Random Assortedness

Marth Vilate Shaw McAllister, my great, grandmother
One of the original scowl wearers.
I gotta get me one of those hats!

I have not forgotten about you. I've been ancestering (isn't a word) and freaking out about ancestors and it's very addictive like a facebook game. Finding death certificates and birth certificates and, as I mentioned to a not-quite-relative I met through ancestry.com, I hope one day that someone gets as excited about my death certificate. One can hope.


I'm knitting every night. I'm working on two scowls for women I've met through Shelley's blog. I'm working on having more scowls ready for an open house at the end of September at my niece's salon and bootie-Q. She already has some artwork in there that she's "selling." And my scowls are more affordable and functional yet still artwork. Remember, the scowls cover those unfortunate hickeys, unsightly neck sag and vampire bites among other disgusting things you might acquire in day.


I had to take my car into the dealer to get some thing replaced that had been recalled by VW. Too bad they didn't recall the car. What was slightly funny was that I kept thinking that time was just whizzing by me. I made the appointment at the dealership for Aug 25 at 1pm but then showed up on Aug 24th at 1pm and insisted that it was the 25th. I met a few folks who love corgis and one lady who loved knitting, while I sat and knitted, chatting and insisted that it was the 25th of August. I got the thing replaced. I'm at that age where ditzy is expected and I'm loving it.


I spend more and more time with Bradley. He is my "date" so to speak several nights a week, along with Bella and my knitting needles though when Bradley is with me, I cannot use the needles in the way I'd like. By poking him with them.

Last weekend I walked with my sister and Bella on the beach. I notice a lot of bird carcasses. Mostly because Bella thinks every time we go to the beach, it' smells like teen spirit Thanksgiving.

Be the Diaper

When you are in counseling and the psychiatrist office, remember they are the people who
are doctors and the counselors. That's why they went through all the schooling. 
We are just the dumbsh*ts out here in the real world trying to cope. We need their help. 
When we go see them - we are the patient which is why we have to be patient and listen to what they say without getting pissed off at them (too much) (even if they are nutjobs).


And if you disagree with what they say or have a different opinion -You have to disagree calmly and try not to freak out so they are tempted to call the guys in the whitecoats.
The good thing is that *you* can be a diaper in the psychiatrist office. It's good to absorb the info they give you. 


Eventually you'll discover the reason people become counselors and psychiatrists is because they are f*cked up in the head. But they were there (fucked up) first and knew they needed help so they got some. Now they make the big bucks and we make crap on a stick. Somehow it all works out which is exactly what will happen with your life too. 


Bradley deserves a sane, calm mommy. He really does. Because when he's 5 years old and ties you up with rope and turns the stereo on and off and puts a chair by the light switch and repeats "on and off" each time he flicks the switch, you'll need your sanity at that time. Seriously.

The Jewel in the Crown

Taking Notice

Lipstick begonia

A 6-Year old forest fairy casting a spell

Since the WLS a year ago, I noticed that my butt has become so much smaller that my rear looks more like a set of horizontal blinds than butt-cheeks. 


My sister suggested I buy some underwear with the built-in butt-cheeks. I'm not so sure I want to spend money on appearing to have a big butt when it cost plenty to have the surgery (not just money) -- especially when everything else on my body continues to shrink and fade, if not with weight-loss, then with age. By the time I'm ready to die, I hope to have caught up with myself, fading into dust and more things horizontal.


Today, Shelley has featured one of my handmade scowls on her blog A Journey to Fit. I'm pleased and very happy she likes the way the scowl turned out. She looks stunning in hers. I'm making more of them, and having a lot of fun with artistic license.

Driving Lessons

There is a woman who drives a beater Honda who lives somewhere on the same road as I live. She's a speeder. She tailgates. Her driving behavior is obnoxious. My son referred to her as "an old bag." I'm afraid she's probably younger than I am so the "old bag" comment stung for a split second until I forgot he said it which at my age usually takes only a couple of seconds. My neighbor was tormented by the same woman speeder and he told me a story of how he blocked her on the road and read her the riot act about her tailgating. (My neighbor lives behind a tall fence with a menacing gate.) 


