Emmie asked me to blog the other day about her journey and I simply could not until now.  The best that I could do was to talk to her though the posting on the stitching.  But this morning I got the text that she had made it to JFK and that her flight to Chicago was a bit delayed.  Then I got the text ” landed” then “waiting for the ride” then ” they got me in the van” and finally

I made it… I am here.

I doubt I will hear from her for a while.  She is off to what she has been calling Noodle Camp, a bit of black humor for an inpatient treatment program for women.  It has taken 5 long years for her to come face to face with some horribly scary stuff and I am so very proud of her.   So very proud.

As a mum,  I could see all the pieces falling,  all of her walls that she built to keep the scary stuff out, come crumbling down around her.   I tried to get her the treatment that she needed, but you can’t do the work for them,  those people who are the most important things in your life, you can only pray that they will stop spinning long enough so that you can remind them that they can do things differently.   And a week ago or so,  she finally surrendered and asked for help .

But the time between the asking and the actual going to start the work is the longest week ever.   Once she spoke of her pain and gave it voice, I was so afraid that she would be overwhelmed by it and do something really stupid because of fear or shame or just plain spinning and by accident wind up hurting or killing herself.  Lulu commented  ” Don’t let her drive my car!”   And she didn’t,  access to wheels was restricted and she took her Facebook down,  and stayed put for the week. She used the tools that she had and drew everyday and texted and phoned and got through the waiting and made it to treatment in one piece.

And she has a long road ahead of her and some really hard work too.  Her Dad asked me last week ” what happens if at day 13 she says she doesn’t like it and she leaves” .  My response is that if she is doing the hard work, then most likely she will want to leave, but being in Chicago it would be really hard for her to get somebody to break her out.   That and the fact that she isn’t battling drug addiction, so that she wouldn’t be running away to get her fix on and we would find her under a bridge somewhere living in a cardboard box or worst.  Perspective is a wonderful thing.     And she doesn’t have to go through detox!  Counting blessings here.    “Well”  he said “what if she lies to them and tells them stuff and doesn’t do the work?”   I said that I expected that should would spin stuff and that the staff would be able to figure it out.

For the cost of a private all women treatment place… I sure as heck hope that they will be looking for all the things that come with trauma.    Sometimes the real stuff in life is so scary and so very horrible that you have to build a fantasy world in your mind to deal with it.   The problem with a fantasy world is that it is temporary and to be in relationship with others, you gotta learn to be in this world and you gotta learn to hold the hand of your scary secret instead of trying to keep it hidden under the bed.  There is no shame in having bad stuff happen to you.  And it is ok to call it out and let the grip of the secret loosen.  Face it and call it out.   Then choose to give it over to God.    But if you are struggling to cover it up and working really hard to not deal, then the secret will grow in power and over whelm.   Acknowledge, surrender and move forward in grace.

Parenting truly has been the hardest job that I have signed up for.   You get the kid out of diapers, in and out of dance class,  Saturday soccer,  though the 6th grade graduation,  braces  and then hold your breath though the teen years and prom dresses and first boyfriends and first heart aches.      Some go through a bit harder than others.   Life is not always kind and sometimes stuff happens to you and even though it is not your fault, you still have to learn how to deal with it.

Emmie is getting a wonderful gift to be able to take a time out to heal and to look at all the scary stuff in a safe environment.   I am profoundly humbled that this type of place exists and that she could go.    I am so relieved that she is there and look forward to her return, maybe in time for her birthday.

Time can be so very short.  It seems like it was just yesterday that I was a student at Proctor.  My memories of that place are strong because it was there that I felt accepted for who I was and understood.   That feeling was given not just from the faculty at the school, but also from those that worked behind the scenes to make it all work smoothly.

Yesterday I went to a memorial service for Mary and Roger Pellerin who were tragically killed in a fire on the 20th.  The service was up at Proctor and the place was packed.   Their son Joe set the tone by saying that he was horribly unprepared,  for how can anybody be ready or prepared  to lose their parents in a fire.  Who indeed.

I remember Mary from my days at Proctor fondly.  And if I remember correctly,  her desk was just in the entrance of the development office ,  up on the second floor off the rotunda in Maxwell Savage. I had classes at one time or another either with Donny Gentile in the class to  the left or with Tom Eslick in the class room on the right.   And in Mary’s office there was a coffee pot and I would snag a cup of coffee there instead of getting one at the Doot’s Den.   And so I came to know Mary and got her to type up some papers for me because we had typewriters back then and I could not spell correctly, nor consistently and I would not see all the typos and you got points off for bad spelling,  and so for a couple of bucks, and a bit of a heads up…… she would type and fix my papers for me.  And the lesson in that was to work smarter and not harder, especially on things that you know you are no good at.

The other interaction I had with her was during senior project.   Proctor was pretty smart in that you have a bunch of kids about to graduate and their parents have just spent a ton of money getting the kid to the finish line and the time between spring break and graduation is short.. we marched on May 23d.   And so if you have a carrot to dangle in front of a bunch of exuberant adolescents,  namely ….if-your-grades-are-in-good-standing…. and you can propose a project, you can skip the end of your senior classes, do something that will absorb you in what you like to do and give a presentation of what you have been doing … and not get busted for blowing off classes and floating down the river drinking beer… you can do what you want to do and actually graduate.

I don’t know how I came up with it, but I had found the supply closet at the top of the rotunda and in it was a huge amount of old photos what had been stored there and mostly forgotten . I had also been on Green Key which was a program where, as a student,  you would meet with prospective students and their families and give them a tour of the campus. That also got me free coffee and I then knew all the folks in the admissions office too, which I think shared the same space  as the development office then.   So I came up with the idea of looking at all the old pictures and figuring out who was in them and then I went and found some of the oldest living graduates at the time and had tea with one or two of them and wrote down their stories.  I learned about the history of the school, why people had chosen to come and some about the town of Andover.  Mary was a transplant but had lived in Andover a while and so knew most of the old-timers in town and was able to figure out who lots of the folks were or how I could track them down.   Mary was also  somehow was assigned to keep me out of trouble and focused while I was digging in the closet.  And it must have worked because I made it to graduation without getting the boot.

I don’t know exactly why she signed my yearbook the way she did.  I know she loved music and perhaps in her ever-so-direct way she was telling me go just go out and do what you love.  Another of life’s lessons.

There were many times I would be driving though Andover and wonder how she was doing.  I regret not taking it one step further and following up on the small still voice that said.. go see what Mary is up to..  I should have followed up and gone to see her.  At least once over the past 30 years.  Was my life so very busy that I could not have taken the time?    Another lesson.

At the service yesterday her son spoke elegantly of his parents, of their devotion to one another, to the family and to the community.   They lived a life that touched literally hundreds of individuals with positive interactions.  Life is so very short and though we will all see one another on the other side, it is in this life that we should remember to reach out to one another.

Mary and Roger Pellerin certainly knew and lived that lesson.

Sometimes all you can do is stitch.

I got a canvas a couple of weeks ago and have been working on some needlepoint mini-projects.   Using up all my threads and practicing my tent stitch, half cross stitch and slanted gobelin stitch.   And to be clear here,  needlepoint is not crewel  nor cross….it is worked on an open canvas and with wool yarn which is called Persian yarn which is different then tapestry wool  and is for a canvas that is bigger then the one I am working.  And bigger means that you have less holes  the bigger it is.   Go figure.  A 24 count canvas is ridiculously tiny and I would need a magnifying glass with light.  I am stitching on an 18.   And if you are a fiber junky, it is all about the threads and the count.

To be clear,  the work pictured is not mine… I am not that far along on my sampler.  And I am finding that I am running out of this or that color in the middle of trying to work on some new stitch. Which is just fine.  The point of stitching is to sometimes occupy your head with detailed work rather than detailed thinking, which I am quite good at.  I am a professional over-thinker and re-thinker.  Sometimes my funny little brain is good like that and sometimes it works against me.  And so needlework can focus me because I actually have to pay attention to the canvas and find the right whole to poke the needle though.

