A Quiet Sunday Morning

“It had to happen, a little like Vesuvius and with equal devastation caused, what part of all of this did “him in doors” not see coming when he started moaning about there being nothing to watch on TV last night…..  “

Says me in my self-defence and to justify the explosion this morning.   

There has been three things which have really been bugging me since April which have been part of the “get round to it” list…

1.   Last February my walking boots when missing (lets be clear about this – February 2007 not 2008).  It was OK though, HE knew where they were…

fine, so share this with me – apparently this was not possible and neither was the location of same…. stale mate…

2. The Dishwasher – not repeating myself over this…we have only moved as far as it needing a hole in the wall to itself and needing a trip to B & Q.   As Bruce visits B & Q on average twice a week, don’t really understand the problem here…

3.  The other escapes my mind at the moment, because the first is now so critical it leaves everything in its shadow…

I have three pairs of shoes to my name, one on my feet, a pair of flip flops and my walking boots…  You wouldn’t think it possible to lose track of one of these. 

Bruce on the other hand owns loads, three which reside under the coffee table in the front living room, two I can see from the top of the stairs in the hallway… need I go on?    Yes? – thank you… a true friend is someone who doesn’t distract me when I am on a rant….

There are the wet weather ones, the cold weather ones, the working ones, the sandal ones… the…. well shall I get up in the morning and wear them ones….

Mine, are the ones I wear to work, in the garden, home, in the car – multi-tasking here.. they then fall of my feet and I buy a new pair. 

The use of shoes could be used as a metaphor for how different we are…

The reason the shoes are so important is that Murphy is one very heavy dog, difficult to handle without solidly planting yourself or connecting yourself to the earth in some way…

I am not even going there with my day-to-day shoes or flip-flops – I will break my neck.  I have pointed out the logic and the risk assessment has been written, along with the plain, flat refusal now to go anywhere with that hound unless I have the means to control him.  

Having no shoes on your feet in the middle of a muddy field does not really assist in this task – but spookily I realise, as I expound the problem in writing,  I am covered by insurance for an accident…..   and who set up that insurance?  Is he trying to tell me something…

No – I shan’t go with that thought – I have been watching too much Desperate Housewives…

I conclude that the image of this round fat women rolling around in a muddy field, with a dog totally out of control is probably an image that would give perverse pleasure to the family… even if my sense humour might be strained with a broken ankle or neck.

So where was I?

I have three hours this morning to undertake a week’s worth of chores and important tasks….. none of which involve chasing Bruce.  I start on these and discover that not only has nothing been done all week, but the stuff I cleared up last week has had another layer of junk placed on it this week.

This just isn’t fair – and I rather volubly point this out.  There are only two of us – only two bodies use this house (and the hound)…. where on earth….  then the swear words started, sorry, and then the rant started… I shall miss the rest out, because I am sure you can guess…

As Bruce scrabbles around desperately looking for a defence he cites Murphy as the cause of a lot of the mess…

SINCE F~~****ING WHEN HAS THE DOG LEARNED TO COOK !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and mastered the art of delicately balance furry pizza bits in the fridge, unwrapping and placing boxes and glasses on top of the entrance way to a room I was clearing….

I know he is a clever dog, and I did have quite a stand off with him last night, when he decided he was going to sit in MY chair… but I am sorry – I totally, point blank refuse to believe that he has caused this carnage….

Now I have two three choices here…

a) ring a TV reality programme producer and get him to invite his crew in to publicly humiliate a person too stupid to realise that when confronted with irrefutable evidence you just apologise, and get stuck in to resolve; or

b) cut out the middle man and just give way to the full and very voluble expression of my feelings in the vain hope I am able to control myself enough not to kill him, and burst a blood vessel in the meantime… or

c) just walk out….

I discounted the last one because it actually is my house, so what the bloody heck do I have to do to get some peace in it.

I discounted the first – not immediate enough of a resolution.

So B it had to be…I have been practicing this particular transferable skill all week on work colleagues, so might as well make use of the practice and energy of momentum which has built up…..

