{ i invite you to have a cupcake! }

cupcakes, for my family, symbolize celebration. something good for us. whether we are celebrating a new season or individual success, cupcakes truly make any situation better. and i would say that it is true for the good news i’m about to share. after being homeless for 5 1/2 months we received wonderful news! yesterday, i got the phone call. i have been accepted into a transitional living program! there is much reason for balloons, streamers, bright lights, pinatas, and cupcakes! after searching for a place to call home, we now have somewhere to rest our heads at night. though it isn’t quite our own apartment lifestyle that we are used to, i can call it h.o.m.e. that’s been so important to me for the past few months.

this particular transitional home is Christian based. their program runs 6 months to 2 years. i estimated that i could save approximately $16,000 in the next two years by sticking to their individual budgeting. while that means i will have to learn to be frugal, it also means that i would have at least a year and a half of payments saved towards renting my own apartment again. it also means that i will be able to work on repairing my credit diligently. there are youth programs, on campus, for both children. i will continue to homeschool Scout. transportation is available throughout the day and for Jem to get to and from school. i haven’t seen the individual apartments, though i have toured the other parts of the property and am very impressed. i am told that each apartment is essentially a studio apartment without the kitchen (because they are located in the foothills of the mountains, they do have problems with rodent infestation so they do not allow residents to cook/bake in their individual apartments, but they do provide meals and snacks).

i’ve been dreaming about this for a while. next Wednesday, at 1 p.m., is our move in date. we will have comfortable beds. a place to put our things. i won’t have to tote my things to and from storage three times a day. most importantly, i will be with my kids. we are reuniting as a family again, and that makes my heart feel good again. i can not wait to put sheets on my bed. or to watch Scout discover the wilderness that will surround us. i can’t wait to put a welcome mat outside my door. or to have somewhere to sit without being in one’s way. i can’t wait to be able to cozy up with the kids and watch a movie from beginning to end (all in the same day). or to take a shower without being interrupted.

things are looking up for us. i thank God for giving us a second chance. now onto the celebration…

Not Much

going on here.

My weekend officially began yesterday afternoon. I’ve been somewhat productive. The windows are washed, cobwebs have been removed from the corners of the ceiling, the DVD’s are back in alphabetical order, the TV is shiny and clear, the stovetop is sparkling, and I’m still tackling a hallway of dirty laundry. But there are still things to do. I need to go to the library to work on my History research paper (my topic is Anne Boleyn), make a deposit in my checking accout, buy some laundry soap and sponges (to replace what I’ve used today), and return and exchange a couple of DVD’s.

And yet here I am saying that “not” much is happening.

In all reality, there really isn’t anything going on that I need to announce. Of course, I have my thoughts.

* How did this funny looking Austrian man convince an entire country to rise up against an entire religious community? (History, we are discussing WWII.)

* How is California ever going to get out of it’s deficit? (Political Science.)

* Why are there only four guys sitting in on my Women’s Studies class? (Sociology)

* Why are we missing six Scooby Doo DVD’s and where did they disappear to?

* Is it considered ass kissing if I knit something for my Political Science teachers’ baby? If not, what pattern should I choose?

* Why do pizza places charge a $2.50 delivery fee and then expect a tip in addition to the delivery fee?

* Why can’t I just sit down and knit? Especially when I have such cute stitch markers to accompany my Tea Leaves Cardigan. (They were made special by Jillian of WeeOnes Stitch Markers. I had her make me a second set of Dalton.)

And a set of Rogue.

I think I’m quite ready for the weekend. Til then, have a good one yourself.

Loss For Words

The past couple of days I’ve been at a loss for words. I’ve been waking up with these hideous headaches and absolutely no motivation to do anything. Of course, the dishes get washed and the laundry gets folded. But for the most part the wonderful wet rain has gotten me in a lazy mood.

It takes a little bit longer to wake up in the morning. I lay in bed, under cover, and listen to the drip, drip, drip of the rain as it hits the puddles outside our bedroom window.

I find that my afternoons have been filled with warming up in an oversized blanket and laying around the couch. I’ve even been known to fall asleep with Scout laying in my arms. Her light snoring is like a metronome. Spellbinding. Rythmic.

In the evenings I tend to come to life. It’s dinner time and the household is on edge. What will it be tonight? Chicken Parmigiano Strips with Spaghetti. Brown Butter and Balsamic Tortellini. Or maybe some Navy Bean Soup. It all depends.

And then for no known reason I’m off to bed at 8:30. I get back under cover and flick on the table lamp and I begin reading. Right now it’s Daphne. I slowly fall asleep thinking of Morgan and Luna, characters in a short story that I’ve been formulating.

Next thing I know it’s morning all over again.