When I knit it is often so automatic that I don’t have to think about it at all  and I can get into a mind-field pretty easily and before you know it I have stepped on a some sort of a trigger and boom.   I am off over-thinking and spinning like a top.   My grandfather Arthur Perry used to say “leave it lay were Jesus flang it” and I try to remind myself of that from time to time.

Some thinking is best done in the sub-conscious mind, where what ever vexes you will eventually work itself out to a solution, or at least you won’t be wasting your time and energy festering in it.   Festering never helps no one.  Festering tends to include griping as well.  And frankly, no matter how big your problems seem, or how completely consuming they are to you,  everyone else has life going on too  and griping rarely produces peace. If anything,  griping produces isolation.   Venting is a small blow off and is healthy, but if  you are venting all the time about  the same thing,  then it is festering. Festering tends to be like picking a scab, the dang thing is itchy and distracting, but if you pick it, it will only bleed and take longer to heal and… yup, you got it… leave a scar.

Some issues, some wounds, need a bit of cleaning before they can heal… but over-thinking rarely produces a clean and simple peace.  The  true answers always come with some time and some prayer and eventually everything will sugar out.    And so as much as I have a bunch of knitting projects to do and certainly a ton of yarn to actually spin up, now is not the time for that.  Now is the time to do my handiwork.

I was pretty pooped.  Been to Bethlehem and back, that was Friday after I knew Miss Em was in trouble.  Then a weekend of getting the child to where she needs to be and making a plan with Dad and Em and all the various pieces of the puzzle are falling into place.  Then down to Fitzwilliam and up-ta Newport  on Monday in pretty crummy weather.   Yesterday I started heading out on horrible icy roads  to Hartland, then Woodstock, over to Killington  back to South Pomfret  and finally I saw the office at the end of the day.  Then the market and finally back this way around.

I was supposed to meet Sarah and we were gonna do some walking or stretching or something “work out “  related,  but I got to her house 45 minutes late with the groceries still in the trunk of the car.

And girlfriends don’t care you are late… and they see that you don’t have you act together to get a good dinner …and they don’t make you work out.

They feed you instead.   Sweet potato topped with Chili and cheese and sour cream with a side of comfort and understanding.   Food for the body and the soul.

Yes please and thank you.    And I hear the sun is coming out today and I have a whole day in the office to get reports done and another invite for dinner tonight with friends.  And I bet I can get a walk in at noon.  And I am not gimpy nor in a flare up.   Life is good.

I had gone up to Tunbridge to look at the apartment on the farm and was late getting there because of mother stuff and delayed getting to church because of mother stuff and I thought twice about walking into Sunday school late, but I figured that it was better to show late than not at all and for me to be the best I can be for Emmie, I need to make sure that I am doing what I need to do stay grounded and healthy.   Going to church helps me do it.  Every week if I can pull it off. Every week.

And I slid into the back row in what I call “Newbie” class, or  Gospel Principles  and I got a few head nods for the tardiness, but mostly smiles and some ‘how are you doing?’  looks…. some of the folks read the blog, so I didn’t need to say anything… and I just love love love that.    And at the end of Newbie class  I got to ask for a blessing which is what I needed big time.    And the blessing was one for comfort and it  is simple and gets right to the point.   And the whole point is that you are handing over your worry and concern.  Not that you are letting go of your situation, but just the worry and stress that comes with it.  And the physical act of asking for it and having a prayer said over you, with a laying of the hands gently on the head,  makes the emotional burden lighter and cuts right though the feelings of isolation because you know you are not walking the path of life’s ups and downs all on your own.

And so then into Relief Society meeting and Sister Johnston put in a mighty effort to sing a whole octave lower so that I would not be belting out the hymn as the only Tenor and I felt grounded with the routine of Sunday and the group of folks that have become friends.   And so instead of being at church and letting all the tears flow down and just falling into a puddle of mush….. which is what has happened in the past and folks in New England just look at you funny…cus tears in public is not what New Englanders do.. New Englanders are trained to not make others uncomfortable with your public display of emotion..left over puritan crap…and so you really don’t want to blubber and draw attention to yourself and your perceived weakness,  there are special rooms off the main sanctuary for that, thank you very much.  And that whole way to be is one that keeps isolation and pain somewhat alive.  I reject it.

But my LDS friends are so OK with tears, it is almost an expected part of any service, coming from both men and women, so that it was quite ok to shed a few with a blessing.  And If you know it is ok to cry a bit,  you don’t have to fight it and so the reverse happens and you don’t feel like you are choking back anything.  You feel comforted and safe and warm and loved.   You might not be getting the whole import of the particular lesson that day, but you showed up and you are not alone in what life has given you.  And you are reminded that life is a journey and we are all doing the ups and downs in it.  And at the end of the journey, we are all back together again and that puts everything in perspective.

The best tool that I have in the box is faith and I have found that there is a set of instructions in the tool box too.  And I generally never read the instructions on anything,  I just dump everything out on the floor and try to build what ever is pictured on the cover of the box.. but I am finding that  instructions can be really helpful at times and turns out there are folks at the church that will help you read them…which, being dyslexic…is a pretty good thing.

There are two core, straight gut reactions I have felt as a mother.   One is when the kid just called and said that she flipped the car into the ditch up to Rooney’s, skitching around with a buddy and being a knucklehead,  and this was after you loaned the new driver the car with one car payment left and she totaled it enough to be worthless, but not enough to get full total value on it.  ( Yes, this did happen a while back)   Or the time the kid was mad at you because you were doing your job as a parent and had taken some sort of privilege away,  and so she told the guidance counselor and the folks at the feed store where she worked and any body else in town that the reason she was having a hard time at school/life lately was because her mother had just come out of the closet and was a lesbian.    And that would explain the funny reactions I was getting at the market when I ran into all these folks.    After the relief washed over that she didn’t kill herself in the car wreck a second stronger emotion kicks in.    Filicide.    Not the Binding of Issac kind.. but the   I-brought-you into-the-world-child-and-I-can-take you out with one look.

The other emotion, equally as strong is the feeling that your mess ups in life have caused your children to be chained to the therapy couch for the rest of their lives recovering from your blunders as a parent.     At some point a mother will assume complete and total responsibility for their child having a tough time growing up.  And some children just do the growing up trauma and drama with more flare then others causing the parent to stay awake and praying that all the angels that have been watching over to please grab another celestial being for back up.    And then the old curse from your own mother ” I hope you have a child just like you” plays out and you feel doomed.

So when I texted Em out of a hunch and got the response quickly… I have really f#@$  up this time and I don’t know how to put the pieces back…. I could tell that my plans for getting some office work done over the weekend would be completely scrapped.   And so then it goes like this:

Me:  Where are you?  ( I am thinking that I am gonna be hitting the road heading for an ER… a conditioned response…she is my frequent flier to the ER)

Em:  I am at Mike’s (Now I know something is up because she should be working and she is back in Vermont’s at a best buddies, but I am relieved because that means she is safe and there are adults around to pick up the emotional pieces, plus Mike is one of her best friends and she found the go-somewhere-safe-tool in the toolbox)

Me:  Oh…good..well tell Mike I say Hey… love you Tookie. ( And translated means..  Good job Em getting yourself to where you need to be and yeah for Mike, he is great and I love you Miss Emilie Anne)

And then photos posted on  Facebook of the pals going to sushi and so I know that Em is getting grounded.   And the next day as I am traveling around the planet I get the sob phone call and she has let go of the control she has tried to keep for a while and in surrender the tears tumble out as the walls all come down.

Mum I need help…I don’t have any tools in the tool box and I have really messed up and can I come down and could you not be mad at me when I tell you something because I want to tell you something, but I don’t want you to be mad at me and I need to tell you this…. and I say to her

Emmie… did you kill someone while drunk driving and leave the scene?

No.

Well did you commit a felony and rob someone for drug money, the coppers are about to find you?

No.

Then it all tumbles out and onto the floor and she has let go and lets it all fall.   And I say to her..

There is nothing that you have done that can’t be undone and overcome.  I am proud of you and I will meet you at home and I will help you find the tools to figure it all out.  You are safe and I love you. Are you ok to drive?   Yes?  good then I will see you soon.

OK Mum, thank you, but please don’t poke at me when I get there.. I just need to get there.