——————

Two hours later I am now calmly sitting at my computer, committing the scene which preceded the clearing up of the bedrooms… to the written word so I won’t forget – and it is NaNoWriMo month – all words are good words , I am also:

• nursing my headache,
• trying to remember where the stuff I need to take with me to go down to Cullompton is…

I have located a couple of skeins of wool to start some fresh projects in the car, I have downloaded iTunes, printed the labels for the Schedule of Expenses that I am a month behind with – no spinning today for you girl, accounts here I come.

• I am trying to remember what I need to do to sort out an appointment for a Liver Scan which my GP has decided I urgently require,
• I am desperately trying to remember what coursework I need to do before Thursday pm – a mediation counselling training session would you believe….  
• With my other pair of hands I remember that we have to attend the hospital on Wednesday to meet with the surgeon for the results of Toby’s operation… 
• I definitely need a bath, but now don’t have time – not if I want to roll that skein into a ball before going….

Enough with the worry list….

Moving on….

• I am wondering why any family needs 7 keyboards and five routers… all purchased because nobody could find what they needed handily and bought replacements. 
• Three copies of the DVD Independence Day – amongst other less known films….
• I am looking bewilderingly at a set of raunchy red silken double sheets – as I am a strictly cotton and percole woman – somebody was trying to say something and lost their nerve…

and finally…..

I am cradling my muddy – spider inhabited – much beloved boots under my arm……. sometimes victory can be rewarded………. even at the price of such loss of dignity….

All was not wasted this morning…. now I can move on…

“B…RU….CE……”  I shriek down the stairs…. “where is my……”

(well I am on a roll… what was the third thing on that list…..!!!!)

Touching Base with myself

I have had one of “those” days.  I thought I would cheer myself up by sharing some of the highlights with you – tune to another station now if you are not interested – I wish I could.

Waking up to be told that your nearest and sometimes dearest hasn’t slept all night – so obviously that snoring coming from another FLOOR in the house was some kind of insect… to be followed by all the reasons that he shouldn’t have had the curry.  Too much information….  and I actually enjoyed mine.

****

Arriving in work to find no heating in my room – typed until I couldn’t actually feel my fingers anymore and then decided this wasn’t sane.  Tried putting on mittens, but really didn’t do my accuracy or speed any favours.  Made a cup of tea, warmed my hands, thought about setting fire to the files, in the centre of the room, but decided that would only solve my short-term discomfort. In the long term this might mean me not being allowed an office, or even in an office and could potentially endanger others, as well as upsetting my precarious bank balance.   

After dutifully weighing up the pros and cons, the concept of setting fire to the office became appealing again, but then remembered the hassle of Health & Safety paperwork, so reluctantly desisted.

*****

Going back to my bank balance decided I had better check whether a) my salary was in place and b) the bank was still in place.

Pleased to report that the bank and salary had been in place briefly, but only showing a shallow footprint as the funds are now scattered to deserving causes, such as the gas, electricity, government etc. 

******

Browsing the tinternet at lunchtime looking for something to inspire me to write, came across a rather random news story about a man with dirty pictures on his computer who has sleeping problem so shouldn’t go to prison.  My first thought here, being if I was such a corrupt individual – and I think him being convicted makes that a fairly legally safe assumption -  I would have thought sleeping was least of my problems in prison…

Reading on I discovered, as an aside that he had fled to the Shetlands, after escaping an unhappy marriage – oh that is interesting – I know a “couple who moved to the Shetlands about three years ago…….” – in fact we went to their wedding and Toby took photos and ironed his shirt for the occasion -  reading further on, with horror I realise that he was actually the person who had rather shockingly shacked up with the friend (regretfully ex-friend) of mine who is no longer part of “the couple who moved to the Shetlands.”

what a small world – now that HAS given me something to write about, but I really would rather not. 

********

So back to work I go, and typing furiously/with the phone on divert discovered that unfortunately no matter how good my resolve is to beat all land speed and world records, I still can only do 2 1/2 hours work in  2 1/2 hours… shame that.

*****

Home again, home again jiggedy-jig – ahh I shall iron some warmer clothing for tomorrow –

whilst doing a one-handed combatant judo hold with the ironing board (I watched the shaolin monks yesterday, they can hold their whole body weight on one finger, I surely can manage the ironing board…) the phone went, and I held a tri-lingual conversation with Toby – neither quite sure what the other was saying – but what the heck – I have been practicing that transferable skill all day..

