Crochet, Old Age, And Thou

A memory from two years ago on my FB page today.

I was on a journey back then, working my way through my mother's old doily and collar patterns. I completed most of them. These days I just can't seem to fit time for crochet in anywhere. There's always so much going on that takes that time away...and taking a stab at it in the evenings after work is a lost cause. My brain is mush and I'm worthless til bed time. 

I caught a little glimmer of hope while unpacking some boxes last week. I ran across an unfinished afghan (in a box totally unrelated to crochet, or anything even remotely craft related 🤷‍♀️) and I thought I'd put it aside to take to work with me to work on over this past weekend. I did...and finished up the skein of yarn it was attached to. There's more yarn for it SOMEWHERE in the abyss of boxes and other unpacking I've yet to do in the spare bedroom. 

That room is another lost cause as it has become the catch-all in my quest of still unpacking and setting up housekeeping in the new place. Stuff I can't use or don't need in the moment or for the forseeable future gets tossed there. By the time I do need or figure out a use for said stuff, it'll long be lost deep in the ever growing black hole that is the spare bedroom. I won't be able find any of it again until the day comes that I decide to tackle that room. It WILL be my art/music/whateverIneedittobetoescapethemadnessoftherealworld studio. Some. Day.

There IS enough yarn to finish the afghan. Somewhere. There's hope yet that a little crocheting is on the horizon, even if it is during the quiet times at work on those weekends. But the thought of diving into that room to rummage through boxes stacked to the ceiling is daunting and my enthusiasm for that dive is pretty much non existent for the time being. 

So, I will glance over to the top of the desk ocassionally where the bag with the unfinished afghan seemingly silent and ever patiently waits for me, beckoning quietly "finish me...please" and sigh. A sigh is all the effort I have in me these days and the luscious, colorful yarn being worked up in the C2C pattern for a dreamy looking throw for the couch will have to live with that sigh.

And so will I. *Sigh* 🤦‍♀️

My 'Brooklyn Roads'

A beautiful song about going home again, if only in our minds.

When I was growing up we moved around so much that there was never really any one place to go home to in later years. I didn't have the greatest childhood growing up in my parents house. I left home way too young because of it. There was no other escape...and it certainly made me think I could never go home again.

I held a lot of hate and resentment for many years, feeling like I was robbed of my childhood...my sister and brother's taken from them also. But after years of my own life away from all of that, a coming to terms with it and making amends with my mother a few years before she died, all the bad stuff faded away and some of the good memories from childhood started to surface. 

When I left home at 15, I had a great support system...which most 'runaways' don't have or find - the church I went to at the time. Some beautiful people in that church took me in and became my family for a time. Everyone in the church showed me nothing but love and support...and it let me start to find my way somewhat. I got lost in the music in the church and it really was where my love of singing was born and nurtured. It was the only real sanity I could find in the hurricane of insanity for so many years. I will forever be grateful for that love and support...and in my mind I go home to that period of time also. I love you. You know who you are.

There were some good things in the midst of all the turmoil and pain. I hold on to those memories today and when I hear this song, those things come to the forefront of my mind.

I'm more like my mother than I ever wanted to be...and maybe that's the home I return to. My Brooklyn Roads are the sweet things about my mother that surfaced more times than I realized as a child. The line sung here "all the scars that love erases" is truth ten fold. 

The melody of this song carries me along those memory roads...and I am home again. 🩷

Drama And Trauma On The Move

The move is FINALLY done. Finished up a few days ago. I haven't posted about it until now because it's been non-stop busy trying to make sense of the new place - moving stuff around, digging through boxes trying to find things I need in the moment, working a little at a time to empty boxes and make workable space mainly in the kitchen and bathroom, getting critters situated so their routine is somewhat normal again...and still going to work every day in the process.

The day of the final push of the move finally came and it went well...moving the 'stuff' that is. The two guys who came to do it - sweetest guys EVER got it done in record time. Their time and effort was a God send for sure. The day did 'not' go off without a hitch, however.

Trying to get pets moved left a lot to be desired. Right off the bat I lost one of my cats. I made the plan to put cats in carriers and have them ready about a half hour before the guys were due to arrive that morning. I got two of them in carriers without a problem. BUT...one of the others got spooked by what he saw as commotion, slipped the confines and shot straight out the door. I had the front door open stacking some things out on the patio and the kitties in another room. He took off in the under brush on the property next door and I never saw him again. I looked for him all day, hoping he may find his way back. He didn't. He won't make it out there.

He's been an inside only kitty since he was born. At 3 years old, only knowing food, shelter and protection from a miserable life outside, it's not good. A coworker who picks me up and takes me home for work every day has graciously driven me through and around the old place a few times since to see if maybe he's shown back up there. It's turned up nothing. He's gone. I'm still sick about it. What should have been a happy day to finally get the move done was marred by that. I was happy and relieved to be done with it all, but that loss made the day a little tougher than it should have been.

Another cat that was NOT happy about trying to be put into a carrier that day turned into the Tazmanian Devil...and all hell broke loose. I tried every which way from Sunday to coax him in. He wasn't having it. I ended up chasing him all over the apartment. I'd have him cornered and then he'd give me the slip again. Up the stairs, down the stairs, over and over again. He never tired and only got more wound up and freaked out. I thought I finally had him when he jumped up on the top of the stove in the kitchen, cornering himself against the refrigerator. I grabbed him by the scruff so he couldn't tear me up in the process. Boy, was I WRONG. Terrified out of his mind, he flipped himself around, hooked his claws into the back of my upper arm and then sank his teeth in the side of my forearm. It was not pretty. When he bit me, I dropped him and he, too, shot straight out the door as the guys were carrying stuff out. They dropped what they had and took off running after him. One of them ran back inside to get the carrier and something to throw over him. A little blanket happened to be handy. They ran after him all the way around the building, arms a flailing, fur flying, and calls for "FUDZY!! FUDZY!!" HEEEEERE KITTY, KITTY, KITTY!!!". Fudzy ran into a vacant apartment two doors down where workers just happened to be painting and the doors were open. They caught him there by throwing the blanket over him stopping him in his tracks, and were able to wrap him up tight enough to get him in the carrier without a fight. It scared the living daylights out of me but it was funny at the same time watching these guys run after the cat. It was like something straight of an I Love Lucy episode. I tended to my wounds at the kitchen sink and we hauled the next load with kitties in tow.

The dogs. The dogs were a tad bit confused and over excited about all the commotion as well. I saved moving them for the last load so that we weren't trying to work on keeping them inside the new place while we were unloading and going in and out. I moved the kitties on the first load going in the morning to get them set up in one of the bathrooms with all their stuff so they could settle into that space with familiar things and not be anymore freaked out than they already were by their lives suddenly being turned upside down and the ensuing trauma. I couldn't put the dogs in with them because they'd have only barked non stop, scratching at the door trying to get out, traumatizing the cats even more and destroying a door. I don't have crates for the dogs. There's never been room for them and both dogs are too old to try to adjust to them at this point. So, moving them at various planned out stages of the move was the best way I knew to do it.

It was finally time to take the last load and put the dogs in the truck. I had put harnesses on them early in the day so they would be accustomed to them by the time they made the ride and know they were going somewhere shortly. I put the leashes on and all was great until we stepped out the door. BOTH of them wriggled around, turning themselves inside out, twisting and flipping themselves around, slipping the harnesses. They took off running. Those same two guys took off running AGAIN to catch dogs this time. Those two crafty, smart alecky dogs thought all this was funny and made a game out of it. Here we are out in the parking lot, truck loaded down, ready to go and the dogs think it's play time. I told the guys to hold back and just wait for them to come back. They only run faster and further when chased. Mr. Big did eventually come back on his own and let one of the guys pick him up and put him in the truck. Charlie...not so much. The guys had to resort to chasing him again and finally caught him on the other end of the property. They carried him back and put him in the truck with all the stuff and the rest of us. We were FINALLY on our way for the very last time. Those guys are my heros!

