may have their paper and pen, and more power to them.

As for me, I will stick to my computer. It has been at the heart of many friendships I have established over the years, including one that began just a year ago tonight.

Information, communication, the world at my fingertips: it's a Good Thing. :-)

What Do I Want?

2011-01-10T06:08:00.002-05:00

The song says, screamed by Grant Hart with vocal cord bruising intensity over a roaring wall of guitar distortion and furiously pounding drums:

WHAT DO I WANT????

WHAT"LL MAKE ME HAPPY???

NOTHING, NOTHING, NOTHING!!!!!!!!!!!

Simple, yes? Almost ridiculous in its simplicity? Perhaps.

But wait...there's more...and no, I am not selling a set of Ginsu knives...

On a good day, I kind of shake my head and chuckle, as there is some wry humor to a song like this one. If a vocalist could scream with his tongue firmly wedged in his cheek, this is how it would sound.

On a bad day, this song has the ability to break me out of whatever foul mood I'm in. Though the inducement of laughter was probably not what Mr. Hart had in mind at the time of composition, this is what it does for me. But it only works in this way when I'm in a ridiculously self-pitying mood. Sometimes it takes more than one run-through -- like, maybe a dozen, because the song only lasts about a minute-and-a-half. If I can, at some point during multiple playbacks, laugh at the sheer absurdity of everything, then I know the bad mood was not as bad as I thought, and I can put things back in perspective.

On a really bad day, I wonder, what, indeed, do I want? What would make me happy? And in response I feel as if I could scream "nothing, nothing, nothing" at the top of my lungs until my throat exploded. I could probably outscream Mr. Hart, and that's saying something!

Today, what do I want? Things that are simply impossible to get.

I want the life I envisioned in my optimistic youth, in which I am successful as a musician and novelist, published, recorded, and happily earning my keep with no bullshit from the outside world. (Epic Fail.)

I want to have raised children who are happy, confident, and growing towards success in life on all levels. (I did my best, but...Epic Fail.)

I want parents who loved me and taught me all things were possible, and believed in me. (BEYOND Epic Fail.)

I want a mother who does not believe, and regularly state her belief, that I am the scarlet whore of Babylon, and my husband is a man to be pitied. (Aaaaaaggghhhhh...)

I want a husband who does not appear to be married to telescopes and football -- not that I would deny him those things, which he does enjoy, but -- all things in moderation, yes? -- and also, for the record, I would really like it if he did not have cancer and an uncertain future at the moment.

I want...to have more time to finish writing this, but...I owe, I owe, so off to work I go. Perhaps I will have time to finish later today...

However, as part of the point of this exercise is to keep my thoughts brief and concise...perhaps not. Tune in again later...

On my Battles with Religious Folk

2011-01-09T12:40:00.002-05:00

Daemon

Little Lamb hung a millstone

'Round one of the Father's Little Ones

Weighted her down

Flung her into the sea

Washed the grime of corruption

From her fine white Christian fleece

And went on her way

Never looking back to make sure

The Little One had drowned

Little Lamb cried of hunger and starvation

Of not being fed at the banquet table

The minions believed

Little Lamb held sway

The feast prepared was bit by bit swept away

Left behind in confusion

The Unworthy sought for crumbs

But Little Lamb had gathered them

Every last one

No loaves and fishes miracles

No multitudes were fed

A void remains

Painfully constrained

Within a roof and four walls

Little Lamb went her staunch, unyielding way

Destruction in her wake

Believing in her ways and her ways alone

Walking the walk and talking the talk

Sweet, pretty poison in a sweet, pretty package

A creature to fear, a creature to run from

Coldly deciding who is saved and who is not

The minions still believe

Little Lamb holds sway

And where is God found

In the face of this injustice?

All around

Weeping at the cruelty

Shown one Christian by another

In the name of the Son

They attack and wound

Then murder the souls

Of those perceived as weak

Survival of the worthiest

Christian Darwinism

Who says they don't believe in

Evolution?

Murderous Little Lamb

Yearns for the martyr's death

Thinks it's her Golden Ticket into Heaven

The one she tried to kill cannot --

Nay, will not -- oblige her

She's one who isn't worth

The price to be paid

For committing that particular sin

Forgive and walk away, Child

Forgive, but watch your back

Drop that apple and run

Far and fast as you can

For Satan clothes himself

In appealing disguises

CP Warner

1 September 2010

Revised 6 January 2011

In the beginning...

2011-01-09T11:58:00.000-05:00

...were my words, and my thoughts, and my dreams...life heading in strange directions as I begin 2011...

I may still do an occasional update on Beware of the Blog, but only when I feel more light-hearted than I generally do these days.

New friends are teaching me good lessons as I approach my 49th birthday and my 50th year. Some old friends continue to teach me as well, while others do not. Those who do not, sadly, will end up falling by the wayside, not that I think they will notice it happening. If they do notice and return to me, then I will know they are "keepers," and I will continue to hold them close. Otherwise?

Life is short. Too short. Not to be pessimistic, but realistically speaking, once I hit 50, my life will be past the half-way mark, and what will I have to show for this?

I feel a need to leave something of worth. What will it be?