In the meantime, I had squashed my hand, which somehow had recovered from the frost bite of earlier, and managed to quell my screaming so as not to deafen or frighten Tubs – he already thinks I am somewhat more brain-injured than he is. 

I think I came off the worse from the conversation, as I obviously wasn’t paying enough attention to counter his accusations -  I am now a midget umpullampah weakling and if I don’t be nice to his father, I am not going to be bestowed with a pottery tea coaster… now that is a threat…

So I promise to be nice to both his father and when pushed also the dog, now that is a challenge, I can do one or the other but not both- and I manage to finally sit down with my new wool which arrived today from the Natural Dye Studio.  The sock wool is amazingly – pink….not my favourite colour but in this blend I will review that situation… and the merino top is well, impressive….

aaaaahhhhh bisto time..  

Then I gaze at my new glittery row counters, which I will share with you when I do a review on the weekend, they are LUSH and so clever…

********

Then – I remembered I had promised to do a favour for someone which involved lots of Excel and fiddling with programmes – so whilst waiting for my computers to load, I decided to clear out some drawers (I have a lot of shareware according to my IT son… I think he is swearing/admonishing me, but never quite sure which – so this gives me a little time to spare whilst the computer is asserting its authority)

On opening one of the drawers (well prising it out) I discover socks, lots of OLD smelly socks…. so decide to chuck as these are left overs from having a house of sons.   One felt decidedly crinkly, couldn’t work out why and then looked inside….

The little sod…. a mystery which has lasted over five years solved…  that was where all his letters from the teacher summoning me to urgent last ditch – before being expelled – conference (which obviously had some merit hence the evidence being buried) it had been hidden… inside a sock at the bottom of his pant and sock drawer – the last place he knew I would look…. 

(post script here, because I didn’t know Toby was being threatened with expulsion, the threat didn’t actually work and I didn’t actually attend the urgently convened conference, because I didn’t know anyone wanted me too – until about three years after the event that is… I can happily report that he carried on going to school, well I think he did – there is evidence he passed his exams – and he got a job – a well-paid job, a rarity amongst his peer group that year – despite repeated predictions to the contrary, by – oh let me recall – a teacher who left the profession not very long after … so I think the moral of this story is – if you hide something in a dirty sock the crisis will recede, your mother won’t skin you alive and you will have enhanced your career prospects -  current year 10 students please note)

It would be remiss though of me if I did condone this behaviour though, admirable and inventive as it was, so had better say something in the interests of fairness……even if it is a little late in the day.

You wait until my next visit young man – just you wait….  I’ll give you tea coaster….. 

Stash Denial – big time

I have a way of, when moving forward with life, conveniently (or otherwise) forgetting some of my accumulations.  I don’t mean to, I put them away tidily, mentally remember where and then, a little squirrel like, fully intend to return to resume said activities.

Now I am being very vague here, please note, also very non-specific.  Friends are not included in the above, but we are talking physical objects, such as books, golfing stuff, gym clothes and …… wool and fibre (in neither particular order).

When these items are stowed away I have every intention of returning… but as so often happens – life gets in the way (pause for a large sigh here…).

When I started back to work in 2000 (not that I was ever “not in work” – I was self-employed as a craftsperson and writer and decided after taking a few OU courses I missed the stimuli of being in paid and structured surroundings.  I also missed the challenges of deadlines and tasks, which with the best will in the world you can only self-impose when being self-employed).

One of the services we offered was to schools and organisations who needed to be able to buy-in a craft “module” to comply with some part of their curriculum.  This proved very enjoyable for us – we used to turn up with spinning wheels, carders and anything else people couldn’t hurt themselves with and go through the process from sheep to cardigan.  The look of wonderment in people’s faces as they spun their first bit of fleece will live within me for ever and I smile writing about it now.

Now to undertake the above, we needed a “stash” – this could be justified as it was all being used and replenishment was important.  What wasn’t taken into account by me, when I started the new phase of my life, was what was going to happen to the “stash”.  You see (In my Defence here your honour) I was only taking a break and would return.

Except I didn’t – we didn’t, I became more and more qualified in my chosen field in the work force and found other interests.  The stash lay forgotten – not totally though I reassure you, on a frequent basis one or other of the kids or Bruce would have a good moan….

