lifelong knitter

match point

I was craving control over SOME small aspect of my world, so I made a careful study of the color changes in the Opal yarn...wrote it down, and then carefully noted where I cast on. When it was time to do the second sock, I made sure I started at exactly the same place in the progression....and it WORKED!

Thanks for noticing!

Kodachrome Sox

After all of that song and dance, my feet deserved something special. A consolation prize, unfortunately. They picked the girl with the bigger, um, presentations. Story of my life.
I LOST the big war, and stayed up most of the night, tearily (?) knitting, hearing my Mother's voice...warning me about the disadvantages of being the *smart girl*.
The smaller, more personal battle, was successfull. My son's social worker got her job *back*, with a benefits package she can live with ( and a leased vehicle) so his services will continue relatively unchanged from his perspective. Which is the important thing.
There is a boatload of transitional paperwork (of COURSE) and I have no intention of letting the Turkeys get me down on any kind of permanent basis,
but it HURTS, nonetheless.

The show must go ON, and so I will quickly transition to talking about what I DID accomplish!

I love these socks! The second in the Opal series (the first pair was gifted to a sort of lukewarm response, and not pictured, but they were PRACTICE for these, anyway...)
this is the Brasil colorway. Size 1US needles. YUP.
The hourglass heel is from the Twisted Sock Sisters book, and a modification of their basic toe, to fit MY toes.

Okay, I've wasted enough time whining about being a loser....time to go see the Boy bird for the afternoon (his job coach is sick so I get More Time than USUAL!) and so he and his sister can have some fun at the bookstore and the bagel shop before she heads back to school this weekend.

Maybe the SUN will come out. Tomorrow.

Musical Comedy

In tonight's performance, the part of Little Mary SUnshine will be performed by Yours Truly. No Flash photography, please, and remember to turn off all cell phones and pagers. Enjoy the show....

I firmly believe that we write the script for our own daily LIFE. I love the idea that we choose it ahead of time, and drink from the River of Unknowing (which I always imagined as the Perfect Pinot Noir after which I still quest....) but empirical evidence is still OUT on that one (obviously).

It has been MY experience that when I can SEE what I am after, truly believe in it, and do the work necessary to give birth to it, I can do anything I set my mind to. The problem (as in any good musical comedy) is that other people have their script written, too, and have cast me in an entirely different role. The trick is to wear the hats (ala Bartholomew Huggins) gracefully and come up with a win-win situation.

Conversely, if one says, oh I couldn't possibly do THAT...well, no you probably can't, if you can't imagine yourself doing it. Even if you think you want it badly, if you state out loud to the Universe that you CAN'T, sometimes someone else steps right into the understudy role, and poof, different scene altogether.

I'm standing alone in my current role, surrounded by naysayers. Fortunately, I live in Brigadoon, and I can go back to my little studio after the song and dance number, roll up the drawbridge, make sure the alligators in the moat aren't TOO well fed, and get back to my Own Work. First thing TUesday morning after the Spring Semester starts and the legislative chips have fallen where they may.

Cue the big FINALE...

From the DESK of...

I hesitated (but only briefly) to post this picture because none of my STUFF is set up yet. This is the one and only day my desk will ever look like this. The wall will not be empty, there will be little angels and pencil pots made by my children, pictures of family and friends (maybe YOU!) and I hope to have a shadow box/shrine contraption for a constantly changing display of trinkets my magpie heart cannot resist....
and OH! Wonder of wonders, the fabulous recycling truck just pulled up and took away all of the cardboard and styrofoam and packing tape that surrounded this lovely desk on the journey from Pottery Barn.
Life is sweet.
Eat dessert first once in awhile!

Just Joking

One of the absolutely baffling things about having children on the autistic spectrum is that everything is so LITERAL. I happen to have a rather wicked sense of humor, and I love more than anything to play with words...so it is often difficult for me to try and "explain" what jokes are all about.

Teasing is hurtful and hateful when you don't have an ordinary frame of reference, and I have learned to see beyond what most people justify as *only* teasing. Where do you draw the line in the sand, beyond which it is bullying?

Imagine my shock, then, when Daughter bird sang from the backseat..."I learned a new joke! Can I try it out on you?"