All these critters taking off running outside, headed straight toward a busy street took 10 years off my life and gained a whole lot more gray hair that day. The trauma of this was overwhelming for them. The last time I moved 7 years ago, Charlie and Mr. Big were only a year old and I had one kitten at the time. So where we've been all these years is literally all they've ever known and suddenly it all got turned upside down. They had no clue what was headed their way or what was happening while it was happening. I knew it was going to be difficult, but I did not bargain for all the extra drama on top of it that day.

Poor little Fudzy wouldn't come out of his carrier for the next 5 hours. I finally nudged him out that evening. He stayed frozen behind the toilet for the next few hours. I saw him finally come out of the bathroom in the middle of the night, but he holed up in a tiny cubby behind some boxes  in the livingroom and stayed there for another day. I knew he'd relax and come out eventually. He did and he's been fine ever since. Finally getting hungry enough will do that. Butterbean calmed down by the afternoon, made herself at home and was playing with her "yubberband" and the ball track toy that evening. Speedy stayed under the couch for a couple of days, only coming out to eat and to go to the litterbox in the bathroom. He's fine now, too. The dogs adjusted pretty quickly. They stuck close to me for the first couple of days, following me every minute until they figured out they weren't going anywhere again. They all do a lot of snooping and sniffing and checking things out. They're all pretty much back to their normal routines and life carries on.

As far as the cat bite goes, it hasn't been too long since my last tetanus vaccine. I've taken meticulous care of it and it's healing nicely. Cat bites are dangerous. They are bacteria filled nasty things that can turn septic in a heart beat. People die from cat bites every day thinking it was nothing, didn't take care of it and turned septic to the point of no return. It's NOT something to play with or ignore. I'm fortunate that even dealing with feral cats all these years, I haven't been bitten and the knowledge I have of properly dealing with them has protected me. My very own docile, sweet little house baby turned on me in the blink of an eye because he was terrified out of his mind...and rightfully so. I just didn't anticipate the level of trauma he was feeling and it totally flipped on me. I do NOT want any of us to go through this again.

Bunny, the cat that got away still weighs heavily on me. He is terrified of people. This won't be one of those "Oh, somebody will find him, take him in and give him a good home" situations. Not happening. His chances of survival out there beyond a month or so are ZERO. Contrary to popular belief, cats do NOT instictively know how to take care of themselves out there if they're suddenly faced with it. I won't go on here about the multitude of challenges a cat trying to survive "out in the wild" faces. It's not pretty. It's grim and very sad. I'll forever hold the guilt of handing him his death sentence that day. That's the reality of it.

The move is complete now. The majority of us made it to the new destination relatively unscathed and in one piece. Lots to do to set up housekeeping. The cats love the empty boxes as they become available. The dogs love the fries when I order Whataburger for delivery amid the mess of unpacking and finding our way. I love the peace of knowing it's done finally and we are all in a better place now. Sleep comes easier and lasts longer. The dread is gone. I can plug in Neil Diamond or George Jones and find that happy place in the midst of it all.

So many thanks to the extra hands of effort, time, and the wherewithall to keep me going when it seemed so dark, daunting, and hopeless at times. Without you, we wouldn't be where we are now. I love you...always.

It's an adjustment for all of us, but we'll get there. A little at a time.

~ Here's a little video of Butterbean deciding that the scary, trauma, drama filled day wasn't so bad after all. 🩷

 

Tumbling Around The Washing Machine

This past Sunday I got to spend the afternoon at my new apartment. Am still stuck in the old place until I can get the move finished, hopefully later this week. It better be no later than later this week. My friend who's been helping me move boxes and little stuff in the meantime came that morning so we could take a couple more loads. I opted to stay at the new place for the afternoon so I could move boxes around and make room for the actual furniture when it finally does get there.

In those loads went all my current necessary laundry. I got to use the new washer and dryer after they'd been sitting there untouched for a whole week. I hadn't been able to do laundry in the old place for about 3 weeks because there's been no place to do it. I've been living with packed boxes and such stacked to the rafters, taking up pretty much every inch of space available. It made moving the portable washer to the kitchen to hook up in the sink next to impossible...and the space to hang things to dry non existent.

After I spent an hour trying to put the dryer hose on the new dryer (it didn't come with a hose and I had to Amazon one real quick), I was set up and ready to go. I thought "piece a cake". I have these pretty, new washer and dryer gonnahelpmesomuchthankGod things and I'll let them do their thing while I do my thing around the apartment."Piece a cake?" Ha!! Even after looking over the instruction manual for the washer, it still managed to stump me for a bit as to how it starts, what that looks like on the control panel...WHAT AM I LOOKIN' AT HERE????, and what I can expect during the cycle. Today's appliances are sure a long way from what they were not so many years ago.

Two things here: 

1. Am NOT crazy about the lid-lock feature.

2. I do NOT like having to preload all the stuffs, i.e. bleach and fabric softer, etc... 

I'm old school when it comes to laundry. It has to be top loading. I want knobs to turn to make it do what I want. I want to be able open the lid any time I want during the cycle to add what I want, how much I want, when I want during that cycle, directly in the water and not some little compartment that may or may not function properly when prompted. I, ME, MYSELF, control how I wash my grubby clothes, not a computer. 

The old lady in me just can't handle it. 

In the washer's defense, it does have knobs to turn. When I was shopping around for a washing machine, that's what I looked for and selected. But it still has just enough of the touch pad, computerized stuff going on that it manages to bumfuzzle me more than I care to admit.

After a boxing match with the dukes up in my head about it, I conceded. I put the detergent in first as instructed. Then in went the fabric softener in the fabric softener compartment thingamajig. I put the clothes in. I looked at the various load settings and opted for MAX everything for the whole cycle. My stuff was pretty grubby after multiple recycled wearings of each outfit during this whole moving-drama-filled escapade (moving is a dirty job) and still going to work through it all. I figured it could use some extra wash time and an extra rinse. I was fairly satisfied with what I selected and pushed START. 

I stood there for a few minutes watching the control panel. I watched different colored lights blink on a cycle read out panel. I listened to it. Yes, listened to a washing machine do it's thing. I listened to it spit out funky noises. Is it filling with water now? Is it trying to spin already before it fills up? It tried to rock back and forth. Oh, lord, is it not level and off balance already???? Is there something wrong with it and I need to send it back???? Is that clunking noise gears shifting...in a washing machine???? Did I wreck it already???? Good grief, it's barely out of the box and it's...it's...D.E.F.E.C.T.I.V.E.

This normal size washer is brand new to me. I am accustomed to a portable Black and Decker machine (it will only wash 3-4 items at a time) that, even though it's all digital with no actual knobs to turn, does not have a lid-lock feature, allowed me to do what I wanted during each cycle AND has a digital timer that counts down each cycle. I can sit in the livingroom, listen to the washer in the kitchen, know exactly where it is in that cycle by those sounds and jump up to do what I need to do in that moment. So, yes, tuning in and listening to the new gigantic-not-so-portable-washing-machine is a must. I finally heard it settle into it's cycle and start to fill up. So maybe I didn't wreck and it's not d.e.f.e.c.t.i.v.e. after all and I'm just afraid of what I'm not familiar with. I walked away and left the new-fangled washer to tend to it's chore and maybe I can stop being such a scaredy scat. Maybe it knows better than I do about what it's designed to do, but I digress.

I went about my business in the apartment. It dawned on me that after about an hour the washer was still going. Average cycle length start to finish is 45 minutes. This MAX cycle I chose ran NINETY MINUTES! Um, no. This ain't gonna work. This new washer has no timer on it so I can't actually see where it is on the clock. In the grand scheme of things, normal, full size washers don't have those. I figured out real quick that while not the optimum way to stay caught up with laundry, which I never did, that tiny RV size washer I've been using for the past year had spoiled me. Yes, I was spoiled to watching it count down, prompting me to do what I needed to do, when I needed to do it in real time. I am going to miss that feature SO MUCH.

I had a second load to do. Far be it from me to say the QUICK WASH setting won't get the job done. It got the Quick Wash.