Because what I have forgotten to tell you in this confessional tale so far, is the stash was encapsulated into the Caravan.  Not any caravan, but the kids’ caravan which had been bought for them to be able to play outside the house in wet whether in some sense of privacy.  This never happened, because the stash got put into it, and forgotten……

Until yesterday.  Yesterday, whilst still undertaking the “Accounts” (for earnest readers who have now totally lost the thread – a gentle recap – I have had to produce accounts to justify our excessive expenditure over the last 2 1/2 years in the last two weeks – and being an accomplished accountant left everything until the last minute and totally overlooked the man hours needed to go through every drawer in the house, locate receipts, put them in date order and then put them on a spreadsheet – to the baffled bewilderment of our solicitor – his face when I mentioned a USB Pen…..but that is another tale I shall no doubt return to).

Well yesterday was interesting.  Bruce opened a drawer and there were a year’s worth of receipts… the deadline being 4.30 for the solicitor, I didn’t kill him, but diligently unravelled each of them, to find they were BLINKIN DUPLICATES OF THE MAIN RECEIPTS ….. the thoughts going through my head at that point are not worthy of being placed on a page…

I made him ring the said solicitors to explain – I was too embarrassed, and instead of crying or getting into a rage (those emotional intelligence courses are really working) I thought I would just get him back…. the caravan I cried and so did he….

We opened the door and I am sorry – I cannot recount in totality here what met my eyes.  I haven’t been in there for 8 years now, but had been told by the kids how bad it was… I am only sorry I didn’t take a photo to post here, but I was in stunned shock.

Wool in all kinds of kaleidoscope glory fell out at me… not unfortunately the nice wool I am knitting with now, but the acrylic giant ball types which were so fashionable and kids loved to knit with….. not one or two, but a FULL caravan….

I found my lace making kit (pre-spinning fad – bought in Honiton when the kids were small – a few classes and then I decided my eyes weren’t up to it) and it was a voyage of dedicated discovery.  There were very few damaged areas – moths really aren’t a big fan of glittery acrylic, but a few of my knitting bags had rotted away, which was a shame. 

So when you look in my stash pile on Ravelry – trust me, it is only the modern stuff – which I can actually put my hands on with five minutes notice… the rest – well I closed the door and will deal with it another day !!

Retro or Vintage?

It is fair to say that I have been struck dumb ….. by ebay and the world I live in…

It is a sad tale, which I will do my best to relate..but suspect that it might lose some of its meaning to those who aren’t addicted to things fibre.  If I just say – driven by addiction to purchase something I don’t really need – this might help others relate.

At the last Get Knitted Knatter, I spotted a stitch counter that exceeded and excelled in superiority and ingenuity, that currently residing in my sock bag.  I cast covetous eyes upon it, gently plucking up enough courage to fondle it and making enquiries of the owner as to where she had located it.

Ebay was the response, and that they are often on there.  I admired it some more, wrote down identifying information and then reluctantly, but firmly returned it to the place in the owner’s pattern – resolute in my determination to locate one.

I went home and typed in Vintage Knitting as bidden…. only to my horror and disappointment to discover there were 1,900 entries in that section, most of which – as I scrolled down the page – I either owned, or remembered seeing in shops, when shops sold haberdashery in the not so distant past. 

In fact, on further investigation I discovered I owned older knickers than some of the entries.

I lost heart, typed in some other variations of vintage – in fact many variations, to discover that bags very similar to ones I currently own are actually classed as “Retro” !! I now feel very old.  So what is the difference between vintage and retro? and how do you define when something becomes eligible for description as vintage?  Some of the knitting I currently have on my needles could fall under this latter description..

So – enough, I was wasting good knitting time with this aimless surfing – I typed in Point Guards – and there – as if by magic, was the object of my hunt – a stitch counter proudly paired with a darning mushroom.  Point Guard?  Ah well….

It isn’t in quite such good condition as the example I first met, but it has obviously been well used and I love it just as much for that…

Memory Placements

Don’t know what has suddenly brought this to mind and where I am going with this post, but I am having a few days off from work and the weather is awful.  This always happened every time we took the kids on holiday – so much so that one of them rang this week, whilst on his holiday, asking for ideas of where they could visit – the main requisite was that it had to be manorial or baronial, possibly a castle, but preferably with central heating and a roof… Corfe Castle didn’t quite fit the bill.