But with this laziness comes a bit of a hidden depression. Maybe because the rain inhibits me from getting all the things done that I need to do. Like walk Rogue. She’s completely and utterly afraid of falling water. Or getting to the library to pick up some books for Scout (we read two to three at nap time and I’d completely ran out for three days straight). Or even getting to the grocery store because I completely forgot to buy some flat parsley.

Whatever it is I believe Shawn saw through it. So he treated me to a drive in the rain and I small shopping spree at the not so local LYS.

I’d decided to get some yarn for the Cedar Leaf Shawlette that I fell in love with. I mean, look at those little leaves!

{Manos Del Uruguay Silk Blend}

I’d also perused the shop to see if there was anything I could do about substituting yarn for the Sabbatical Cardigan in this issue of Twist Collective. I didn’t quite find what I was looking for so I’m going to keep searching until I find the most perfect yarn for this gorgeous sweater. So instead, I decided on just one more skein of SweetGeorgia Tough Love Sock because…well, because. I also snuck in a copy of the new KnitScene and the new Debbie Bliss Magazine because…well, again, because.

{SweetGeorgia Tough Love Sock in Mist}

And just to prove to you that I haven’t been completely lazy, I have been using my sewing machine.

You’ll just have to wait to see what this is all about.

Til then: Stay Dry and Stay Warm.

The. End.

Technically the end is tomorrow, but this will be my farewell to 2009 post. I wish that I could come up with this profound post that will put good thoughts in your heads and your hearts.

The truth is that life has been somewhat lackluster and dull here. No really. The most drama we’ve had here is having to deal with snot nosed teenagers and irresponsible dog owners. That and a cold from hell. I’ve been off balance with a headache, my jaw is tightened up by my TMJ, I have sneezing fits that make my throat sore…

You get the idea.

I’d like to say that the end of the year was wrapped up nice and neat like a gift under the Christmas tree, but the past week has been nothing more than a readjustment to being depressed, ill, and isolated with two children who are always bored.

But there has been good. Honestly.

Like the yummalicious yarn that I received from Sundara. (Even though I need to admit there has been little to no knitting lately. I seem to be on a self imposed break.)

Rogue has been getting bigger and healthier. She knows her “sit” and “stay” commands now. And she still likes to nibble.

And of course, I have plans for 2010. I don’t want to call them Resolutions, as the tradition would go. They are plans. Real plans.

• I have joined the NaKniSweMoDo group on Ravelry. I plan on having twelve brand new sweaters this year. All handknit for me. (And one for Shawn.)
• I am participating in round two of the 52 Books in 52 Weeks group on Ravelry. I was only able to crank out forty one books this year (my goal was forty eight). In 2010 my plan is to crank out forty five books. I’ll be starting with Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver.
• I will be starting the Spring semester at College of the Canyons in February.
• I plan on making me and Shawn a quilt. For us. Only us.
• I plan on going to the 2010 Ravelry party at Unwind in January. (Last years party was awesome so I can only assume it will be even more so now that Namaste, Kristin Porter and the girls from Manos del Uruguay will be there.)
• I plan on buying a bike. And using it.
• I plan on customizing my first Blythe. Linkin and Celeste will stay stock, but Bailey is getting a full makeover.
• I am going to start taking sewing classes again, hopefully starting in February.

So while so things are coming to an end, some things are going to be a new beginning. And even though the rest of my day is only going to consist of “Golden Girl” reruns, Campbell’s Bean and Bacon soup with some Saltines and finishing up “The Abstinence Teacher”, I can’t imagine a better way to end the year.

I hope to see you all here next year!

Til then, party one!

Something

There’s something about waking up at six in the morning.

There’s something about letting my hair go curly today.

There’s something about the mottled white clouds in a tern gray sky.

There’s somethingabout the scalding hot water while washing last night’s dishes.

There’s something about Scout’s laugh when she’s watching “Snoopy”.

There’s something about folding the laundry, piece by piece.

There’s something about catching a glance at the fresh flowers Shawn brought home.

There’s something about the way Scout turns a stuffed white bunny into a “kitty cat”.

There’s something about reading a book that just won’t end.

There’s something about simplicity.

There’s something about making a gift for a loved one.

There’s always something.

Beginnings

Yes, beginnings.

A fresh new start.

Autumn is a new beginning. It’s the one season where I see the most changes. The cool Santa Ana’s whistling through the canyons. Waking up to Scout and Marley snuggled under three layers of blankets and quilts. Apple cider and hot cocoa, both a staple in our pantry. The crunchiness of the leaves.

It’s also a new beginning for knitting. I had a “revelation”, if you will. Something inside me that told me my knitting would be forever changed. I really don’t know how to explain it. There aren’t any words. The best way that I can explain it is that knitting is a life force. It’s comfort. It’s home.

My fingers are enveloped with the angora and wool. There is a constant click of metal against metal. Sometimes, when I open up the windows, the wind will rustle my notes. I embrace this. I embrace the Autumn. I embrace my knitting. I embrace my life.