The dryer is pretty basic and straight forward. All knobs to turn for the desired settings. Push the small knob to start. But I don't trust it as far as I can throw it. I'm sure there is a computer chip lurking there somewhere to mock me when I least expect it.

All this being said, I was literally in tears after the two loads had gone through for real and for true wash and dry cycles. It's been more than 3 years since I've had access to a normal size washer and dryer. I pulled each article of clothing out of the dryer, held it to my face and breathed in the real clean, the real freshness, the warmth from the dryer, and looked forward to getting dressed Monday morning. No more sour, moldy smell because it took 2 days for them dry hanging on a line strung across the far end of the bedroom, and on hangers on the shower rod in a humid bathroom. No more deep wrinkles from the portable washer that don't get smoothed out because they didn't go through a dryer. This was indeed, an emotional moment. 

The place where I have been living for the past 7 years has a tiny laundry room with 4 washers and 4 dryers to service 42 apartments. Most of the time they don't work. Homeless people and vandals of all sorts regularly break into the locked laundry room to break into the washers and dryers to steal the quarters. Many times I would put my wash in, the detergent in, put the quarters in and then...nothing.  It took my money and nothing happened. I would have to take all of it out of the washer, slimy soapy and all, back to my apartment, haul it upstairs to the master bathroom and wash it all out in the bathtub. Imagine the wet drippy mess everwhere in when hung up to dry because there's just no wringing it out enough to keep it from dripping...making more dirty laundry in the process by using bath towels to soak it all up. 

There's a nice little laundromat just around the corner from me. I used it frequently until the pandemic hit. Laundromats shut down, locked down, and there were no other options. I was having to buy blankets and sheets frequently to cover the couches because of the dogs...and for my own use. When they were dirty they got bagged up and tossed into a closet. I bought more each time and that cycle continued for 2 years. The closet was full of bagged dirty bedding. When I say full, I mean FULL. Top to bottom and front to back. Once the laundromats finally opened back up, I no longer had a car and couldn't get all that bagged up laundry anywhere to wash, and the nifty little portable washer didn't even begin to figure in to all that. All those bags were hauled over to the new place last week and are now waiting to be washed when I finally do get there. I will have enough blankets and sheets to open a store. It's absolutely insane. Donating some to a local animal shelter is on the table.

I resorted to washing my clothes in the bathtub for awhile. There again, the drippy mess hanging everywhere...and definitely not clean enough. That was the last straw that prompted me to break down and buy the portable washing machine in April last year. It truly was a God send for the small things; some of my clothes, a few towels, even a couple of the small blankets I use for the couches. I was giddy over that for a good while. I would sit in front of it and watch it do it's thing. It has a glass lid and I could watch in wonder this tiny little thing do what exactly what the big boys do. I was mesmerized. But the honeymoon wore off after a few months of hang drying it all turned sour, stinky, and just generally yucky. I didn't opt to get a portable dryer because the bad reviews for them are overwhelming. It just wasn't worth the expense.

Yesterday when I got dressed for work, I was giddy over being able to put on truly clean clothes. They looked different, smelled different, and felt different. It's something I have not experienced in years. I walked out the door to work literally feeling like a new person.

The every day stuff we take for granted and don't think much about can certainly become a big deal when we suddenly don't have access to those things anymore, or don't have access for long periods of time. I can't even begin to explain the stress, the anguish, the amount of money spent, and the psycological warfare that ensues trying to beat it at it's own game. It does a number on a person and takes a toll. A big toll.

I started this blog post with grumblings of the new appliances because I'm inept with certain tech wonders of today. The last real washing machine I had was a Sears Kenmore, about a 1990 model more than ten years ago. Nothing but knobs to turn. Basic wash, rinse, spin and done...and it always did a great job. Those old Kenmores were enduring work horses. I have a lot to learn about how doing laundry has changed over the years.

Something as mundane as laundry does not seem like the thing to write a blog-novel about. But the experiences of said subject for the past 3-4 years have created enough content to make a weekly TV series for 5 seasons. 

I am ending this blogpost with the utmost gratitude for the opportunities that lay before me and the bessings bestowed along the way. I have a new, BETTER apartment. I was able to put a brand new washer and dryer in it because the apartment has the place for them. I have immense gratitude for lessons learned on the journey to this place today. Something as simple as being able to wear truly clean clothes again makes me thankful for so many things these days. Doing without for what seemed like an eternity will make me never take this for granted again.

Eventually I will learn how they work, what all they are capable of, and another tech savvy thing checked off the list. These monsters ain't gonna beat me at their little game. 

I didn't wreck them during their first use, so the Maytag Repair Man is still the loneliest man in town. If you're older than a Millenial, you'll get it.

Look out new-fangled washer and dryer. You have no clue what's headed your way. 

Grapes In The Snow

 I started another grape doily for myself this weekend. Thanksgiving is less than a week away and Christmas season is sneaking up on me way too fast. As I've mentioned before, I don't crochet much for myself. I mostly do it for others. But I'm at a place where making doilies for me is a fun thing. I want two or three in traditional Christmas colors. One is for the dining table, another for the coffee table, and another for an end table in the livingroom. I have loads of Christmas decorations but nothing in the way of doilies or anything similar in holiday colors. I figured it was about time to remedy that. 

I love white, especially with tradional holiday colors. These doilies will be all white with the grape clusters in the variegated red, green, white thread...and I have two different shades of red, green, white. The other is a little darker with some chartreuse thrown in...both still very traditional color-wise. I've previously made the grape doily in the traditional sense - white center, colored grape clusters and green leaves...and I may make one for myself before it's all said and done, but for now the all white just really floats my boat.

It was a very quiet weekend at work and it gave me a good opportunity to get the first one pretty much knocked out. The weather has been cold and wet for several days now...and that in itself triggers the itch to do holiday-type crocheting. It's been pretty perfect. Tomorrow is my day off and it's my only shot this week to get a lot of stuff done here at home to get ready for some changes happening in my home life this week, and to prep for Thanksgiving. I'm actually cooking for the first time in seven years. I hope to be able to use the four day holiday weekend to make at least one more doily. Every time I make a plan like that, it typically doesn't work out. Sometimes my brain says "nope, lazy is better." We'll see how it goes. 

In the meantime, looking forward to this week and hopefully a little brighter future. I can already smell the turkey in the oven!

🦃🍗🥧🦃🦃🥧🦃🍗🥧🦃🍗🥧🦃🍗🥧🦃🍗🥧🦃🍗🥧🦃🍗🥧🦃🍗🥧🦃🍗🥧🦃

Keychains Are Still Cool

A couple of posts ago I mentioned my Sonic Keychain order which makes any Route 44 drink 99 cents. This memory popped up on my Facebook page today. It's been exactly two years since I was dubbed a Sonic preferred customer.

A photo sitting in my car on that day sporting the new hardware. While it ain't exactly the Queen's jewelled crown, it's saved me a buttload of money since then. I have spent my whole life loving drinks from Sonic. Always will. It's a simple pleasure, but a big one to me. 

Getcha one. Keychains are still cool. 😎

Turkeying Around With Autumn

I did a thing this past week. I haven't crocheted in quite awhile. Been hooked on the cross stitch since early summer. When I put the Halloween decor away and dragged out the Autumn stuff, I decided the dining table needed a little something. I don't crochet much for myself. Am always doing it for others. But I decided I wanted a fall-ish doily for the table.

I used thread I had on hand instead of trying to buy more. I didn't have any of the traditional rust/burnt orange/reddish colors. I looked at what I did have and decided that the colors you see here are perfect Texas fall colors. Texas stays green well into December, especially this far south. Mostly what you see in this part of the world in the fall is brown. Leaves go from green to brown with a few days of yellow while transitioning. Texas Autumns aren't traditional picturesque colorful. So the olive green, bronze, yellow, and maize colors I have were perfect. I used an antique white for the center. The old tried and true grape doily pattern was the only choice for this.