Now I remember Corfe Castle well, my memories are attached to Bruce desperately looking for petrol (why he just didn’t fill up before leaving civilisation I don’t know…) and watching our boys happily playing amongst the ruins, totally untouched by all the wars and lives which had depended upon the now crumbling walls. 

I have a number of work projects that need finishing off, and like my knitting and writing, I can’t leave loose ends with the potential to unravel, so am finishing them in between doing “nice” things – such as washing the net curtains… (I did tell you I had a sad life didn’t I?).

Now where was I ? – the other thing I hadn’t banked on was having a perpetual wall of sound around me, and expecting to interact with me during this break.  I have just had another summons for Breakfast – as it is 12.26 a little late I know, but Bruce is nocturnal and it is only the regime of my having to go to work which gives a semblance of structure.

The good news about the bad weather is the roofers across the road have fled for cover, so peace reigns again in the garden, the bad news is Bruce has to have the TV on 24/7 whether he is watching it or not – or even in the same building.  I do think though I have found a way around this – I have cancelled the Sky Sub – not nice, but fair….

I don’t feel the same sense of loneliness that some other’s feel when they are not in the company of humans.   I love being on my own – in silence – because that is the only time I get to hear what I am actually thinking, instead of simply reiterating and propagating words that others wish to hear..

“that hat really suits you” – (like buggery, it makes you look like Paddington)

“I love that new idea you had” – (crash and burn, oh may you crash and burn…)

“what – no pay rise? – never mind” – (eek – no stash fund [wool I hasten to confirm] where did I put that card from the agency?)

Back to thinking again………..

Place Memory I think the ghost hunters call it, is when you visit a place and you feel the feelings of people who lived there before.  They don’t interact with you, but you can sense them.

Well this happens to me whilst knitting, and stormy summer weather during late evening, particularly if there is no TV on.   The combination takes me back to Wales, when we stayed with our friends in a cottage. 

I quiet time of finding myself and finding others – a time both Toby and I revisit now lots – he because he memories are being awakened by familiar surroundings, me because my memories are where I seek solace when I can’t quite face the future…

I have the diagnosis… now what was the problem?

It has finally dawned on me what is wrong with me.  Nothing in particular – I am though an “achievement junkie” or obsessed with getting things done, leaving a trail of finished products (sub-text here… devastation) behind me. 

Toby has been in hospital since Friday morning – having an operation on his Achilles’ tendon – which though whilst not serious, is full of unseen and unspecified inherent dangers and will be the difference between him ever being able to walk again or a life in a wheelchair.

So we arrived eventually at the Royal Devon & Exeter Hospital – the joys of which had been hitherto unknown to us and might I just take a moment here to wax lyrical about an NHS hospital?  strange but true…  Royal Devon and Exeter Arts – after we had seen our son on his way down to theatre and marvelled in stun silence by the cleanliness of the place (totally unexpected in contrast with the BRI and Frenchay – although in fairness Frenchay do try, whereas I think the BRI has totally lost the battle) – we wondered up and down lengthy corridors seeking sustenance and somewhere I could take the weight off my feet and knit for England. 

As it was the 08.08.08 – and Ravelry Olympics was now up and running, my bag was rather heavy, laden with about 10 of the projects that I have either had on the go for a while now, or felt the need to be “guilted” into completion.

Aware that any tardiness would also reflect badly on Team Soctopus – where my current challenge is to complete four events in the specified time period, I was armed and ready for action. 

On the way to the hospital I had started on a pair of Socks for Toby – Camouflage is his in thing at present… so these will do nicely I suspect – trouble is he has VERY large feet and legs – so even though it is a very simple knitting pattern, I have had to cast on 90 stitches so this isn’t going to be a quick task, and I will probably start on another small pair for me. 

I went for the quick win – and started with the Baby Dressage.   I only have a horrible picture of this currently, so will not even trouble you with it.    I have a friend at work who is enlarging by the day and felt the need to comfort knit for her.  I picked at it most of the day, eventually finishing yesterday.  Even though it is quite cute, I am really disappointed with the crepe and unforgiving feel of non-natural fibre.  When sewing it up, it seemed to look very tatty….