And I promise not to poke, which we both know is a lie because she is coming down to see mum, not avoiding.   She wants me to know and is asking for help and when she doesn’t want me to know something, she avoids me like the plague.

And then the next couple of hours are terrifying as I know the roads are greasy and she is a basket case and is driving down 89 and I see the blue lights and an ambulance on the road ahead of me and I hope that it isn’t my child in that wreck… and it isn’t and I did feel a bit guilty of my relief that it wasn’t Em.. there is so much mother guilt when a child is hurting some of mine spills out too.

And she is here when I get home and I do what all mother’s do… hug her, look at her face and touch it,  and I look into her eyes to see if she is present and she is.  And I hug her some more because that is what we do.

Then the mis-placed feelings of mother guilt come up and I try to take responsibility for my child’s pain, as if I purposely had a messed up and messed her up too and I am able to identify my own projections as I say to her…

You are on your path and you don’t need to keep looking backwards at where you have been and what you have been through.  You are here now and moving forward in this moment walking the path that you are supposed to be on. You will be just fine.  You have more tools than you think.

I have been thinking about the  little house over in Orford and then another option opened up and sure enough  I was over thinking,  what to do, what to do.  Do I buy and commit to one area or do I continue to rent?  I had gotten a call from some folks up in Tunbridge who have a place that will be ready soon and get this…. they are former shepherds and she is a hooker… yes I said hooker.  For those who are unaware of all things textiles,  a hooker is right up there with quilter, weaver or tatter.   It is one who strips wool fabric, dyes it and hooks the loops tightly together through burlap to create a rug.    And the place has established lilacs and peony and a place for a garden and I could most likely have a pet.  And so I was pondering all this and how life changes what we think is our course, in the blink of an eye, when what is really happening is that we are on the correct path and sometimes that path has a couple of unsuspected twists and turns.   And so I was over thinking about work and where I could live and how to stay connected to folks all at the same time.

And as I was heading down rt. 91 south, somewhere near mile marker 106, the most wonderfully huge bald eagle joined me for a moment of affirmation.  Everything is as it should be.

And back to the office and Hailey says ” boy you look tired” and I was.  Exhausted and heading into a flare up from all of it.  On the way home I looked for the murder of crows that nests somewhere between exit 19 and 18 south on 89.   I love that the days are getting longer and the sky had a beautiful purple and pink hue as I headed home.  There were perhaps 50 or so crows flying around  between the exits and I just love looking for them at the end of the day.  I wonder who else looks for them or even knows that there is such a large group that has claimed that territory for the winter.   When they are all out flying around,  there are hundreds of crows in that one area and it is really magnificent.

In any case,  I knew that I wouldn’t have a ton of time and so I had made the beef stew the night before in the crock pot and so all I had to do was put the salad together and get the cornbread fixin’s out.    The funny thing about a flare up is that I can tell when I am about to go into one.  And for folks who don’t know me, it must be very strange to hear my voice go horse and then come out normal again.   And I can get gimpy and as I was trying to get things pulled together  my left hand got all weak and I started dropping things, my grip goes and things go flying.  Which is not always a neat thing in the kitchen.  But I managed and wiped up the floor and there is always the ‘fake it till you make it’ approach to entertaining. Point here is that I am at a place where people are coming over to join me for dinner.   I am not alone nor by myself anymore.

And the Johnson’s came by in their official visiting clothes, given they are on a mission they get a pass for having to wear work clothes for a visit.  And now I have a place to flop when and if I head out to Utah. They are from Salt Lake and will heading back home in a couple of weeks.  They had signed up for a mission and pulled the Monument as their place of work for the past 18 months.   But when they came here ,  I thought it best to tell them I was in a lupus flare up before they got all freaked out if I started dropping things or gimping about.   And then the expected…well if you don’t feel good, we could do this another time.. and I basically told them that lupus has taken too much already and that it wasn’t gonna take me having friends over for dinner,  if you please and thank you.

And we all had a great time and laughed and laughed and suddenly it was late and guests gone, dishes can wait till the morning.  Which they did quite nicely. Then yesterday to the office and  I thought more about the eagle and the murder of crowns, each in their own place.   Today I am heading up to Bethlehem  there is a bit of snow falling,   I am in a flare up,  the bones in my feet tell me as I get out of bed to go down and make the tea.   I am gonna play my Learn to Speak French CD’s as I head north and I am gonna let things sugar out.  Where ever I am supposed to settle I will, all in the good and right time.   Buying a house right now scares me a bit.  It makes me feel like I will be flying around with a murder of crows and what I wanna do is to fly like the eagle.

Yesterday I got an email from a gal who was looking for….get this… my great-grandmother who we fondly called Gran…

My name is Sharon Threewits  and was looking on the net and saw
your post from Aug. of 2010 and you mentioned
Bathsheba Cushing Duvall Threewit Powers, I was wondering if you were
related to her?
I have some pictures that belonged to my great-grandfather and have been
trying to put names to them. I think one of them might be Bathsheba
at age 8 to 10 with either her father or grandfather. If you are
interested I will try and e-mail you a copy and see if you can put names
to the picture.
Thank you for you time.
Sharon

So I wrote back right away and she responded in kind and got this tid-bit

I have been working on the Threewits’s since about 1985.
I am back to Edward born 1762 S.C. and Elizabeth (possibly Harper)
Threewits.
   their son:
William born 1796 Tn. and Nancy (Stark, 2nd. wife) Threewits
   their 2 sons: 1 and 2
1. John born 1828  and Mary Elizabeth (Fisher) Threewits
   their son:
Benjamin Fisher and Ella Sophia (Work) Threewit
   their children:
Bathsheba Cushing Duvall Threewit married Leland Powers
John Threewit

And then she wanted to know if I knew anything about how Gran and Lee met.   And as my grandmother Polly, their oldest child told me tons of stories,  I do have the story about how Gran came east and how she met Lee.     And so forgive me for the length of this post.. but here is how the story goes as best as I can tell it.

Ben was a dipsomaniac and would disappear for long periods of time and his “nurse” would care for him while tipping.  This so distressed the family that Gran developed Saint Vitus Dance  and had the tremors for years.  Thinking it was nervous condition, rather than the side effects of a virus,  Gran was shipped out to Germany where she attended a finishing school.    At the end of her time there,  she and her roommate did the Grand tour and wound up in Paris.  It was there that she ran into Lee who was with his best bud doing the tour as a post Dartmouth graduation gift.   The roommate and the best bud fell in love and married,  followed by Gran and Lee about 6 months later.

There are a bunch more stories about Gran that I will send to Sharon,  who turns out to be my 6th cousin.   Which brings me back to the best thing about blogging.   I have written well over 500 posts over a couple of blogs from Burton snow boards to idiot trash supervisors to sheep to the basic pitfalls and occasional successes in my little life.  And over all those blogs there has been somewhere around 100, 000 readers….. which completely blows my mind to think that many people find my stuff, most of the time because of something or someone I am writing about .  And in the whole pile of stats,  it turns out that this world we are on is pretty darn little and we are all connected one way or another.  All connected.

And isn’t it a wonderful thing.

I have been pulling together stories for my children and trying to put the family tree in order.  I could get  back to Gran’s father Ben, and now with Sharon’s information   I can go much further.     What a wonderful gift.

111 school closings in Vermont so far… I have no idea about what is closed in NH.  All the kids are doing a happy dance and all the parents who have to work are punting right about now.   I don’t miss that part of the snow day.   But I love snow days.  They are little gifts of goody goodness and permission to have a day to do your thing.     I have  a fleece to wash and zumba tonight.   Plus there is a pool nearby to walk to and I have power…. hope I didn’t just jinx myself on that one… and there is a new recipe for Twinkies on the King Arthur Flour website.  that looks like fun… oh.. I can’t bake…oh well I can still try.