I played around with Autumn decor I have and settled on the glittered Turkey. Anyone who knows me knows how much I love glitter, mostly at Christmas time. I found the glittered turkey at HEB a few years ago and couldn't pass it up. This was a fun project...something I'll enjoy for many years to come. 

~ Happy Fall, y'all!🍁🍃🍂

And The Wheels Go Round

 

This is a story of good . I promise. 😊

I've mentioned more than a few times that I don't have a car. The one I had bit the dust last January. It was irrepairable and sold for junk in April. I'm constantly looking for something I can buy for very small monthly payments with little to nothing down. Dealerships are out. I do not have $5k - $6k to put down and pushing a $500 monthly payment...and that's for something a few years/a lot of years used. I'm at that point where what I'm hoping to find is something an elderly person/couple has sitting in their garage that doesn't get driven anymore and doesn't mind letting it go for cheap with small payments. Alas, that kind of stuff isn't out there anymore...at least not where I live.

I've spent the past 10 months being 100% dependent on others for rides to and from work. I'm 100% dependent on online shopping and delivery services for the necessities. It's not fun, but it gets the job done. It's costly and prohibitive. It costs me WAY more to be without my own wheels. It's tough to bug people for rides to get out to do other things besides work. I need to do it often and I need to do most of it on my schedule.

Life all these months has been strongly similar to being a prisoner on a jail work release program. I only get to to leave my house to go to work and then come straight home at the end of the work day. I do not get to get out for other things. I'm stuck at home when I'm not working. I'm still not used to it. While I don't do a lot of running around when I do have my own car, I do like being able to hop in the car when I need or want to and do things on my time. Being pent up without that freedom is tough. It's not normal.

Being without wheels has had an intense domino effect in every aspect of my life. It even affected my pets and caused dramatic behavioral changes in them because suddenly I couldn't get home for lunch every day. The change was drastic for them...and not good. Yes, I know, most who work don't get go home on their lunch hour every day. But it has been my choice for practical purposes and I have been fortunate enough to be able to do that for 8 of the past nearly 9 years. I've always lived within a few blocks of my work place. It allowed me to be able to take the dogs out to do their business, not have them feel abandoned for 10 hours everyday, check on things at home otherwise, and get that much relished break away from the work place for a few minutes. When I was fostering cats and kittens a few years ago, that check-in in the middle of the day was crucial. Sometimes it meant the difference between life and death in their tiny little lives.

Fast forward to last Friday. I was facing not being able to get work last weekend. The coworker who brings me home from work every evening and takes me to and from work on my weekends to work, her weekends off, was out sick all that week with pneumonia. Another coworker who pinch hits when my regular ride can't do it was tied up for the weekend and couldn't do it either. Uber or something similar has never been an option. It's cost prohibitive - up to $16 per day depending on gas prices, even for as close as I live to work. It's also difficult for them to get on campus without an employee in the vehicle, which would leave me stuck trying to get home in the evenings.

The coworker who steps in when my regular ride can't do it stopped by my office last Friday for some work business. She asked me how I was getting to work for the weekend since my regular ride couldn't do it. I told her I was facing not being able to get there and home again (for as long as I've been working there, I have NEVER called out on my weekends to work). That's when she told me she was tied up all weekend and couldn't do it. As she left she said she'd call me a little later.

She did call me later and said she'd pick me up after work, take me to her house and let me pick up her other car to use for the weekend. WHAT????? I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I'd get to drive again, just me, all by myself! I nearly peed myself. We did just that. She lives a good half hour away from me and work, which is why she is just the substitute when I need a ride on the weekends. It's way out of her way. What a joyous drive home that was that evening. Hear that? Drive. Myself. Freedom.

That next morning I was facing not having to leave for work until 7:45. On weekdays, I get to work an hour early because my morning ride has a long commute to her job. On the weekends, I get there at 7:30 because that ride likes to hit HEB early to get the good deals and before it gets crowded...and I don't blame her. I used to do that, too. All this time I've been locked in to their schedules, so it plays on me...a lot. Please don't misunderstand. I am SO thankful for these rides. Without them, I'd have lost my job months ago and be homeless today. That is NOT an exaggeration. But being gone nearly 12 hours every day with no way to get to and from home at lunch has been tough to deal with. But I've come to terms with it and do what I have to do just to keep working.

So, I have my friends' car for the weekend. It didn't dawn on me until I was packing my lunch for work Saturday morning that I COULD COME HOME FOR LUNCH!!! I shoved the lunch I just packed in the fridge and just took my drinks with me...and I came home for lunch. And I came for lunch on Sunday. And I drove myself to and from work both days. Because I'm old, tired, and crippeled up I didn't use the car for anything over the weekend but round trips to work. Even when I had my own car, it was rare I went to the store or did anything else after work. I haven't been able to handle it for a couple of years. I always saved shopping and running errands for my days off...and it's always worked out well.

Monday, my day off rolls around and I'm expecting my friend to call to say she and her boyfriend would be by sometime that day to pick up the car. In the meantime, at 7 that morning I'm up, dressed and on my to the grocery store...DRIVING MYSELF TO THE GROCERY STORE!...to shop, MYSELF, to pick out things from the shelves MYSELF. It had been sooooooo long since I could do that. The cherry on top of that trip was a visit to Sonic afterward for my "key chain order" of a Route 44 Diet Cherry Coke that is 99 cents (1.23 with extra flavor charge and tax) when I order with my Sonic key chain, instead of $3+ regular price. It was a short but glorious outing, something I hadn't been able to do since the first week in January.

Monday is waning and my friend finally calls and she says it "might be Wednesday" when she comes by. Woah, was I looking at wagging myself back and forth to work for a couple more days? Yes! All this time I'm texting my morning ride every evening that I have the car for at least another day "but I may need you the next day". Poor girl! My friend was not in a hurry to get her car back. That couple of days turned into a whole week. Yesterday evening at 5:30 after I'd pulled into my parking space here at home after work, I said goodbye to a glorious week of freedom. My friends' older Volkswagon Jetta was the most beautiful thing on the planet for a whole week. I've been trying to get her to sell me that car for months but she keeps saying it's for her kids in Colorado if they ever come get it. They've cancelled trips here four times this year.

While this story is not about me finally getting my own vehicle again, it is about joy. It is about feeling grateful for the small blessings. It is about knowing what I used to take for granted somewhat (I always knew my old car wasn't gonna last for the duration and kept that tucked in the back of my mind) can disappear in an instant, maybe never to be recovered again. It's about taking each day, making the best of it and relishing the joy when something extra comes along. It is about being thankful for those few who do look out for me when they don't have to. It's about joy in the small moments to some, but are absolutely huge to me. It's about freedom in that joy. It's about joy in the independence for a week. It's even about joy in being able to take my trash out everyday with a car instead of having to wait until my day off, pile it all on my walker and hike it down to the other end of the property. Yes, sometimes there's even joy in garbage. It's about joy. Period.

I sit at at home today on the first day off of the three day weekend and can see my empty parking space just outside my back door window. I sit here today stuck again, unable to take advantage of the the time off to run errands, swing by Sonic for that mid morning key chain soda...and maybe sit there for a half hour enjoying the time away from home for something other than work, and maybe even hit the Whataburger for lunch one of these days off. I sit here today sunk into prisoner feeling again. I sit here today playing all this out on paper, as it were, sounding like I'm wallowing in self pity here at the end. But I really sit here today soooooo happy for the opportunity I had this past week and how that feeling still lingers...knowing how it's been a very long time since I've felt real happiness. I sit here knowing that maybe this sparks some hope for the future. After all, I haven't ditched my Sonic key chain all this time.

~ There may still be key chain drinks in my future - that I drive myself to get. 

 🥤🚗🥤🚗🥤🚗🥤🚗🥤🚗🥤🚗🥤🚗🥤🚗🥤🚗🥤🚗🥤🚗🥤🚗🥤🚗🥤🚗🥤🚗🥤

Two Closets Down, One To Go

In the never ending quest to make my apartment practical, functional and liveable, it's a constant fight to rearrange, rework, shuffle, and move stuff around to make actual living space, workable space, and convenience for my physical limitations. Some would call it a continual work in progress. I call it never ending madness.