I then moved on to doing some more of the “big mans” jumper.  We had now been told that the operation had been very successful and none of the problems which had been flagged up to us had indeed transpired to be unfounded…

It was a beautiful afternoon, the first spot of fresh air and sunshine we had had in a while, and I was in no haste to go and sit back in a stuffy ward, especially as the man himself was probably fast asleep…

We had a lovely talk with some patient’s who were astounded to see me knitting… which is a shame as always.

The garden had a beautiful sheltered feel about it, with a lovely waterfall, which you can just see to my back. 

The seats were picturesque, but not particularly comfortable.. but hey ho…

We moved upstairs and then the baby dressage re-emerged.

Toby was recovering well, and complaining (having refused to let us empty his overnight bag, as he declared he was not staying !! – a sentiment shared by the Ward Sister I suspect, when we discovered that although they had given him a superb room, there were no facilities for disabilities – apparently all equipment is held by central store nowadays !! – don’t ask). 

I knitted the final stages of the jumper and as we left the hospital to stay with a friend – who kindly had offered us shelter overnight, the socks returned to my hands…

and the rest of the next day followed very much in the same vein…

 

So sitting here, finally having arrived home and watched a film – with a WIP Wrestling in my hands (and Red Arrows having just undertaken a fly past – just for me..).  I am replete and happy that another week is over.

The only thing is though I have measured my week by what I have completed – so what does that say about me…?

Just that my real prayers are not words but in my deeds and feelings.  So much hope and promises of what is to come has been knitted into this jumper.  He WILL walk again, I will have a life, Bruce will eventually stop having to drive miles and miles and miles a week… and we WILL all live happily ever after…

Except of course me, until I take on the next task that is….. three more events to go, three more ….. mo a meadow….

 

How to fill a free day

Yippee a free Saturday – a day when the sun is shining, wind is blowing, I don’t HAVE to be anywhere and don’t have any URGENT work on my desk and if I did – well tough.

So what am I going to do with this minor miracle – I must not waste it…. (fatally flawed first thought there – please spot) – shall I go to the Avon Spinners, Weavers and Dyers Guild meet?  Nope – I would love to, but don’t really want to talk to people today – just want to get my mind and thoughts all working in the same direction.

So I have sat at my computer thinking about the Great Western Writers meeting on Monday (still don’t know whether this month’s meeting will go ahead, something about a fire and the Library closing – on my To Do list….) and my friends at Cedar Writers  (who I haven’t seen for weeks due to work, Easter, and my illness) – and whilst thinking and prevaricating became inspired by the concept of an artist’s/writer’s journal sketchbook (which I already “sort” of do)  whilst browsing through a book – and realised that I am “bombarded by people, chatter and rapidly changing surroundings……”  not my words, those of Jenny Newman and Edmund Cusick  –

The Writer’s Workbook (Hodder Arnold Publication) by Read more about this title…

 

In the last few weeks I have done nothing but work, worry, meet deadlines, travel hundreds of miles, knit socks and frantically look for inspiration and the girl I used to be.  I have been divining information from the ripples that other’s stones have created in the pools of my life. 

I am emotionally battered and exhausted from other’s deadline’s and needs – most of which are actually nothing to do with me.  Sales people ringing constantly – rush, rush, rush – decision, decision, decision……

In a pompous voice – I imagine myself welling my chest up and bellowing…. “actually I don’t have to either make rushed decisions or even speak to you – you are my customer not I your victim…  ” – oh I wish I had the guts to say that to them.  But I don’t  – except I do tell them I am too busy and decline to continue the conversation – more often now than is perhaps polite. 

So enough of the moan…. I am about making habits, not good ones, prevaricating  -  organising knitting patterns, rather than writing (always a bad sign).

So I am now off to finish “twiddling” and get on with some constructive stuff…  I am going to write over the next few weeks a selection of short stories on and “around” the subject of knitting/spinning/weaving…   I have been reading a book called “Died in the Wool” – light fluffy reading at bedtime which has inspired me (as well as sending me to sleep !!)

Died in the Wool: A Knitting Mystery (Knitting Mysteries) by Mary Kruger Read more about this title…

 

My close friend (well probably the only one I have left who is still speaking to me – so I think that qualifies her as close as well as long-suffering and understanding, actually to be precise I can’t remember the last time we spoke  – more fragmental email communications – “Hi Prairie dog here, sticking her nose out from out of her hole (self-dug) – how are you?” ) has published her latest book on Lulu this week – Mind and Motivation  – well worth a read. 