In elementary school, a snow day was an opportunity to go sledding all day and have hot chocolate and be with your neighborhood buddies, cause they all have a snow day too.  And if I had a snow day, then my mother would have a snow day too and it wasn’t Saturday chore day, so she would generally be around and loving a snow day too.    The best hill in Dedham was at the Dedham County and Polo Club, but you couldn’t walk there, so if the roads were horrible, then you could always walk downtown to the hill behind the Dedham Community House.   And we would be given the edict right after breakfast and making beds….”now go and play”.    Not, plug into a video game.. but go outside, into the rotten weather and get busy moving around and coming in mostly cold and soaked and happy for the day of sledding and snow forts and snow ball fights.  And if you got hit in the face with a snowball, or you got white washed, so be it.  All bloody noses were forgiven and assumed to be part of the deal.   No sissyheads cry’n back to home because of a little snow down the pants.    We played hard.

And in boarding school,  you lived there and the faculty lived there, so you didn’t get snow days,  you would get a Headmasters’s holiday.  And you would try to guess when that would be coming and so you took the risk of not getting that paper done because you figured that surely tomorrow would be the day.  And  you would get up and head to the dining hall to hear Headmasters called and buses would be boarding after breakfast and everyone would head to Ragged Mt. for a ski day.  So you would do the happy dance that you were right to blow off that paper for Tom Eslick, or Tim or C-bud.  La la la la laaaa laaa.

Now,  7:18 and no call meaning that work is on… if you can get there,  I can take a flex day or I can work from home.  Which is basically what I am gonna do.  Most of my work is on-line, but the files I need are on my desk and I have to go into town anyhow because I have some meds I need to pick up at Hannafords.  Tomorrow the weather is supposed to suck too.. so I will most likely work here from home again.   I will snag my work laptop too so that I have all my photo files as well.   Being a grown up means that even with a snow day,  you still gotta get the work in…..  but I am gonna be 5 today and do a little snow day dance anyhow…. in between all the reports that need to get done.

I really don’t have issue with the Grantham police patrolling the 3 mile strip around the interstate.  They have 4 little places where they rotate around trolling for tickets.    On the interstate, they like to park in the median as you come down around the corner to exit 13 from the north and the average speed is around 75.  They were there hanging out between Christmas and New Years just after dusk.    Then they moved to the road heading down to Croydon, parking either in the Dunkin Donuts or the Bank parking lot across the street waiting for drivers to breach the 30 MPH strip.  Nightly on the way to the post office I would see the blue lights on the way to the post office or returning from it.  Then sometimes they are in the park and ride waiting to park you on the way up to the interstate.   Last night, like a mean little troll, the lad was hiding under the bridge, lights out so that as I came off the exit ramp and I looked for traffic to my left in his direction, I saw the patrol car,  after I had hit the brakes and came to a rolling, not complete stop before I proceeded to the right down rt. 10 and the post office.

Blue lights on,  I muttered what everyone does…  shit… then pulled right in to pay my dues.   And I thought since he had me dead to rights, there was no way I was getting out of the ticket.   And given the afternoon I had, I felt like it was a cosmic slap from the Man Above and I chuckled with the irony of it.   God is funny like that,  when he has a point to make and wants to get your attention, it comes in funny little packages with the strangest of messengers.

I hit the open window button and turned down the tunes then decided to take the true route and not the put on a pretty face bat the eye lashes  routine.  I would go with the  I-could-be-your-mother and I am tired,  after seeing which officer I was dealing with.

I opened the conversation with “  Good evening officer,  why am I being stopped?”

Ma’am, Good evening,  This conversation is being recorded.    You didn’t come to a complete stop at the stop sign back there at the exit ramp. Said the baby-faced n0t-more-then-12 years-old looking officer.

” True, not a complete stop, but I did slow down for a stop and saw that there was no oncoming traffic, it was a rolling stop well under 5 miles per hour.”

Did you see me under the bridge?

” I did and thought what a dangerous place for you to park without your lights on, I thought perhaps you were a stranded motorist”

Could I have your license and registration please ma’am

” Well of course”  I dug around for the wallet and got the license, handed it to him  and then opened the glovebox and got the packet of info for the car and started the fumble for the registration.   I pulled out the yellow instructions for what to do if there is an accident,  given that I drive a company car with the logo on it,  it ate up good time.   Then I pulled out the insurance card and pondered out loud ” is this it?”

No ma’am… I don’t know what a Vermont registration looks like…this is not it.

” Well flash your light back in here again son,  so I can see… is this it?  yes this looks like something…..is this what you want”  I used my best.. I am so flippn’ tired child, and I really don’t have time for this nonsense and you are about to step on my last nerve  inner mother of all voices, glassed down a bit on my nose and looking at him with the eyes that say  ‘don’t push me right now’.

He said,  “Thank you Ma’am.. you sound a bit tired,  you have a NH license and drive a Vermont car? “

Yes son,  this is a company car.

He stepped back and looked at the logo and smirked and said,   you do car insurance?

“No,  I am a safety inspector and I inspect farms and houses and business and try to prevent the accidents and fires and roofs caving in before they happen, I work in both states and have had a very long day driving up and over to get the job done, I am just heading to the Post Office and then home,   I am the good guy that tries to prevent the accidents. I see you have changed your spot from the interstate median. “

Yes Ma’am  we are trying to get people to stop at the stop sign this week.   I will be right back with this…..he practically ran back to the safety of his car.

A few minutes later,  he trots on back,

Here you go ma’am.. I am giving you a warning tonight..

“Thank you,  you have no idea how much ribbing I would have gotten at work getting a ticket”

Well, yes I am sure, but ma’am please try to stop at the stop sign next time.  OK?

“Oh you bet.. now you have a nice evening young man and good luck with your tickets, you sure got a good hiding spot, have you gotten many tonight?”

Uhmmm..well ya, we always get folks coming off the exit ramp at this time of night…..

” I bet you do,  have a good night now, and put your lights on under the bridge, it is safer that way”

Yes ma’am… have a good evening.

And so I drove off and to the post office and thought about coming to a complete stop.   I had been doing some serious traveling over the past few days and the cold from last week was lingering and my hips had been hurting and I was grumbling about all sorts of things and basically had a poor disposition yesterday afternoon.  During my afternoon walk around the block with Jo I ka-bitched about it all and was generally pretty unpleasant with my outlook on work and paperwork and feeling like I was going into a flare-up  and blah blah blah.   And sometimes it is easy to get sliding into a down hill mood, and when that slide happens add some fatigue and joint pain, like a snowball building in mass, sticky snow building in layers, you become your own cold and frozen person, unable to feel all the goodness in your life.

And I thought, come to a complete stop and stop rolling into a bad mood.

Home and chicken broth out to thaw for dinner, and head right up stairs and start a tub.   A milk bubble bath and Bach playing on Pandora and then my jammies and onto the bed for a moment of mediation and prayer.    Come to a complete stop.   End the bad mood.  Be thankful that you got the warning before you smash right into to bad behavior caused by a bad outlook.    And be glad you didn’t get the ticket.

I forget what I write at times,  well most of the time, and I forget that people actually read my musings and so I will begin a tell of a story of something that has happened, thinking well, I haven’t seen …..in this case Holly… for a while and so here is what I have been up to since I saw you last… and then as she is listening with kind of a funny smile on her face, then  I realize that she already knew what I had been up to because she reads the blog.

And so she had already caught up with the basics but wanted the details… that is girlfriends do.. they want the details and not just the alluded to insinuations of what is going on.   And I wanted the dirt too.  We had met up before the holiday for a meal and I knew of her intention to head north and meet up with an old flame and she knew of my exploration back into the world of dating.

I had decide around Thanksgiving that I would check out Match. com and had put a profile up. It is kind of like fishing in shallow and muddy water, you are bound to cat a slimy catfish or a leech or even worst,  a sucker.   In my case, the first fish was some dude that wanted to see a photo and when I put one up on my profile,  well I guess I was not what he was looking for and so no more notes from him.   Then there was Fat Jimmy.   We went on a couple of dates and he seemed nice enough, until after dinner one night he pulled out a bong and offered me a toke.      Not so much.   And then he unfriended me on facebook…what the heck does that say?

Dave had been my match coach and said that it is completely acceptable to do the match thing and that I needed to have better photos and a better tag line then   ” I like outside winter activities, except sitting on a shack on the ice and looking though a hole  ain’t my thing”.   Dave told me not to be too negative about stuff and not to use  the word ain’t, cause it ain’t a real word.     I bagged the match thing.    Creepity creep creep creepers on that site.     And Emilie gave me some dating advice about the site too.   Go figure, my children giving me dating advice.