Moving Right Along

I wish that I could tell you that I was busy and productive during my two week hiatus, but I’d be lying. I wasn’t busy. I wasn’t productive, (not much anyway). I wasn’t reading the classics. I wasn’t trying new recipes. I wasn’t folding laundry. I wasn’t really living life. I feel a bit like James Stewart in “Rear Window”, only my neighbors are nowhere near as interesting. And there isn’t a cute little dog that you can tote in a basket.

No, life has been downright b.o.r.i.n.g. I’ve been out of the house three times. Two of those times I fell. The crutches just flew out from under me and somehow I landed on my face the first time. My knee, the second time. So I’ve essentially regressed and am now a total hermit. A boring one at that.

Tuesday just happened to be the day where I decided to take up my knitting needles and make a few stitches. Not too bad, when I ended up with this:

(Sorry for the shabby photo, but I can only move in so many positions now.) He’s the Deadliest Crab from Knitty.com. He’s going to be a birthday present once I finish up the last two back legs and the front claws.

Working on him made me realize a few things.

1. I really need to finish working on my Etsy Orders.

2. The holidays are approaching, a little quicker than anticipated.

So I’ve decided to set up a list of my goals for October. I’m thinking that not only will I be busy and productive, but  I  just might open up my hermit shell and try to enjoy the little things that I can do, not the things that I can’t do.

My October 2009 Goals

1. Finish Christmas Advent Calendar, (I have 12 mini hats with pom-poms to knit).

2. Finish my Vine Yoke Cardigan, (now that Ysolda made the final corrections, I can restart this).

3. Make up for two swaps that I’m incredibly late on: one is a doll and the other is a pincushion.

4. Put together the final touches on the two swaps I’m currently in: one is an Autumn Swap and the other is a Halloween Swap.

5. Sew Scout a trick or treating bag for Halloween. (Lucky for me that I found a cute Halloween costume, at Target, at the end of Halloween last year. Store bought gets me out of handmade this year.)

6. Go to the Saugus Pumpkin Festival. (I can’t wait for this one.)

7. Finish up my Etsy orders, (I currently have about 5 and I’m a little behind since I had surgery during my turnaround time).

8. Try a new recipe.

9. Decorate the house for Autumn and Halloween.

I think that I can do this. I’ll just have to move right along a little bit faster than anticipated. I’m sure I can tackle it.

Feet

When I was born, way back in 1980, I was born a month early. I should have come on December 27th. Instead, I was impatient. Not much has changed. I decided that November 27th was a much better day to come into this world. Such a good day that my mom had to leaving the holiday cooking and her two pumpkin pies. And even though she reminds me that she couldn’t have her pies, (I was a C-section baby), I still think that she was ok with me coming into her life a month early.

But not all was great. I was born with club foot. I was born 5 lbs. 10 oz. When I came home from the hospital my feet were adorned with tiny casts on my feet. I only weight 5 lbs. coming home. Nine months later I had corrective surgery.

For years I had to wear corrective shoes. And back then, they were not the least bit cute. Not to say they are today. Corrective shoes haven’t come very far, design wise. And in those years I went through all types of teasing. I’ve come to hate my feet. They are completely unperfect.

There is a little extra skin that comes over my big toe. Of course, I could have cosmetic surgery. But really? Who has the money to waste on that? I have a little mole on my right big toe. My pinkie toes curve underneath my fourth toe. My feet have high arches and wide circumference. They are completely unperfect.

When I was in 11th grade I thought it would be cool to ditch school with friends. We’d decided that spending a day in class was nothing compared to spending the day at a pool. I suggested we walk right out the front of the school. What could be easier? But the boys. Sigh. The boys decided it was safer to climb the fence by the continuation school and walk the block and a half to the pool. That particular day I was wearing overalls. Overall clips are dangerous. Mine got stuck on the top of the fence. Rather then scale the fence slowly, as I was making my way to freedom, I decided to jump. Unfortunately I jumped down too hard and shattered my right foot.

Fast forward a few years later. I was playing softball, with my then boyfriend, at an army base. You’d figure an army base would have well trimmed baseball fields. But alas, they don’t. As I was playing left field I went for a fly ball. I ran. And ran. And then my right foot got stuck in a gopher hole. My foot went one way, my body the other. I can still remember the feeling of that tendons tearing. My ankle dislocating. And the warm rush of blood that went to my face.

It’s been six years and my foot isn’t the same. I can’t walk on the sand, or any uneven surface, without the pain. I can’t walk for long periods of time. (I’m a complete drag at the fair or Disneyland.) And every morning I want to scream to the heavens. There are times when I dream of finding an African medicine man to heal my foot. Sometimes I ask Shawn to hobble me, like in “Misery”. Yes, the pain is that bad.