See you all again soon – and until the next time – keep writing !!!

Quote of the Day:
The thing I hate about an argument is that it always interrupts a good discussion.
–G.K. Chesterton

A good piece of advice

New Year Resolutions and starting afresh – creating false starts and setting yourself up for failure of self-imposed goals.

The advice from those in the “know”, well those who make a lot of money out of selling advice  is to replace them with decisions followed by actions.

Resolutions happen “off in the future… “  – in some indeterminable time, place and plan which it is not possible to really pin down and because it moves off like the horizon line, or end of the rainbow – there are lots of readymade excuses for not knuckling down and getting on with what you need to do to MAKE things happen.

If you want to change – start your journey from where you ARE – now, this minute – workout where you want to be and then – make a plan – set a goal and act on it…. Start where and how you mean to go on.

Saying out loud what you want to happen is the first step to making things happen.  Writing it down the second step – there you go that is two steps, now it is up to you to take the next ones…

There are days…

There are days when I am quite frustrated by even just existing. 

I have a Yahoo Group for Writers, and it won’t let any one without a degree in technology to join it. 

I have to attend meetings where people talk crap about career experiences, and they forget that I have actually done it, been there, written the book and sold the TV rights.  Either they think I have early onset Alzheimer or they think I have always gone to work with slippers on (don’t ask – but hold that vision).

I got up early, ate my breakfast and then – in an effort to get underway quickly – took massively longer to sort something out than anticipated, so was quarter of an hour late.  The person on the end of the phone refusing to understand that I had to go to work, because she was AT work when she rang me (she kept reassuring me !!).

I asked Bruce to put the dog out so I could go quietly to the little room – he put the dog out, visited the little room and got the dog back in again, forgetting that it was actually my request and did little to help me relieve my bladder.

I rang Green Flag to advise them that they were still (despite repeated requests) insuring a vehicle for breakdown recovery even though joyriders had stolen and wrecked it month’s ago.  The adviser kept insisting on telling me that I would have problems if I needed assistance with it in the future – yep you could say that, but I think it is beyond even their roadside recovery scheme.

They then went on to sell me a scheme that involved being attached to me, so that any car I sat in that broke down, or was in an accident, would be recovered.  Comforting – except my track record isn’t too good this year, or any other come to that.  The odds of me being in any of the vehicles that we currently own (or borrow) is fairly remote, so I didn’t really see how me being covered for my son’s vehicle was going to assist – he has spent 21 years trying to get away from me, he is hardly going to invite me to go out on a romantic journey with his partner now – is he?

Eventually I got this through to them and we now have insurance – god knows what for though – I am sure someone will tell us when we try to claim.

By now I had a headache and realising I needed a tablet quite seriously, scratting about in my handbag I realise that I gave my last one to the Plant (which I had nearly killed again by not watering) three days ago.  Even though it is looking very perky now, I do think that perhaps that was a selfless act too many. 

I then decide that that toothache which has been nagging me is getting worse and needs some kind of attention, I have been meaning to find a dentist since the last one emigrated back to Turkey (probably something I said) about two years or so ago, before Tob’s accident.  I thought though I would take up the Tesco offer of Dental Insurance – quite forward thinking there – you can insure your teeth against the sweets you buy at the checkout. 

I sorted it – trouble – free.  But now can’t find a dentist… ah well – so close to success I could almost taste it… well I could if I had any teeth left. 

There are days where I wonder why I even bother to breathe…. but you have too really – otherwise how would you fill the time until you get to the good days?

Is Knitting a Skill or a Craft?

Craft Council – Socio Economic Survey 2002-03

I wasn’t going to blog today.  I feel I have done too much talking and writing about craft in the last few days than actually undertaking it.  I am due to go back to work on Monday, so promised myself this a peaceful, knitty, weekend, before returning to duty on Monday.

Last night I discovered my son had an accident at the Unit where his care is undertaken and that shook me up a little, and I felt inordinately guilty that I had put the need for a peaceful night in the house, my “little seen home”, over visiting him.  Toby was fine, but at 6ft 4″ and sliding off his bed, took quite a bump – which must have shaken his confidence and as he told me frequently during our calls today hurt his knee.