We were on our way to pick out a real desk for my new studio. I've been blogging from the edge of a nightstand for a couple of months now, and I need a DESK. The old studio came furnished, with decrepid fake cherry laminate surfaces....I don't miss it in the least.

She agreed to accompany me because said trip takes us right past the bookstore and the ice cream place, and so she lobbied for both,(with sprinkles, please!) in exchange for patience.

"Okay, let's hear the joke."

"Why couldn't the 3 year old get into the Pirate movie?"

dramatic pause

"Because it was rated ARRRRRR!"

teehee.

We're making progress. I have a new desk, she has a new sense of humor. Just in time for the Spring semester to start next week.

I could NOT resist the Apple store, but I only went in and drooled *a little* over the new ipod photo.

A possible win-win situation is developing on the legislative front...I am cautiously optimistic. Please continue to pray!

One kodachrome sock is complete, I'm about halfway to the heel of the second. Happily knitting  with 1US needles...will wonders never cease!

Storytime

It has been awhile since I have posted a Daddy and Danger Girl story...and I need to switch horses for a wee bit to catch my breath.
A dear friend, born in February like my Daddy (and sharing many of his brilliant, practical, logical traits) sent me something via email that just reaffirmed my belief in miraculous help (for which I often PRAY!) in times of trouble.
It was about Geraniums.
Instantly, tears welled up from a long forgotten place, and I let myself be transported back through the layers of meaning that unfolded before me.
When I was determined to go to college, my Daddy said one day "What will I do without you to cheer me up?" A very unusual statement for someone who prided himself always on his self reliance and doled out perhaps a hug per decade. I rode my bike down the long hill to the flower stand and bought three geraniums, the maximum that would fit in the small basket on my handlebars. It was a hard ride back up all of the hills and I remember trying extra hard not to spill even a drop of soil from the pots. I took some cinderblocks and a piece of wood and made a little shelf outside of the window to his office. I put the little pots there and watered them and went inside. He was BUSY working (as always) and I waited patiently until he looked up and said "YES?" I told him to look out the window at the geraniums. " "They'll be there to cheer you up, Dad. You can overwinter them and they'll come back, every year! Okay?" He made some comment about how I had always believed things came back every year, was I sure? Then he was back at work, and I felt like I had made a bigger decision than just whether I really was going to college or not.
Years later, whenever I went back home, those pots were always on the rickety shelf, with geraniums in them. I assumed he (or my mother, more likely) got new ones every year and like so many other things at the old homeplace, just kept the picture looking the same. Little did I know.
All through his chemotherapy, his battle back to remission the first time, he kept those geraniums watered, or made sure whoever came to help out watered them. One of the caregivers commented to me that he was INSISTENT those flowers got taken care of.
The last time I went back to that house, I stepped out on the patio and saw the leggy, struggling geraniums, and went to get them some water. I deadheaded them and saw a few new shoots at the nodes.
"You were right, you know." My Dad wheezed from the steps. "They came back, every year, and cheered me up. Through it ALL."
WHAAAT?
"You don't mean to tell me that those are the ORIGINAL plants?"
"Yep. I never was too good with plants, not like you, but I figured you'd have a FIT if I let anything happen to them..."
He hugged me awkwardly, and stepped back into the house.
"Thanks for always trying to cheer me up. I know it was Impossible much of the time."
"Well, Dad, you KNOW how much I always loved Mission Impossible!"
We both grinned.
So, thanks for the geraniums, Friend.
JUST what I needed.

Ribbit

As one of my heroes (Kermit the FROG, to be precise) often says, "It isn't easy bein' GREEN...but one frog CAN make a difference!"
I am attempting to READ through the Mental Health Reform legislation (Rumor has it that the actual physical copy is almost 16 inches thick!) which set all of the recent commotion into high gear. I figure it is the LEAST I can do, and the thing most of the clients at the far end of the paperwork cannot do for themselves.
We are of course strategizing and organizing at the street level, plus the usual calls to the Fundraising specialists, and in my spare time, I'm nearly finished with the first Kodachrome sock. I am not sleeping much, and of course trying not to think too much about where all of this is going to take me in my little canoe....
Class FIVE rapids, most likely. History has a tendency to repeat itself.
I cannot sit idly by and complain (as so many feel is their major contribution) while there is WORK to be done, for which I feel a special, private calling.
This time though, I will be cognizant of my limited ability to go for months at a time with little sleep. No crashing and burning this time around. This is a battle I need to enter fully rested.
I am encouraged, and try to remember when the ADA was merely a pipe dream....
when I used to console myself with a favorite Carl Sagan quote:
"In order to make an apple pie
from scratch,
you must first invent the Universe."