I live in a town home (an OLD town home), with the bedroom and master bath upstairs. The downstairs is shot gun: narrow straight through from front door to back door...and small. Arranging livingroom furniture in this small, narrow space has been a nightmare for almost 7 years. Nothing I've come up with works and it has never been comfortable. It's always just a make-do situation and it is what it is, but it has never been a place of comfort and contentment.

Upstairs isn't much better. It's just one bedroom, but the bedroom is big and takes up 3/4 of the upstairs. That in itself is a great thing. I love a bigger master bedroom to make pretty and cozy. It has 3 closets - a good size walk-in closet, a medium size deep closet and a small coat-size closet. All that space is great...BUT...when I moved in here, I came out of a two bedroom apartment with a layout that was much better and had more room for 'stuff'. I have a lot of stuff.

It wasn't necessarily bigger. The floor plan was better and made for an easier time with furniture arrangement and storage all the way around...and it was all on one level. The second bedroom was used for my craft studio - sewing, art work, quilting, my yearly Santa's Workshop at the end of summer when I dug into making glitter ornaments for the upcoming holiday season, crochet, knitting, reading, writing...most of the things I enjoy doing. That room kept most of it out of the rest of the living spaces. From 2013 to 2016, it was a great set up. It was absolutely my happy place and always offered creative inspiration and freedom. When I moved in to my current apartment, I had to dedicate half the bedroom upstairs for all that and it was okay...for awhile. 

When I first moved in here, I had things fixed up kinda cute, upstairs and down. I finally settled on a furniture arrangement in the livingroom that was semi-liveable with the furniture I had at the time. Same upstairs with the bedroom. I focused on getting the bedroom part comfortable and workable. It was dedicated to rest and rejuvination at night...and that was priority. That part of it wasn't difficult. It was comfortable and restful. Once it was fixed up the way I wanted with what I had to work with and I knew it was something I could live with, I focused on the other half as my studio.

That part wasn't so easy. Didn't have nearly as much room for an old (big) armoire, several free standing bookshelves, a modular wall shelving unit, a big soft easy chair, a dress makers dummy, the ironing board left standing for easy access, my big desk with a big comfy office chair, a smaller desk I used as an extension of the big desk, and ALL the supplies I had to do all the aforementioned activities. It. Just. Didn't. Work. 

After many weeks of messing with it, I had to make some concessions, pare down and 'make do' again. I donated the big easy chair, gave the smaller desk to my nieces, took my big comfy 6 month old Serta desk chair to work to use at my desk (which I still use today), bought a used, slimmed down version of that chair in great shape at Goodwill to fit in my now teensie work space, shoved the big armoire on the landing at the top of the stairs, put one book shelf at the bottom of the stairs, kept the sewing machine in a closet, my dresser became dedicated storage for much of my craft supplies (I have a tall chest of drawers I use for clothes), and much more of those supplies and books I didn't access as much were packed away in boxes and stored in the medium sized closet...and all this still had to accommodate two extra large crates for my two little dogs who had to spend their days crated while I was at work all day, every day. They were almost 2 years old at this point but still needed crating, especially after the trauma of moving and upheaval of their normal daily routines. There was zero room for them downstairs. 

After much configuring, head scratching, conundrum sitting, and shuffling everything around repeatedly, I finally settled on a studio space arrangement that was workable and a fraction of the size I had before. I used it quite a bit the first two years I was here. It took some getting used to, but eventually I was productive in that space...and it was okay.

Fast forward to 2019. In August of that year, the A.C. went out and it forced me to live downstairs for about 6 weeks. August in Texas. Triple digit temps every day. 80 degrees at night. Air conditioner bites the dust. You get the picture. I slept on the couch. I was given a window unit for cooling until the HVAC could be replaced. It was put in the dining area window. It worked well to keep downstairs cool. Upstairs was a furnace. There was no sleeping upstairs. There was no using the craft studio part of it. The only time I went upstairs was to shower, get ready for work, and get ready for bed at night. Even a fan plugged in in the bathroom didn't help. 

It. Was. HOT.

In that six week period, it suddenly became much more difficult to go up and down the stairs. I came into this place with some difficulty already, but it was manageable. I couldn't stand up straight or walk without assistance. I needed adaptive equipment to stay mobile on my feet...equipment that was not condusive to stair usage. I won't get into all the diagnosies and recommendations going forward here. Moving was not an option. 

Little did I know at the time the A.C. went out that it would pretty much be the last time I slept in my own bed upstairs and used the studio part of it. Navigating the stairs mutiple times a day wasn't happening anymore and dictated where and how I would live in this space from then on. The livingroom was suddenly my bedroom going forward. The downstairs was now akin to an efficiency apartment and my whole life became contained in that tiny, narrow space.

That winter I was determined to be able to do some of the crafting things I was missing, so I hauled the big desk, the office chair, some of the supplies I knew wanted to work with at the time and many of the books associated with those things down to the livingroom and shoved it all in wherever I could. It was not pretty. I tried to make it usable. I did that for about 10 months. It drove me absolutely nuts and I couldn't live with the jam packed mess in the livingroom any longer. The livingroom was now also my bedroom...supposed to be a place of rest and peace. Those things, it was not. It was a big, chaotic, cramped disaster.

I hauled most of it back upstairs. It still sits...un-put together, stacked, boxed, empty wall shelf unit because I can't climb up anymore to put it all back together. Desk just stacked with stuff. Bookshelves only holding bagged and boxed supplies and books. The bedroom and studio area is just a catch-all for things I can't manage up or downstairs anymore. 

I've had plans for several months to rework all 3 closets upstairs. I've been home with covid for the past two weeks. Initially I thought this was going to be a major opportunity to get some major stuff done at home. I didn't take vacation time this year...and that's when I take time to do the bigger projects around the house that don't get done otherwise. Covid kind of took the wind out of my sails and I haven't felt much like doing anything except keeping up with the necessary daily tasks...and those were done bare minimum. 

Three days ago I finally felt somewhat like my old self and started in on reworking those closets. I got the walk-in done the first day. It's something I use every day and desperately needed an overhaul. It was almost an all day job. That definitely sucked the energy out of me and doing another just wasn't happening yesterday. This morning I felt quite a bit better and tackled the coat-size closet. Sounds like a smaller job, but it wasn't. 

That closet is where most of a whole year's worth of holiday decorations are stored: Easter, Independence Day, Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter, Halloween, Christmas, and the Christmas tree. I have a LOT of Halloween and Christmas. Today's job involved repacking all the Christmas stuff in boxes where I can see exactly what it is. For years, its all been stored in miscellaneous cardboard boxes that didn't make much sense when it was time to pull them out during the holiday season every year. I brought home some empty red and green  printer paper boxes from work a few weeks ago that I knew would be perfect. Most everything Christmas packed in those boxes just right. It was a chore but it's done...and I'm fairly happy with the job over all. Need to do the same with Halloween. If only work would order printer paper that comes in orange and black boxes. Hmmm... 🎃

I didn't include photos here of what the dedicated spaces I talked about today looked like in my previous apartment. I didn't include photos of what those spaces here looked like after I finished putting them together. I didn't include photos of what those spaces actually look like today. It's just a sad commentary on the downward progression of my life. Not only is this space tough on me physically, it really does a number on my mental and emotional well being. Again, it ain't pretty.

I go back to work tomorrow and no, I didn't get the third closet done. My energy lasted just long enough to do the one today. It was a one-and-done day again. Once the 3rd closet is tackled...eventually, it will involve swapping all the contents with the closet I tackled today. A work in progress? Not really, but I can go back to work knowing I was productive during my time at home, even if it was just a tiny fraction of what I really wanted to accomplish. That's two closets down, one to go.

This post is long, sadly only covering a small portion of the nightmare that is my apartment. Someday I'll blog about the bottom half of this place and all that it has seen, what goes on down here, and what it takes to actually live in and function in this mess. 