Then I thought about what I had actually done during that evening – some minutes for a meeting which had hung over me since breaking up from the office (I had run out of time too much to do, not enough…), sorting out receipts and bills for the solicitor so that he can prove where every penny of our income has gone since the accident during the course of the personal injury claim.  Fuelling the car, ourselves and the general getting about to go about our business has used up all our combined “rainy day” pot and some over the last two years. 

I was surrounded by these sheets of paper which catalogued our day-to-day expense of time and money, totally bemused about how we have managed to keep the show on the road, despite the recent incident with the car being stolen.

I left undone the work needed to complete one of my courses – Equality and Disability – a subject close to my heart and during the course of which I am finding disturbing just how many of Toby’s rights which we have all taken for granted before the accident are close to be being denied him. The right of light recently, when his light bulb blew up on a Friday night – but ah – you can only sue someone who is a public body for denial of Human Rights – when is a rehab unit not a rehab unit, when is it a public body or when….. – oh don’t get me started……

I am also undertaking a CIPD course in Personnel Development – no pressure there – I have a draft Project Plan to hand-in in a couple of weeks time, and I haven’t even thought out what the project should be yet – something undefined about HR implementation I suspect – another subject close to my heart.  I find rules in life, procedures and practice very comforting to follow in life.  I need to know where I stand – at least thought I did, and I am sure others find that necessary too.

So feeling a little miserable today, with a swollen throat and not enough energy to knit, I started browsing in this book – the book which gave me the initial inspirations for the Wacky Jumpers and started reflecting on how quiet and different life was when I had purchased it (second hand in Narbeth in around the early 1990s). 

This was a time when we spent long periods in Wales,spending a lot of time with my very best friend in the whole wide world, whom unfortunately I have now lost touch with, along with visiting and working with other craftspeople throughout the Country.  I spent a lot of time working in schools, teaching basic crafts and also as a consultant to TV companies who had suddenly discovered that homespun crafts were romantically attractive to their new day-time audiences, but didn’t quite know where to source them – I knew and there was a business to be made as a craftsperson, writer and “doer” – Women’s Institutes beckoned, and days blissfully spinning on the pretext of demonstrating were the order.  Except I wasn’t happy. 

I had used wool as a means of working with colour – so as my confidence increased my access to traditional forms opened and I became an “artist”.   I still wasn’t happy.

I went back to office work – I returned to writing – I still wasn’t happy.

Something was missing, the sense of peace and quiet mind which happens after you have spent an evening struggling over a particularly difficult rib – so absorbed in your task everything is blanked out before you.  The mind myopically coping with small strategic issues.  I remembered why I was happy – these were problems and tasks I could cope with and solve, along with having achieved.

My old book at hand tonight – pages torn, dated pictures of Craftspeople pretending to be colour artists – took me back to a place where I was happy.  Being me, clothing the kids and having form and structure in my world.  All I need now is to get that back again.

Easy…… then I read through the Socio Economic article – and remembered I don’t have the luxury of being skint anymore, and that is why I had decided to return to work – not only for money but dignity as well.

“Oh what do you do for a living? “I spin” -   doesn’t have the same to ring to it as working in a Law Firm, or running a logistics company.

A flow of money is needed to keep this show on the road now, along with happiness and fuelled occasionally by tears of indignation.

I truly thought at one point I could have it all – career, home, crafts and writing – but I now know that was an unrealistic concept.  

Is Knitting a skill or a craft?  I don’t know, and have rambled on somewhat whilst trying to work it out in my mind.

I think the conclusion I have come to is it is a skill – but not a perceived valuable one, except to anybody outside the knitting community.  Is it a craft?  Well yes, if you are a TV producer who needs to fill 10 minute slot, or somebody wanted to demonstrate.  Is it a valued craft? I think should have been my question – yes by some. 

I think where I have lost my way and why I have not been happy is because I had forgotten the  value of knitting to me, and underrated the skills I had learned and hold.  In my need to keep finances coming in, responsibility had overridden relaxation. So I have been asking too much of the craft, and it could not deliver, nor should it have been expected to.

I am now happy…. I think I now understand the place Knitting has in my life.