And it was discouraging and downright depressing.   And I thought, well this sucks….. if this is the way to meet people now a days.  And Holly and I talked about the match thing and she said that there were other sites and the funny thing was that she found an old flame on  and so there she was coming full circle.  And out of the blue, Murph popped up on facebook and had read the line about getting dating advice from my daughter and the next thing you know,  he was alone between the holidays and so I was too and lets hang out.  And so we did and he has now gone back to his world of teaching and I back to my world of looking at barns and  smelling like a cow.  And we are pen pals and it is good to have a friend to go to movies with every once in a blue moon.

At the end of the day, the best way to mend your heart is to try and learn to love again.

I think we could all use some basic instruction, but the issue with instructions is that you basically gotta read em for yourself if you want to make sure you understand them.   You can do a group reading thing  and chit chat about the  instructions.   You can also have someone read them to you or tell you what the instructions are.  But you better have some pretty good trust in the person that is telling you what the instructions are  really saying.

It is kinda like knitting or cooking.   I want the instructions right in front of me so I know what the materials I need before I start out and I want to know the preparation time, and I want to know yardage and temperatures.    I can call and ask a pal to lend me the pattern or give me the recipe, but I certainly would not trust my own hearing and memory to have them tell me the instructions and then try to remember them all.

And when I knit something  a couple of times or cook a dish a couple of times then I can do it from memory.   But can you imagine memorizing the complete pattern works of Elizabeth Zimmerman or try  to cook every dish in the Joy of Cooking?   I would want a copy of the book to refer to anyhow.   And there are lots of different kinds of knitting and cook books and some are better than others.   But the bottom line is that a knitting book will show you how  to work a yarn into something basically to wear and a cookbook will show you how to take various food items to turn them into something yummy by combining them.

And both will show you how to take a simple thing and transform it into something fantastically more than the sum of the parts.    I believe that there are instructions for us here in this life.  I also believe that they come in different languages, much like textiles and cooking, unique to various cultures.  But there are some fundamental truths and each soul is drawn to its own preference.   Just like knitters are drawn to silk, or alpaca or wool and cooks are drawn to French or Indian or good old-fashioned BBQ.

Basic truth in all of it is love.   It keeps us warm and fills our souls.   If the instructions don’t include that, then you gotta wonder if it is the real deal or a knock off.

I love that we have a specific time during the year to take a personal inventory and to make plans and goals to change-up for things we don’t like in our life to things we like or want in our lives.   Birthdays are another time to do that too, so  just in case you don’t like your goals, or the tract you are on with your goals you can change it up once again.  It is good to have a clear time to do a personal inventory, as long as the inventory is not too critical or unrealistic.

And then there is the ” my resolution is to not make any resolutions” which folks make who are defeatist by nature and need and instant easy gratification for the ego.   Or the flip side of that is that they know they have no desire to change or grow, so why bother.

I started the self-improvement New Years goal thing last week when I signed up for Zumba classes starting this Tuesday. There is the goal for personal health.

The goal for personal wealth is to find a great, fantastic, affordable little house, back on the other side of the river.  And I will buy it.  Or better yet, have a long-term, cheep rent, caretaker situation, so that I can stockpile cash and buy my little house in the next few years.

With that house I will get a cat, cause I sorely miss critters and I will have a yard to plant roses, cause I miss getting my hands dirty.    And with that house I will have a guest room for my girlies and my guests.  I will have a washer and a dryer so that I can be washing one load and drying on load AT THE SAME TIME.  ( I gave my washer and dryer to Jedi because the condo has a stackable set, but you can only wash or dry, not both at the same time.  How stupid is that!)

Housing insecurity is horrible.  The kind of stress that conger up is difficult to live with.  If you are wondering where you are gonna live, it is hard to focus on the other little things in life.  And I want to focus on the other little things in life, like the Red Sox and knitting and zipping around the planet with friends.    I want to worry about things like… oh I should be raking the leaves this weekend, or I think I will paint the bathroom blue.      So my little new years goal is to find my house.   All other things will fall into place if I just keep setting my sites on that.

This is where the trouble began.    Dan ” Finley” Murphy is here for a visit and like me, a true Red Sox fan.  So when he saw my  Sweep the Series broom in the closet,  Red Sox insignia on one side and Yankee crap on the other,  he busted my chops a bit.  Then bad troll came out of the closet and I told him that Troll had not done his work.  Cousins Sherrie and Greg had given me troll a couple of years back, after the two winning world series and I am not saying that Troll was the reason that the boys tanked the last couple of seasons,  but he has not worked his good Juju to get the job done.  And so he was face to the corner in the closet for the winter.   He generally comes back out at spring training, but I thought why not bring him to Curt’s for the burning of the brush.

Dan,  who’s real name is Raymond Finley Murphy III, is a Proctor Alum from back in the day, is up for a couple of days checking back in with his NH and VT roots and has started his first semester of Jump University, flop 101.    And I have done my fair share of flopping this last week of the year too.   I zipped down to Dedham and met up with the girlies for Christmas Eve and Christmas morning with Gram.  And what a time we had.

There was some really good bourbon, which is almost mandatory when familial triggers are in abundance.  So the girls worked on their pig latin:   “On’tday elltay ommay eway areway akingtay otsshay ofway ourbonbay inway ethay itchenkay”  and we all had a lovely dinner and trotted off to St. Paul’s for a high pipsy  Christmas Eve service, complete with the rising and falling of the tides and kneeling cushions to buffer the bones.    Back to flop and Merry Christmas kisses to the head and an attempt to snooze for a couple of hours before the mandatory come-to-breakfast-to-do-stockings-no-later-then-7-please.

However at 5 am Miss Em came in my room, got into bed and stated ” I can’t sleep”  followed by Lulu coming in and getting in on the other side with ” you guys are too loud”.  And there was laughter and stories from the night before about what all was said and to whom.  And then ” Lulu, what bee got in your bonnet last night,  why were you such a grumpy pants?”    with a one word reply…. “Bourbon”

And then the mad present grab and the girlies got their gifts, which they already knew about because I had told them what the other one was getting and they had both spilled the beans.  Aunt Carolyn said that I shouldn’t trust to tell them next year. I said I would tell them each of the others gifts, but I would lie next time around.    The girls were granted free-agent status after breakfast and they headed off north to New Hampshire and I packed up and headed to Cousin Jennifer’s in Charlotte VT. where I was greeted by a nice warm fire and a lovely meat pie and English Trifle cake.    Cousin Bunny was there too and it was so good to see her again. 

And a quick turn around and back to the mouse house to spend the day with the Atkinson boys while their mum and dad worked.  And swimming and market and a quick trip to the toy store so they could each have a drawer with something to play with when they come and hang at my house.  And the boys were ever so good and ever so fun and ever so 7 and 9 years old.

And this is where Dan comes back in.  He arrived the next day.   We have zipped up to Manchester and Dorset to visit with his people and snacked at the Vermont Country store on the way back. Then a planned visit to Curt’s over in Harland 4 Corners.    We had all done the facebook chatting thing to figure a time for a visit and we got word that he was gonna have a bon fire.  And so the best thing to do was to take the tree down and strap it to the car and add it to the blaze.

Knowing that we would all be outside for most of the day,  I had to root around in the closet to get my winter ‘gonna be outside for a while gear’  and in that the troll came out of hiding.    I thought it would be a good idea to bring troll to the bonfire and  Finley strapped him down with the tree.  But given the lack of worthy rope or bungee cords,  Finley used some wire we found instead.    As we drove out of Eastman, we could hear the troll moving around on the top of the car, and so we pulled a quick turn into the park n’ ride, and heard the troll cuss as he flew off and blew into a thousand pieces. 

I think we should have paid more attention to the anchoring of the tree,  which Finley did check, but off we went anyhow and then somewhere along mile marker 55, the lines blew and off when the tree, which luckily rolled off the highway and into the median.     A good story in the making though and surely it will begin with … remember that time the tree blew off the car……

And this year is coming to an end and I am most glad for that.  It has been a really difficult year,  not all horrible by any means, but full of changes and transitions.   Which isn’t all that bad.  Life is about the living of it and if you are doing it right, there will be challenges and changes and transitions as you move though it.  And if you are awake through all of it, you will see the best of you rise out of it.