Now, ready to get back to normal routine tomorrow and walk among the living again.

The Charlie Brownest Of Christmases

Yesterday I dug out the two Charlie Brown Christmas trees I have. One is about 15 inches tall after it's stretched into shaped when removed from it's box. It has a nice wooden base the tree screws into that has the Peanuts logo burned into one end of it. It also has a little battery operated speaker box underneath with a button on top that when pushed, plays the Linus and Lucy theme song. It comes with a very nice lone red glass ornament ball to hang on the drooping branches. It has Linus's blue blanket to wrap around the base of the tree....all pretty much just like what you see in the classic Christmas special on TV every year since 1965. I also have the smaller version of it...about 12 inches in height, minus the music box and Linus's blanket. Both are 50th Anniversary editions of A Charlie Brown Christmas from 2015. They were a must-have since A Charlie Brown Christmas was such a big part of my childhood, and pretty much ever year since then. The nostalgia was just too precious to let slip through my fingers. 

All that being said, It's been that long since I've put them out. Living alone the past 5 years has made holiday time strange and quite a bit of a conundrum for me. There truly is no Christmas in my house. I have to go elsewhere to celebrate it with family on those days. Decorating for Christmas is a bit of a puzzle. Who's gonna see it but me? I always put lights in the windows and wreaths on the doors. That part I get to share with everyone else. But decorating indoors leaves a lot to be desired. 

I haven't put the big tree up in as many years. I have a small table top tree I put out if it feels right. Some years it doesn't. This year has been a bit different, though...and it's odd because the budget is tighter than it's ever been and I won't get to shop for gifts. Work has had me so strung out that I haven't even been able to make things to give in shopping's place. But since Thanksgiving weekend, I've had a bigger urge than ever to create some joy in this place. 

I put lights up inside. Everywhere. I've dug out Christmas decor I haven't seen or thought about in years. I have a LOT of it just stored away in boxes...and I've been thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis close to dragging out the big tree and all it's dressy finest to put up in front of the big picture window (do they still call big windows that?). I ultimately decided against it because I don't trust the dogs, Charlie and Mr. Big, to leave it alone (water it every time they pass it 🙄), and my 3 kitties would no doubt have a hey dey with all the glitter ornaments and ultimately discover climbing the thing. Every. Single. Day. I'm gone too much for all that. I just don't have the energy to clean up all the mess and make all the repairs every evening after work....and, no, I'm not up for caging the tree or hanging it upside down from the ceiling that's become the thing do in situations like this these days. Great in theory, but way too much work and expense just for a couple of weeks of the tree being up. 

But it's been fun thinking about putting the big tree up. It's made me know that what I have done outside of that is enough...and has perked this dingy little place up quite a bit. It's defintely brought some joy this holiday season.

I hope you've found joy along the way in your holiday season. Sometimes a few strings of twinkly colored lights strewn wherever a spot needs twinkling and a couple of little Charlie Brown trees is all it takes. 🎄🎅

Launch Day

 Today is blog launch day. Hop on and enjoy the ride!

Scroll down to start reading posts. 😃

Crochet Anyone?

In the world of blogging, there are infinite subjects to write about.  If you Google "blogs", you'll find anything and everything you could ever think of...and some things you don't necessarily want to think of. But it's all out there and this blogger is adding to it. 

After many years away from writing online everyday, I'm looking to switch things up a little where subject matter is concerned. My old blog was mainly about knitting because I was obsessed with the craft and couldn't keep the needles and some kind of fun yarn out of my hands. I always had a project going and it went with me everywhere I went. Typing away about it was pretty much the only thing that kept me from actually knitting in the moment. Knitting blogs were abundant back then and it was great to be part of that community.

The old blog did take an occasional detour from the subject of knitting. My life was quite different back then and there was lots to talk about - some good, some not so good. Sometimes it became a release of pent up words and feelings when I couldn't put them anywhere else. It was a good experience and served it's purpose for a couple of years. That was back in blogging's hey day when it was easy to acquire followers to fuel more inspiration and keep the momentum going. It was a good run for what it was worth.

When my life took a pretty drastic turn and I needed to retool my path and objectives, the blog fell to the way side and I never got back to it. Looking forward now, changing up the subject matter here to match what may or may not be happening, things that keep me busy, corny thoughts and observations I have on a daily basis, hobbies, pets, and a plethora of other things I surround myself with can keep my fingers pretty busy here at the keyboard from time to time.

My first post here was about clothes pins. The second post was about Halloween cookies gone wrong. I can think of a half dozen other things right off the top of my head to fill up post numbers 3-8. I'll settle for #3 right now. Today's post (besides the rambling in the first 3 paragraphs) touches on the subject of crochet. I do quite a bit of it and feel it warrants a place in my current blogosphere. Not everyone relates to it as a crafter, but odds are you grew up with it around you in some form or fashion. Those old doilies your grandmother had under everything in her house, or that granny square afghan thrown over the back of your mom's couch when you were growing up was crochet in your life, whether you knew it not. 

Like knitting, crochet is an addiction in a roller coaster sort of way. I've been crocheting for 53 years. I learned at the age of six and have been doing it ever since. Throughout all these years, I go through phases of it where I crochet a lot and turn out quite a few projects. Then I get a bit burned out and don't do it so much for a while. I go through what they call "losing my crojo"...hence the roller coaster analogy. It has it's ups and downs, it's ebbs and flows. It offers those euphoric highs and then that feeling flat at the bottom and not moving forward. But even when it sits flat on the bottom for awhile, that old craving comes back, pulls me back in and I'm on that ride to the top again. That's what's good about it - it's ever changing and never gets dull. 

While yarn has been the mainstay of my crochet history, thread has been right up there the last few years. Doilies are a favorite go-to (even though they haven't been popular for several decades now), particularly some of my mother's old favorite doily patterns. One of my brothers kick started that a few years ago when he called me one night and asked "can you make me one a them grape doilies mama used to make?". I knew I had her old pattern for it. I told him I'd dig it out and study on it for a bit. I didn't make him any promises because I had no clue if I could make heads or tails out of the pattern instructions....and it had been many, MANY years since I had worked with thread. It was a daunting thought. 

I read over the pattern several times over the next few days. I decided it might be worth a shot. I hadn't made any promises at this point and I had nothing to lose. The next day off from work I had, I set out to shop for thread for the grape doily. I wanted to try to match the ones my mother made as closely as possible color-wise, with the exception of the god awful Kelly Green that was used for the leaves way back when. I loved those doilies when I was growing up, but even as a little kid who knew nothing about anything, I hated that particular green. The pattern was published by the old Coats and Clark textile company, which also made their own crochet thread, and called it 'Kilarny Green'. Yuck. I still shudder when I read that in the pattern. So, I knew I wanted something a little less stark and more palatable in today's colors and wide scope of decorating styles. I settled on an olive-ish green. I got about three different olive shades to accommodate a variety of purples. I was pleased with my color selections and was well on my way to making "one a them grape doilies mama used to make." 

I didn't tell my brother that I was working on one. I didn't want him to be disappointed if I couldn't pull it off. I cleared (rather clumsily) the hurdles of working with tiny crochet thread and an itty bitty steel crochet hook. I'd spent many years working with big fat worsted weight yarn and seemingly giant hooks compared to the tiny stuff facing me now. It was an adjustment that would take me a bit of time to conquer. I kept thinking back on the fact that when I learned to crochet at the age of six, it was with crochet thread and a steel hook. It wasn’t until I was about twelve that I took up using yarn. I didn’t look back to thread very often after that. So, fifty plus years later, it was like learning all over again…and how could it be so difficult to make the transition to something that was the very foundation of my craft? I scratched my head a lot over that one. 

Next was deciphering the nearly 70 year old pattern geared towards 1940's grandmothers and the crochet lingo that existed back then. It took a little more studying and thinking on when my mother and grandmother used to talk crochet patterns back then. Once I recollected some of those conversations between them, the pattern made more sense. I actually started with some practice thread before I dug into the thread I bought for the project. I had no clue what I was facing, so I figured I better get my feet wet on something I wasn’t going to care much about in case I had to do a lot of ripping back and starting over. 