So finally, (bear with me, I’m almost done), I found a Dr. that will be performing a miracle. Tomorrow. Yes, I know. Short notice. I do apologize. Tomorrow this miracle man is going to put a pin into my ankle joints and fuse them together. This will straighten my foot, stop my joints from rubbing each other, and it will, virtually, eliminate the arthritis.  I won’t be gone for long, a day or two at the most.

The healing is what will be the hardest part. I will be in a cast for 6-8 weeks. Three casts, mind you. And then in a non weight bearing walking boot for about three months. Then physical therapy. My hopes are that I will be able to walk in the next six months. Without crutches. Without a wheelchair. Without a cane. Without the help of someone else.

Just with my unperfect feet.

30 Days of Happiness

Over at Erin’s blog she started a Thirty Days of Happiness theme. I wanted to follow suit because the past few days, and I’m sure the days to come, have been and will be emotionally rough.

Inside I’ve felt anger, hopelessness, sadness, guilt and fear. Dalton’s death is still too new. Sometimes I coast through the day and I don’t give him a thought. But then I look under the coffee table as I sit on the couch to knit. He isn’t under there swatting his tail, left, right, left, right. I expect him to be sitting on the balcony soaking in the setting sun. But then I open the door and there’s nothing there but stucco and an empty herbal pot.

I need to dig down and find some happiness. I can not let his death consume me. I know that he wouldn’t want it that way. So I’m going to buckle down. I’m going to live 30 days of happiness.

The pictures all represent some type of happiness I have in my life, this minute.

It’s the end of the Summer.

I’ve been sketching and drawing in my spare time. Shawn bought me a new book and Derwent pencils, (my absolute fave).

I’ve been knitting the Rhiannon socks, but truth be told it will be slow knitting. (How hard does a sock have to be? Try knitting four charts at the same time. Mind you, they don’t all have the same row count.)

I also picked up a copy of Ysolda Teague’s new pattern from Twist Collective: the beautiful Vine Yoke Cardigan. I’m using some Cascade Ecological Wool that I had in my stash and already I’m quite pleased. I am thinking I might have someone make me some special buttons to compliment my new sweater.

And I have to say I’ve been doing quite a bit of reading. I think it’s suffice to say that it will be keeping me quite busy next week. The low down: I was born with club foot and had corrective surgery when I was a day old. Then when I was sixteen I jumped down off a fence and landed so hard on my right foot that it broke. Then I broke it again, playing softball, in 2003. The second time it didn’t heal and for the past six years I’ve had a lot of swelling, numbness and pain. I found a Dr. who can reconstruct my ankle and foot. It’s going to require a 3-5 hour surgery. A few days in the hospital. Crutches. And a lot of books. A whole lot of books to get me through 5 months in a cast/walking boot.

Any suggestions?

Littleness

I am a little stressed. I stare at the computer screen. Words are not flowing. There is no fathomable rhythm. There is no starting point and no ending. Today is just one of those monotonous days.

You know, the type of day where you just go through the motions. I didn’t ask myself why there were so many dirty dishes in the sink this morning. I just used a little soap and washed them.

The type of day where it doesn’t really matter if the bed is made or not. I just pulled on the corners of the comforter a little and made it a bit more straight.

The type of day where I answer the phone and I really don’t have anything to say to the person on the other line. There’s very little to discuss that hasn’t been mentioned before.

There are little problems around me.

I say little because I am trying not to make a big deal of them. At least until the time comes.

But my best friend in the world is dying. Little by little. My Dalton, my sweet Dalton. The cat who thinks of bringing me pigeons, mice, rats and squirrels as offerings of love. The cat who prefers to drink out of my cup rather than a water bowl. The cat who stretches himself  as far as possible just to lick the last bit of yogurt from the cup. The cat who I’ve loved relentlessly the past 9 1/2 years. My friend. My friend who squints his eyes in love and understanding. Each day gets harder and harder. I know what I must do. It’s a matter of being prepared. I think to myself that once he’s gone a piece of me will die with him. I think it already has.

In the shadows of this situation there are others happening in which I want them to be little problems. Things that can be fixed with a little ingenuity. But they are overshadowed. School can wait a semester until funding can come through. School will always be there. Another surgery? My hopes and dreams of feeling normal. Being able to walk in the sand instead of limping to the coastline. Being able to go for a run rather than cry into a pillow. Being able to walk for hours and not have to rest for “just a little while”.

It’s the little things, isn’t it? The phone calls in the middle of day. I love you. No, I love you. I love you more. Popsicles that drip down the back side of our hands. A bowl of popcorn while watching a much loved movie. Closing the bedroom door and reading a good book. Taking a nap while my arm envelopes my baby, making us one once again. The feel of fabric long forgotten in a dusty box. A handwritten letter.

And even a little knitting. On little needles. And little yarn. And just a little progress.