I have grown and moved far away from my roots and have found that I am returning to them.  As Finley is turning back to his too.    And as we are trying to figure out a plan for today, which sounds like a work out, then Yama’s for sushi and a movie at the Nuggit,  it feels really very nice to have good company and full week of friends and family and laughter to round out the year.

A Christmas pardon for the quality of the photo, but it should give you an idea of what I have been knitting on.

The sweater is done,  some 45 hours or so put into it.    It is heavy and soft and yummy and I hope my mother will like it.  She gets cold very easily and keeps her home at 62 degrees and goes around wearing lots of layers. This should be perfect.   It is made from hand dyed baby alpaca at 18 bucks a skein and it took ten skeins to get this done.   She better love it or  I will steel it back.

When I sit and knit for someone, it is a mediation of thoughts about that person.   I can’t help but to think about who I am knitting for and so with each stitch that creates a row and a cable and then a repeat and a pattern,  my love for that person is knit into the garment.  They are not wearing just a sweater or a hat or a sock.   They are covered by my love and consideration for them.

And in a funny way at this Christmas time,  I think about the nature of faith and how it plays such an important role in my life.   I am covered and protected by divine love that has been stitched a little at a time to cover me.   But it is a work in progress.   The fabric has not been made easy or swift, it has taken great time and has been frogged or ripped and restarted more than one.  There are times that I have felt a whole piece of me ripped out only to be knitted up more perfectly.  And better the second or third time around.

And much like the sweater I made for my mother,  I struggled with many of the stitches  and had to realign and rip out and re-do and because my relationship with my mother has not always been smooth, neither was the construction of this sweater.  And I am a really good and practiced knitter and what should have been easy was a challenge.

And the garment that is my faith must be a challenge too.  I do not come to the table easily, or at one time.  But I come with questions and with troubles and sometimes with understanding and appreciation for what has already be knit for me.    At this time of Christmastide,  we come to our faith through the love and sometimes conflicting emotions of our relationships.  It is sometimes a difficult time of year, for in all that is offered in peace and  love there can often be feelings of desperate longing for both.   This year I am feeling full of love and not longing and for that I am most thankful.

Merriest of Christmastide to all of you.

Sleep has been illusive as thoughts and feelings rise to the surface.  The fat gray squirrels have been rumbling around in the attic above my bedroom, they cant seem to sleep either.   That and I left the little faux wood stove heater on last night and my room is too warm for sleeping.

The past couple of days have been full of contrary thoughts and feelings and every time I sat down to write, everything was jumbled and not fit for general consumption.  Not fit for my own consumption either, as I have not been able to get though one fixed idea without another one smashing right into it.    I begin the writing and can’t seem to find the end of the thought or the  right words for the thought.

And one thing that I have learned about writing is that what needs to be said will sugar out on its own time.   Some things are better left unsaid for now.   And the muse will be there when it chooses and not when I might think I need her.   Simply that is the way it is.  Which is fine because I have been working on a sweater for my mother’s Christmas gift and it too has not worked out easily either.  Which is rather strange, since I have been knitting for years and this sweater should not be as difficult nor take as long as it has. My knitting muse must be on strike too.    My baking muse simply didn’t show at all and a shortbread intended for a holiday party basically imploded while I was trying to transfer it to the parchment paper.    I mean really, we are talking about basic shortbread here, not rocket science.

This past night I had planned on sewing the pieces of the sweater  all together and then knit up the collar and was distracted with writing for a while, and then when my writing wasn’t going anywhere,  emailing back and forth with a friend instead.   Funny how easy it is to get distracted with more pleasant things when there is a task to be done which is not working out the way you would like it.

And now that I am up again at this awful hour, unable to sleep,  I will get the sweater back out and finish sewing it and watching the last couple episodes of the Tutors.  Henry has gone though several of his wives  and has been at war with France.  He will die soon, I think two more episodes to go, which means that my time is near too.   I decided to watch the whole series all 4 seasons while I knit and try to finish the sweater before the king dies.    Which would be grand, as I have several more projects that I am wanting to start on and was hoping I would have them done by now.  Ha and double Ha on that one.

As I have been going about the work of writing, I come to stories which surprise me sometimes.   Some are the stories of those that have come before me and some are simply stories of mine.  And I hesitate in the telling, as I am not too keen on revealing the silliness of my youth to my children, and yet I so want them to know me as I was and as I am.  Real and human and full of the warp and weft of my own tapestry.   Like each individual thread, raised and lowered, the shuttle of experiences thrown to create an intricate pattern that becomes a distinct cloth.

And the stories surprise me as I think back on some of the  crazy things I did and of those I met along the way.  But in the work of writing, the hard thing is to tell the story as it really was or is, not the way you want it to be.

I have a wall in my study with photos and cards.  Here is where I work and here is where I can become quite lost  in my wandering.  Here I have several postcards that have been in my box for more than 20 years mixed with one Matty gave to me after his trip to Scotland with his grandmother a year or so ago and one from Lucy of the Thinking Hare on the Mall in Washington.

Several of the cards are from Pierce Kirby the III, a wonderful young man I met on my way to London back in the winter of 1987.  He was traveling to Glasgow for a semester abroad as I was to England.   Each of us, our first time traveling alone, we made an instant friendship during the flight from Logan  to Heathrow  and since we had never been to London and we  had a more than a day before we were expected in our schools, we decided to see the city together.     And what a time we had in Piccadilly, and it was then that I bought the best black crape dress ever, it was strap-less and had a wonderful paisley print and we danced all night and swore we would always keep in touch.

And he was far better at it then me.

Dear Alex, its Thursday and I have not yet recovered from the weekend!  How do you find life in the UK?  I am sure you will do fine and I think I would rather be in London than dismal Glasgow, however I am making progress in that I finally went ot a tutorial this week, they were shocked to see me.  I think my academic actions here are giving the States a bad name! Well, I hope we get together again, I told you I would keep in touch.  Peirce

and then another card

Chao Alex!  Yes Venice really looks like this. They have just had Aqua Alta (high water) that was the worst it has been in years, very exciting.  I would like to see you, this place is fantastic, but I will understand if you can’t make it.  Sorry to write so late,  I couldn’t find your address.. .Amor  P

and a final card on my wall

Alex,  I decided to go to Africa for a week and did get your letter which told me of your plans.  This place is very exotic and dangerous we have had serious close calls with the natives.  Tomorrow we are going to Marrakech  then the Sahara desert to rent camels. what a trip!   Keep in touch, love Peirce.

I never saw him again, after our initial time in London, but I kept his postcards as a place marker for when I took a different path out of fear or perhaps what I thought was expected.  When I returned from my travels in Europe, I settled with Christopher from Summit New Jersey,  who’s furthest  place he had ever been to was to Cape Cod.   And is it so strange that I wanted more than just to settle?

My cards have been in plain site for years, and my journals in easy access to the girls.  I doubt they ever really looked things through or gave the funny post cards much of a second glance.

Emilie has travel China already  and Lulu is thinking about heading abroad next year.  And I hope that they too will have their own post cards marking their time.  And perhaps they will  not settle as I did.  Perhaps they will have the guts to take the offered trip and have photos of themselves in Venice or on a camel wandering thought the desert  someday.

“work will bring me home faster then my free time….. will headed to the 802″.

That came in around 7:00 am and so a conversation followed

• Alexandra Jump  Where are you headed?

  Yesterday at 7:38am · Like
• 

  Emilie Major    Trottiers

  Yesterday at 7:39am · Like
• 

  Alexandra Jump   Swing by here on the way home?