But me, -- I used to speed like this woman when I was much younger. Though now I drive much more slowly - like aged molasses lava-ing its way down the neck of an upturned bottle. I'm futzing along home on a barely-paved road with potholes the size of a certain someone's pre-gastric-bypassed ass. I've lived out here long enough to know that deer spring up out of nowhere appearing like a sort of magical unicorn where nothing stood only seconds before and more often than not, there are more than one deer right behind - sometimes the babies with spots who don't know to move quickly. They haven't learned the rules of the road. I've witnessed smaller foresty-type animals practically committing suicide as I've driven down my road at wheel chair speed. I once ran over a snake I thought was a stick - a very slow moving stick, warming itself innocently in the center of the road where the sun beats white hot on a summer afternoon. Nothing spoils an nice afternoon like killing something even if it was an accident.


I moved to this area to get away from speeders (not really - I moved here more for the beauty of the area). I moved in the middle of the forest so no one could build a home dumpo across the street or Fried Electronics one block away from my home and then proceed to hold Grand Opening sales several times a month; delivery trucks backing up - a steady BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP at 4am even on weekends.


Yesterday, this woman tailgated my car as I was driving with Bella - sitting half on my lap, half on the center console. A casual jaunt home in the late afternoon warmth of a forest-dappled sun, top down in the VW. We were doing my usual 20 mph, avoiding the potholes. Bella was curious about the tailgater so she stood up to admire the stranger out of the back of my car. The woman was yelling out her window at us - maybe shouting "What a pretty puppy!" I couldn't discern what she was saying as the speed of my car pushed the wind carrying the decibels of her voice to the back instead of forward to my ears. Maybe the woman was annoyed, assuming my dog was sitting too close, interfering with my ability to speed at a pace this woman was more comfortable with though I think that my increasing inability to speed was interfered with by this woman being so close to me. 


The downside to forest road-rage is living isolated. We have one road. The woman drives by my house daily - speeding ultimately to her death, We'll all turn to dust some day. Why rush it? Whether she's hurrying to hit a deer or slam into a redwood tree; she's stacking odds. Whatever her goal, I'd rather she not share it in the same forest with me or with a deer or even a tree. 


I wonder if she thought about our shared experience as much as I did once she arrived at her destination? I wondered if she drove home, jumped out of the car, slammed the door, walked into the trailer and started shouting about "this idiot old bag who was driving with a dog in her lap!" I wonder if after she got home, she felt nervous because she lives alone in the middle of a forest? All I can say to that is I sure hope so.

Assorted Piles

So I'm talking to Kaffy last night. We were discussing the finer points of knitting. (Try not to stop reading yet). Bella was annoyingly kind of quiet, sort of like the time my twins had gone down for an afternoon nap and about a half hour later they started laughing and giggling. I was taking college courses at the time and diligently studying - I let them laugh and giggle and have their fun. Later when I walked into their room, there was baby-poo smeared from floor to ceiling and a pair of baby-poo covered humans. We had to replace the carpeting.


Back to last night and Bella...I find Bella in the hall chewing on a piece of once white-colored foam rubber stuff. I try to get the piece from her but that's a joke. It's a big game where she runs around the house dropping pieces of white foam and I'm a fool for ever thinking I could outwit a corgi and her prized piece of foam rubber. I play Gretel for awhile, walking through the "forest" picking up the pieces of foam. Kaffy is laughing at our game. Kaffy has a huge soft spot for Bella - hopefully it's not make out of foam rubber.


So now I'm wondering what I once owned that was this pile of foam rubber? I searched high and low for a torn covering or a shoe or a bra or a pillow or an expensive piece of lymphedema medical equipment or a knitting project but I found nothing. I'm stumped.


Years ago as a family, we owned a pair of dogs, Fang and Pretty. Fang was mellow - a short-fat German- shepherdy-corgi mix (corgis will pretty much do it with anything) while Pretty was a black lab mixed with a schizophrenic homeless guy. The moment Pretty moved in with us, our house started falling to pieces. While we were at work, both dogs (I think) ripped off and ate the window sill in the kitchen. Then they started in on the couch and every day they worked at eating more and more of the couch until there was hardly anything left. We were able to toss it into a trash can piece by piece. I didn't get upset. You can't get upset once there's a huge bite taken out of your couch. Well, I take that back. You *can* get upset though you'd be wasting precious energy when you could be knitting.


Give me your best guess as to the foam rubber pile. While you're pondering where the foam came from - I have a short, somewhat musical interlude in the form of a video of Bradley accompanied by my commanding voice.