As I started to work it, it slowly started taking shape. In the days ahead I worked on the doily whenever time would allow. I was pretty pleased with the progress until I got about half way through the making the first leaf in between the grape clusters. I kept getting hung up on a pattern step. No matter how much I reworked it, it kept coming out the same. I would look at my work, then look at the picture on the pattern, then look at my work again, and look at the picture again. I did this for a good week and decided I couldn’t go any further. Either the pattern had a major goof, or my brain was just dumb to the whole thing. I put the doily down and didn’t get back to it for awhile...a very long while. Life goes on.

The train wreck doily from my first attempt...

A year and a half later after a marriage break up, a move to new apartment and adjusting to life without a lot of crochet involved in the process, I felt that old feeling starting to creep back in. I went upstairs to go through yarn, patterns, and old projects I’d started eons ago but never finished. I ran across the dreaded grape doily. I kind of shook in my boots at the thought of that old thing. I picked up the bag it was in, pulled it all out, smoothed out the wrinkled unfinished monster and looked at the pattern again. I put everything else back where it was stored except for the ‘bag 'o doily’. I trotted downstairs with my find and determined that I was determined to conquer the beast. 

That evening I sat down with it, read over the pattern a couple of times and picked up where I left off almost two years earlier. All of a sudden it made sense. It just clicked and I took off with it, FINALLY finishing the very first leaf. It got easier with each subsequent leaf and lo and behold, it looked like the doily in the picture! I found a slight error in the pattern and corrected it with what I thought it was supposed be instead. It worked and the rest is history. I celebrated kicked back with a glass of wine, admiring the handiwork that suddenly made sense and looking forward to actually using the thread I bought to make the ‘real doily’.

I finally made the doily my brother wanted so long ago….and hope he'd long forgotten about it because I never got back to him about it. I even made another to add to it because I kept finding gorgeous colors to use for the grapes. I felt so bad about making him wait so long for one, more than two years at this point, I thought he deserved two: ‘One a them mama used to make’ in her traditional colors with a variation on the green…and another in a different purple and green variegated for the grape clusters. It was a good feeling. I blocked them, packaged them, addressed the box and sent them on their way to a land far away from me - Arkansas. I’m in Texas but Arkansas might as well be half a world away since I don’t get out much anymore.

A few days later my sister in law messaged me with a photo of the doilies being unboxed, then a another photo later that evening of both doilies proudly displayed on their coffee table. My brother called me that night with his voice breaking a little and just said “thank you”. That’s all that was needed. I knew they meant a great deal to him. Mission accomplished. 

That more than two years of the grape doily saga set me on a path to make many more in the future. I never really knew when I acquired my mother’s old crochet patterns after her passing just exactly what they would mean to me and many others years later. It started me on a path of family history discovery, self discovery and the desire to carry on my mother’s legacy. She loved to crochet and did a lot of it when I was growing up. She did a lot more of it after most of us kids had flown the coop. I kind of follow in those foot steps these days.

The first one for my brother in the traditional colors.

I’ve since made countless grape doilies – traditional colors, colors for the different seasons and holidays, made to order for people who literally begged me to start selling them because they love the nostalgia behind them. I have several stories about strangers shedding tears over them because of the memories they bring back – long forgotten doilies that no one realized during their childhood would come to mean so much years later when a picture of one I’d made popped up in a crochet group online. But that’s a post for another day.

The second one for my brother in a different grape color.

There will be posts here from time to time featuring my crochet wares, stories of their origins, what the progress is or isn’t of the latest WIP (work in progress), maybe even set up an online store for some of it if I can ever get some inventory built up (working full time puts a dent in that mass production dream), the inspiration behind some of them, the fun of it all, the hair pulling moments because I’ve decided it just hates me, and maybe just photos of stuff I’ve made because I can.

If you decide you’d like a little crochet inspiration to spur on your own addiction to it, or maybe you’ve never tried it but would like to learn, or maybe you just like looking at handmade stuff from afar, follow this new blog and pop in here occasionally.

 I’ll be happy to feed you...and then come back for seconds. 💗

The Great Halloween Cookie Disaster of 2021

Halloween of 2021 has come and gone. That's not very profound in and of itself unless you're talking about making cookies to give out as treats on Halloween night...and that's just what I did this year.

I don't observe Halloween as much as I used to. As I age I find it's not as needed in the same realm as it used to be in my own life, nor as fun as it used to be. I still decorate my apartment, but on a much scaled back 'dragging out all the stuff' I have to do it with. I don't have kids in my home anymore to get ready for it. It's just me...and the need for a big to-do for Halloween just isn't necessary any longer. The neighborhood I live in is big on it though. Lots of pretty spectacularly decorated houses starting way back in early September. It's a Trick or Treaters paradise on Halloween night where the candy haul is concerned...and this year especially so, trying to make up for the lack of it last year. A pandemic will do that...put a screeching halt to things, and that included Halloween 2020. But the apartment complex I live in is like a virus itself and NO ONE comes here to trick or treat. Ever. 

This was my fifth Halloween here. The first year I bought candy to hand out. Lots of it - because of the apartment complex where I'd lived previously just a few blocks away. The kids at my door in the previous place on Halloween night were abundant to the point I'd run out of candy and have to turn the lights off. I'd buy a lot more candy the next year and still run out. I pretty much expected the same thing here. After all, there were lots of kids that lived here and why would that be any different, right? Wrong. Seems the matter of "just a few blocks" makes a huge difference in trick or treaters mapping out their night to get to where "the good stuff" is. 

My first year here, as I have done every year, I decorated the doors. Put strings of orange lights in the windows. Shopped for candy to cover 6-ish p.m. to 9 p.m. I lit the holiday candles, poured myself a glass of wine, put in the dvd of It's The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown, and sat at the dining table to watch both the front and back doors because I didn't know which one they'd come to...and waited. And waited. And waited some more. No one ever showed up. My sister brought her girls over. I was expecting them and had made up some special treats for them. That's it for the whole night. I was confused, a little sad....and wondering what the heck I was gonna do with all the candy I was suddenly stuck with. I sure wasn't gonna eat it. It wasn't necessarily "the good stuff". You know how that is. 

The next year, thinking the previous year was just a fluke, I bought candy again to hand out, but not nearly as much, albeit a little better selection just in case. Same thing. Sister came with her kids. That was it. This particular year I'd observed that the resident kids did NOT trick or treat right here where they lived. Their families decorated their spaces like crazy, but didn't stick around to see which of their immediate neighbors had the best goodies. They took off  to where they knew the getting was good and never looked back. So, the next year I didn't buy candy to hand out...and haven't since. That leads me to the actual subject of today's post. Cookies.

As I said previously, I made treats a little more special for my sister's kids. I do every year. I usually buy some fun and different candies and include something else like a dvd I figure they'll like, or some other trinket they might enjoy. I package it all in a cute little Halloween themed bucket or bag and trim it with Jack O Lantern print ribbon for each one. You get the picture. This year I opted to do something different other than buy candy and do the same 'ol, same 'ol. 

I was in the grocery store the day before and saw these little tubs of cute orange Jack O Lantern short bread cookies. I had this brilliant idea to get a couple of those, some kind of yummy frosting and the stuff to decorate them with. How hard would that be? After all, the cookies were already made. I didn't have to make a big mess with baking. Just decorate and go. Simple! NOT.

 The before - Cute little pre-made Jack O Lantern cookies.