  Yesterday at 8:10am ·
• Like
• 

  Alexandra Jump yip yip yippee… and so excited to get the tree with you tookie.. thanks

And so a couple of hours later and a few phone calls miss Em swung into the driveway in the John Deere Truck with the 24 ft trailer and a gator strapped down.  My daughter works for John Deere over in the Ossipee New Hampshire area and had to deliver a tractor from one dealership to another one located  South Royalton VT,  which is basically right up the road and she would be driving by here, up and back.  Miss Em also has mad skills with the truck and backed the trailer back smooth as butt’ah , unhitched it and we took off to get the tree.  So excited to have Em here to help with the tree.  She is 6’1″ and is buff rugged enough to get the tree in the house, help me get it into the base,  get all the lights on,  then move it into the corner.  And it is a tall one because my ceiling is cathedral-like.  Even Emmie had to get onto the step stool to get the star and lights on the top.    And then as promised the Atkinson Elves came with their parents to help decorate the tree and have cocoa and play some games.

And Emmie says she will come back and help me take the tree down New Years weekend.   And Lulu is on the Right coast again and I will see her soon too.  Both girls are heading down with me to Grams’ in Dedham  for Christmas Eve and Christmas morning.  And a plan to then shoot straight up to have the rest of Christmas with Cousin Jennifer in Charlotte.   I just love love love flopping at Cousin’s.   And I love love love the busy-i-ness of it all.

I have gotten the back of my mother’s sweater done and am on the sides, which should work up much faster.  Three Christmas parties this week and trip to Vermont to boot.    And I am  the lucky one.   Family,  old friends and new.  Yes I am the lucky one.

We had another work related holiday event, this time a lunch with the loss control crew up at Sarducci’s in Montpelier.  And unexpectedly, because I had already asked about the protocol and was told that no gifts were exchanged, a couple of cards were given out.  One from the boss and his boss with visa gift cards enclosed and one from an agent with an LL Bean gift card.  Agent 107 apparently gives everyone who works at the main office a Christmas gift.  That act of kindness blew me away.   You don’t get gift cards from Extension or Mental Health or public school administrators. Cookies and holiday parties yes,  gift cards…not so much.

I don’t have extra Christmas money so the only ones getting gifts this year are the girlies and my mum.  And a few others if I can pull off all the intended knitting.   My mum’s sweater is taking longer than I intended because I had it mostly knit up and frogged the whole blessed thing because my design was not working out.  And I do mean I frogged the whole thing,  8 out of 10 skeins of baby alpaca yarn, stripped and ripped and balled back up.   Now I am at about 18 inches on the back panel and on ball 3… I digress…

In any case,  I have been working away at Mums sweater and had not made any progress on a pressy  for Lulu.   Emilie’s was easy because I know where she is at and the thing that I got her is a complete touchdown and I know she will just love love love it.  And everyone in the family knows what it is except for her and we are all very excited about it.   Lulu on the other hand is the tough nut here.   She is the fashion diva and though a sweater would always make a good gift, she abdicated her spot on the sweater list with what would have been her turn to get one, it went to Tanner as a graduation gift.   Which I am now told is the kiss of death to any romance.  Knit the boy a sweater, prior to an engagement, and the relationship will soon end.   Which it did about a month into Lulu going to school in Colorado and Tanner staying in New Hampshire.    I still like Tanner a whole lot and will keep him, even if Lulu did break up with him.    And when Lulu asked for some yarn and needles to knit someone at hat (a boy in Colorado)  I boxed up the left over balls of yarn  from Tanner’s sweater and put that in her care package….knit on that for a while why don’t you… I do like Tanner a whole lot.

And so without the fall back of a sweater for Lulu,  I had to ask her what she wanted and the response was ‘money please’ because I think I want some goggles for snowboarding and I need to try them on.   Nope.  Ain’t gonna give money.   So after a bit of hounding, she sent me a link to Zappos  where she had spied a pair of boots she desires.   Looked at the boots and HATED them.    And  knowing that what she picked is what she likes (and thought I could afford) and not what I like which is generally  OK,  but I still didn’t want to spend what little Christmas money I had on something I disliked.  What to do, what to do?

So back to the story of the office lunch.  In Montpelier there is a very tasty shoe store called The Shoe Horn over on Langdon St.  and the prices can give anyone a nosebleed, this ain’t your back to school shoe kinda of place.  This is the big girlies stepping in and steppin’ out shop with some shoes and boots only big girls can wear.   And Lulu, being in college now, is in the steppin’ out stage and should have some appropriate foot ware for it.  So I took my little visa cards and when right over find the most perfect pair of big girl …. Lulu don’t click this link…     EVER.

And why, because the unexpected gift cards helped me with the ever to tight budget to get Lulu’s gift.   I think she sent me the link to the ucky boots because the price on them is lower than the boots she doesn’t know she really, Really, REALLY wants yet.     And all the girls at the office agreed that the boots were the bomb and much better than the ones she had linked up.     So yesterday, feeling pretty good that I just have to get Mum’s sweater cranked out,  I went down street to Rhymes to pay my propane bill.

And a short visit with the gal that sits behind the desk and has the cool dog.  We chatted about Christmas and did she have her gifts ready for her people?  And she has three boys, 6, 11 an 14 and money is tight this year and so she is in a jam because the 11 year old wants a Visa gift card and some Legos and she was not on board with the Visa gift card and thought about getting him a card to a local store where he could pick out something he liked/needed like new boots.   So I reached into my wallet and pulled out the LL Bean gift card that had been given to me the day before and gave it to her and said… this might help…. she teared up.

Then I said… so time to give you money for my bill….

and she said…. you are  paid in full.

Huh?

Yup… you are all paid up, as of last week.

Can’t be,  haven’t been here for a while,  ( I am thinking here that I am now having bill paying blackouts…maybe I paid it in my sleep and just don’t remember..but I am not on ambien anymore… maybe I am just loosing it)

Well,  says here that it was called in..

By whom?

Some guy … a D.Chambers.   Last week.   You know him?

Yup..

And here is the Christ-mas thing. What goes around comes around.   When we love beyond ourselves.  When we go outside of our comfort zone to do for others what we know we would like to be done for us,  but we would never ask… we are blessed.   When we bless others with what we are given, a blessing  always comes back.  Always.  And what is amazing is when it comes back so quickly and so clearly.

Hats completed and out to the elves.   The boys are neighbors and came over to the house trick or  treating and saw my spinning wheel and asked all about it and I showed them the spinning and one of the boys asked if I would spin and knit him a hat.  So I said that I would barter him a hat for some chores around the house and he agreed and his brother wanted in too and so the deal was made, kinda of structured like a lay-away plan.  They would give me 7 hours each of some sort of chore  and in return, I would knit each of them up a hat.   One started in right away and baked some bread and there was a dinner invite too, and so I figured that I had better get the hats done before Christmas.  Both boys came over and swept off the deck and stacked the lawn chairs away before the first big snow too.   And every Sunday in November one of the boys would ask me if I had finished their hat yet,  so I figured it was time to crank them out.

Last week I was laid low with the cold that has been making its rounds and I figured I could pretty much crank  out the hats then.  Got them all finished out and ready to go .  Sunday  their mother and I took a walk and talked about the barter lesson.  One is good at doing the chores for time owed, but the other not so much, so this is now become a bit like credit.    The boys have the hats and now they owe on time.  So what we came up with is this;  they are gonna help me with the Christmas tree and make an ornament or two to put on it to finish out the time they own.

And I bet both boys, with their new custom  hats are thinking they got the better end of the deal.  I saw them tonight at dinner and both of them greeted me with hugs when I went to their house.   I just love love love that .  Their parents said that they haven’t really taken the hats off.   But what I know is that I have the better end of the deal.   These boys and their family have filled a huge hole.   Moving from community without the support of family close by has been one of the loneliest things I have ever done.  To leave the place that has been your home and to leave the people you love creates that deep hole and the thing that I have missed the most is human touch.    Having an empty nest and living alone, without even a pet, means that you are not touching or being touched by another individual.   You might shake hands with clients, but you don’t go out and randomly hug them.

And if you are a touchy feely person,  you need human touch like a plant needs water.   And putting up a Christmas tree by myself is much too lonely.   So the boys coming over to help me is huge.   And here is the thing about Christmas.