So May it BE.

Research

I went to the meeting, I asked questions, and tried to determine WHAT was actually going on and how exactly it happened, and what if anything I can DO about it.
My feeling is that I have a very small window of opportunity to make a big difference for a lot of people without advocacy. I've already got both feet out the window, ready to leap...my brightly colored parachute packed.
Much research is required to figure out the best way to resolve this issue,
but be assured, I am in this for the Long Haul.
As Always, not just for my children, but for you and yours, as well.

Funniest moment?
I hopped out of my truck, dressed suitably for Battle.
One of my hastily assembled team members
said "Whoa, I didn't know you were so, um, TALL."
"I'm not tall, I'm FURIOUS. Entirely different animal altogether."
pause
"Well, I must remember to somehow get you just this side of furious before our annual Fundraiser
and just wind you up and let you GO. What's the plan?"

"The Spanish Inquisition, Dude."

"WHAAAT?"

"Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!"

Apparently not a Python fan, he went a few shades of pale.

teehee.

Thank you for your prayers and hugs and continued support. Please stay tuned as Danger Girl rides back into battle....

Circles

Every month I look longingly at the pictures Maggi posts of her monthly knitting night and I think two thinks....."I wanna GO" and "OOOOO, she is so BRAVE!" TO which she always responds, "come on OVER, sister, we'd love to have you!"

SO, this month, I went. Daughter bird had been pestering me (in the uniquely autistic way that makes Perfect Logical Sense and Must Be Obeyed...) to go see Maggi and the Wee C before the holidays were completely over (which gave me until Epiphany) so that she could give Caroline the gift she had picked out.

It was fabulous. Fabulous, I tell you. I'm sure Maggi has pictures and a full report over in her little corner of the world...

It is going to take me awhile to fully process the miraculous feeling of being in a circle of women who are knitting and quilting and talking about books and our daughters are weaving themselves in and out of the conversations and the cats are the Stars of the Show. sigh.

When I got back, though, the picture was entirely different. I have to spend the afternoon at a meeting I am dreading. I got a form letter a week or so ago about some *transitions* (translation:funding cuts) in the state plan for the agency that works with my son's caregivers. I discovered that all of the county mental health social workers have been *released* and are being given the opportunity to reapply for their jobs with the two new agencies which will centrally coordinate what has been handled by our local county agencies.

Now. We have a fabulous social worker (it IS possible, and I think I deserve at least ONE in my long career of dealing with these agencies who mean well but are most often underfunded, overworked, and fraught with fraudulant applications for services...don't GET me started) who adores my son and treats us both like PEOPLE. She works well with all of the administrative layers that filter up and around her AND she is a single parent trying her best to put two daughters through school. She gets to reapply for her own job? WTF? I don't often use strong language, either in person or on this blog, but I am ready to blow my proverbial stack. Should you see dense thick black smoke rising from the center of the State this afternoon, it may be me, losing my temper. I have a very very very long fuse, but you do NOT want to be the person who makes me reach the end of it, especially if you are threatening the well being of one of my birds. Heads are gonna ROLL, I'm just warning you now.

I'll be the one knitting a kodachrome Opal sock, with very sharp, pointy needles.

Ready

I was awake at the crack of LIGHT this morning, thinking deep thoughts about the mystery and wonder of the Universe and my little patch of the garden. Thinking about WRITING and the power of the written word to transport us all to the same plane at the same time....so that when I say Alchemy, or Opal sock yarn, and you know what I mean, we're all in a little room together, giggling.
You'll pardon me, but I really LOVE the mystery. When my cell phone rings and it is someone on the other side of the world who happens to be my youngest brother and he says he is just calling to check in, I can SEE his grin and know that he is in one of his very rare relaxed moments...I KNOW how the technology works, but it is still MAGIC to me.
As is the fact that string and air, manipulated with sticks becomes SOCKS.
wow.
I think I'll start another pair!
mwah!