My first mistake was waiting until the day before Halloween to put it all together...or to even come up with the idea, but on a budget like mine I'm stuck with doing just that more times than not. But back to the shopping. I knew I wanted a cream cheese frosting to frost them with. I found plenty of that in stock. That's #1 checked off my list. I had some green sugar at home to do stems and leaves, so no need for a green frosting tube. Check. Next was tubes of black and orange decorating frosting to make Jack O Lantern faces. Two stores and no such thing to be found. That's #2 and #3 not checked off my list. I went back to the first store where I got the cookies and the frosting and had to settle for a tube of orange glitter gel. It was pretty but because it was gel, I knew it wasn't gonna go the way I wanted it. Previous unsuccessful experience with it told me that. But I didn't have money or time to hunt for and buy all the stuff needed to make my own from scratch. So, the sparkly orange gel in a tube it was.

You may ask why I would go to all that trouble when the cookies already had faces built into them. The cookies were cute, but lacking in personality. They needed a little dressing up. I was making my nieces special Halloween treats and why shouldn't they be in 3-D and glorious technicolor???? I would have been excited about thickly frosted, extra sweet, happy faced Jack O Lantern cookies if I were the kid on the receiving end of them. So, going into it I didn't think it was any trouble at all. The shortages on the list for my project not withstanding, I happily carted my goods home and looked forward to diving into the colorful, frosted fun.

The next morning I sat down at the table with a cookie sheet, frosting, gel, green sugar, all the tools needed to smear, spread, sprinkle, draw and define, and set out to make my nieces Halloween treats. I opted to make a dozen...four for each girl. By the time they were finished they'd be pretty thick and rich and I figured four each was enough. I soon regretted just one. Putting the actual frosting on each cookie wasn't bad. No real issues except for trying to keep the edges even and round and not get it all over my hands in the process. Next came the green sugar for the stems and a few little squiggly leaves on top. That's where the hurdles began. The sugar just wasn't the thing for that. Can't change it at this point, but I digress. I trudged on to the next step. Time for gel. I outlined each frosted face and drew the lines to create the sections of the pumpkin. I was pretty happy with the gel progress so far. Time for the face. Herein lies the real disaster.

I worked ever so carefully drawing triangle shaped eyes, and then on to the gap-toothed grin. Oh brother! (insert face plant here). There was no such thing as any definition and a reasonable facsimile of that gap-toothed grin. All it did was run together...and run together some more. The more I worked at it, the worse it got. About four cookies into it I was ready to give it all to the dogs. When I finally reached that twelfth cookie, I was sooooooooo  happy I never found anything in black to add to it. I sat back and looked at the cookie sheet full of my little pumpkin disasters and thought to myself, if those ain't some scary ass looking Jack O Lanterns, I don't know what are! I didn't have the resources or the time to change my mind and run out to shop for something else. Into the fridge they went to set the whole frosting/gel thing so I could bag them up later. That evening about an hour before I figured my visitors would be arriving, I attempted to put them in plastic sandwich bags. Another insert face plant here. Sticky, smear, smush, struggle...and sticky, smush, struggle some more. I did not take a picture of that mess.

The after - scary, SCARY Jack O Lantern cookies 😖

My sister and the kids came by that evening. I gave them their cookies with my head held in shame and tried to explain my plight. They were very understanding. My sister, who I consider a master baker and very good at what she does understands the struggle. It takes the baking and decorating mistakes and disasters over time to get to master status. I just hope they thought the cookies tasted much better than they looked. After all, eating your Halloween goodies is the ultimate goal, right????? If you can get past the smeared, smushed frowns, they did taste pretty good...at least that's what Charlie and Mr. Big thought. They're my two dogs and give me their approvals or disapprovals about everything around here. I had a couple myself. The taste far exceeded the look.

On a happier note, this is my eleven year old niece in her costume this year. She's getting SO TALL!!!

Do It Yourself  frosted cookies for Halloween. Never again.
 



  

Where The Clothes Pins Are?

So, here I am revisiting the thought of becoming part of the blogosphere again. It's been a few years since I left the old blog behind and ventured on to a life outside of writing online everyday. Blogging takes time, daily dedication...and subject matter, which I didn't feel I had much of these past few years. I've left some of my spilled guts on Facebook in it's place, but nothing dedicated on a regular basis. 

The world we live in today with all it's craziness everywhere we turn has had me looking inward a whole lot the past couple of years. That inwardness revealed some subject matter and turned my thoughts toward blogging again. That's how I came up with the new blog title "Where The Clothes Pins Are". I can find pretty much anything I'm looking for around the house and then some, where the clothes pins are. That phrase goes a long way back in my life and suddenly made perfect sense to me about a month ago.

When I was growing up, my mother never had a clothes dryer. She always had clothes lines outside to hang wet laundry on to dry. If we moved somewhere that didn't have clothes lines, lines were always strung wherever they would fit in the back yard...and where there were clothes lines, there were clothes pins.

 

My mother always had a cloth bag with a wire frame at the top opening and a long wire handle bent at the top to hang and slide along the line for clothes pins. She made the bags herself from cheerful, colorful, calico print fabrics. She would replace them every other winter or so after they had faded and worn from much outdoor use. They were very simple in form but a bright spot in an otherwise dreary job for us kids who got stuck with hanging out fresh wash once we were tall enough to reach the clothes lines, even it meant standing on a kitchen chair to reach.

That bag of clothes pins was never left hanging outside on the line. It was always brought back inside after each load of wash was hung to preserve the wooden clothes pins and protect the bag itself. It was always stored where it was easy to get to when needed, but usually in a place where a multitude of other utilitarian things were stored...like the corner of a partially enclosed carport, or a tall corner shelf in the kitchen, or a service porch where the washing machine was, or a screened in breezeway between the house and the garage. You could find pretty much anything you were looking for in these areas if it didn't have a designated place elsewhere in the house. If anyone asked mama if she knew where something might be we couldn't find elsewhere, she'd say "Look where the clothes pins are."

In today's world, not many of us hang wash out on the line anymore. My sister still does, but that's another story for another time. Most have washer/dryer combos to keep life as simple as possible. As a result, we don't have a colorful bag of clothes pins hanging near the washer. BUT...I do. No, I don't have clothes lines, nor a cloth bag to store them in. I don't even have a washer or dryer (apartment life dictates that). But I do have clothes pins. Lots of them. Cute, sturdy, brightly colored plastic clothes pins I keep in little baskets all over the house...and the utensil drawer in the kitchen.

I use them for mostly everything other than their intended use...potato chip bag clips, on flour and sugar bags in the fridge, hang pants on hangers in the closet, hand washed lingerie on hangers to dry over the bath tub, hold a recipe book open to a certain page, pin the towel on my head after I wash my hair, and a multitude of other uses in my crafty endeavors and around the house. As a result, clothes pins are pretty much in all the areas of my apartment that get the most use. 

I discovered not long ago that I have a bag of clothes pins stored deep inside myself. It's always been there. As I get older and I go about life differently than I did forty years ago, even two years ago, I find myself looking inward a lot more. It isn't something I set my mind to do. It just kind of happened on it's own. The colorful bag of clothes pins inside is a nice place to reach into these days.

The pandemic has certainly given the multitude ample opportunity for such a thing. I'm kind of the exception to that rule because the "shut down" didn't shut me down. I've had to get out every day to keep working and shop and do my daily stuff. I didn't luck out and get to work from home, or have my shopping or meals delivered, or any of the other things it forced many to do. But it did provide the opportunity for my thought processes to change somewhat and re-evalute what's important to me, my life today and life going forward. That's where I discovered that bag of clothes pins inside.

I don't look for as many things to do, or buy, or say, feel or think these days. I think that's all part of that "with age comes wisdom" thing. What once was important isn't as important now. What I once thought desperately needed saying is better kept quiet. What once used to horribly get under my skin doesn't matter anymore. What I once thought I just couldn't live without hasn't been on my radar for quite some time. It's just easier to not get so focused on all those stresses and let life happen. In a world that's so worked up over so many things today, this approach to life serves me well.

I find that if I feel there's something missing around me, chances are I'll find it inside myself "where the clothes pins are".

My jump back into blogging, even though it's not a trend anymore, has officially begun. It will be a mix of things I think, feel, and do. I hope it's a journey you'll peek into from time to time.  

Did you lose something? Have been you looking for something without getting the results you want? Try looking inward "where the clothes pins are".