Christ sought and went to the lonely, the broken-hearted, the sick and the poor and he gave.  Not things, but love through service.    Service to others is when we give of ourselves our time, our talents and treasures.    Sometimes I think the treasure part is all that we tend to focus on because it is sometimes easier than to give of your time or something that you can do or make.    The hole has begun to fill to the point where my heart is no longer heavy.  It feels light again and full.  And that is the whole point of the season.  My heart is filling back up with love through friendship.

Heidi is back.  She came with her people on Friday and is hanging out by the little faux gas/wood stove. Smart girl.   The mouse house is a bit cold even with both heaters on and given that Heidi is a German Short Hair Pointer and is 12,  she can be on her little bed or in the sun nice and warm.    Dave is back with  3girls this time,  his daughters Grace and Evelyn and now joined by stepsister Sophia.   Dave has been completely outnumbered and has retreated to writing out his 250 client Christmas cards while two of the three ladies are still sacked out.   I think their plan for the day is to go climb a wall someplace over in Quechee.  Yesterday it was movies and the pony parade over in Woodstock.      Busy weekend indeed.

I haven’t seen too much of them this time around, I have been out mousing around the upper valley as well.  Friday night a dinner holiday party with the folks at the Keilly agency and then mousing around Hanover looking at the stops and the lights.  The Canoe club was a lovely place to get in from the cold for a while  and warm up.  Then Saturday morning a Christmas Breakfast over at the church and more mousing around the upper valley, Woodstock to Norwich and back around.    I love to mouse around.

Dave has been much better about getting the flop rules this time around.   He offered to clean the house,  was completely shot down on that and he didn’t cross me and try anyway.   He found a tea strainer and brought it up, which is very much appreciated.   And he has managed to live amongst my Christmas project mess without breaking into his OCD anti clutter mode.  Dave has progressed from a B at flop U to an A-

I have been working on the family story for my daughters and just got a scanner for the box of photos and documents I have from both sides of the family.  Really fascinating stuff…..to me at least.   My kids may or may not care, but if I do the work; gather and write the stories now, then at least there will be a record of the people who came before us for the people who will come after us.   And how important I feel it is to learn their stories,  from both sides of the tracks.   For what ever reason  or whim,  I started to go through the box to look for all of the pictures I have of Aunt Annie and I found a whole bunch, more than I thought I had.

So here is a bit of her story.

Anna was one of the daughters of Aldolphine and Christian Kipp both from Germany.  As far as I can tell there were only two daughters, the other being Elizabeth was born in 1888 in Salem Ohio.  Not a far guess to think Aunt Annie was born there too.  Annie married Calhoun Adams and they ran a grocery in Ohio.   Elizabeth married William Moss and had Evelyn Lucille Moss in 1913.

Elizabeth died, perhaps from tuberculosis as there is a photo my cousin has showing who we think is Grandma as a baby with a women hanging out at the sanatorium and a guy that looks like he could have been William Moss.  In any case, Grandma was orphaned and William left the scene, we think he headed out to the Dakotas.

Aunt Annie took over and helped raise Grandma.

Grandma had two kids; Billy who was my dad and uncle David.   And Aunt Annie stepped up to the plate and helped to raise them too.   Then she helped with us and lived with Grandma to the end of her days.     And  Aunt Annie didn’t have her own children,  she just managed to help raise three generations up.  I find that so amazing.  Here you are, not able to have your own children and your sister dies, so you help raise her child  up.  That is understandable.  Then the child grows up, gets married and has some of her own, so you are now the grandma in proxy and you pitch in.. I get that too.  But to then go to the next generation and help out one more time.  Amazing, especially since my father Bill was unable to cope in life because of alcoholism and he was basically out of the house when I was about 6 months old, leaving my mother  a single mother for several years.  Aunt Annie  came and stepped up to the plate one more time.   So here is to you Aunt Annie, one of  the best definitions of love I know.

And right before I was emailed about the ‘atta girl… I was having a poor attitude about something else and basically kicking dirt about how I felt I had been wronged.

Funny how that is…

An ‘atta girl is worth 3 oh shits.    It is human nature to gripe rather praise.   We hear negatives so much, that one praise can swing everything around.   I am going after the ‘atta girls today with the folks I come into contact with.   Gonna find some good works of others and tell their bosses all about it.  Pass the atta girl on.. we’ll see how this goes.

And when we first start, as young maidens,  we get a knitting bag or a closet or a corner of a room.  Maybe we get our first needles and yarns when we first leave home.    Then the children come and as Mother, you have a certain amount of hand that you can claim  and a bit more space for your work and perhaps you get a whole room.    It depends on how many costumes and christening gowns you make.  How many hats, scarfs, mittens and sweaters you knit while the kids play basketball, or  while you go to town meeting or select board.  I even knit in the movies when the kids were little.   If you are producing, you can claim more space and more tools.   More needles and yarns and fibers and fabrics.  Then you need a place to put all of the stuff you need to do the projects you dream about doing.

And then you grow up and the children leave home and the whole house becomes a place for projects.    I am about to get the sewing machine out of solitary and place it where it belongs for the holidays…. on the dining room table.    Men can have a den, or a garage, or a basement and be cellar-dwellers in Mantown, but there is none of that here and I don’t have to share my space.   I have to say that as much as I miss companionship and cooking for another,  I am just love love loving having my little mouse house all to me.  All my paintings, the funky old furniture, and most especially being able to have all my projects out and in every room almost.    I am entering into my maven stage of life and really starting to like it.

Course over the long weekend my clock was ticking the other way and I was up at 4 for a couple of days.  Why it has flipped these past two days, I don’t know.

Subtle changes, like a wrinkle  in your sock, can really mess  the day.   And I have had some major wrinkles this past year or so.  And I am so ever thankful that the wrinkles are becoming fewer and fewer and things are smoothing out.   I am looking for the steady moving forward of life.  The lessening of flare ups, the securing of living in one place for at least a decade, the knowledge that your work is valued and can support you  and you don’t have to find another job.

I am starting to feel like life is gonna be measured again by the kids coming home for the holidays,  by the annual bake sales and church fairs, by the town meetings and the loons coming back to the lake for the summer.   I am looking forward to my life being peppered with occasional big events filled with joy,  like the kids graduation, starting their own life, finding their true love,  getting married and having my grand babies.   I want to measure my life in the passing of the seasons from on to another and back again.

I don’t want to measure my life by doing  this or that though.   Pulling the wrinkles out of my socks.    I want to measure my life by Being.   Being in the moments.  Being loved and being able to love.  Being a friend.  Being aware of all that I have.

Yesterday my Black Friday consisted of going to the local yarn shop, having lunch at a local diner,  picking up some more Christmas Cards, going to the dump, the post office and the bank.   We came home and did our own thing for a while,  Lulu working on a headband with her new yarn and needles while I did the office stuff  to get me caught up for Monday.

Then a wonderful opening of the holiday with a live nativity play up in South Royalton and the lighting of 10,000 lights on trees.   Instead of going to the box stores,  Lulu and I moused about and put Christ first into the Christmas season.

The best way for me  not spend too much over the holidays is to balance the books, pay the bills, then go to the savings account and take out cash.  It is pretty painful to take cash out of the savings account,  the account I have for my trip to Senegal and for a house.   I know exactly how much I put in every paycheck, so taking it out is measured in weeks or months, not really dollars.    This forces me to look at what I am buying and to then judge if the gift to be given is better to be a pair of mittens I made or things purchased locally  verses  something from the box store.

Not that I have it out for the box stores mind you, I like getting stuff on sale and discount too.  But stuff for the sake of getting stuff on sale is not how I want to be.  I am impulsive enough without putting myself into the mall mentality of competing against others, whom I don’t know, to get something I don’t really need or can’t afford in the first place.

What I don’t understand is this:  Why are the food bank shelves so empty and the lines at the box stores so long?   I am so lucky to have a good job, one that allows me to live on my own, go to the market, put clothes on my back and have some left over coin  to buy wool to spin and yarn to knit.  I can even have a cell phone and cable TV.   It might take a little while, but  I am able to save for the things I want.

Lulu and I talked about Christmas and gifts for each other and what we could afford.  I will not spill the beans here on what I am doing for them.   Lulu and Emmie are pretty  broke and what I want most of all for Christmas is to have them here with me on Christmas evening and Christmas morning.   A huge gift that you can’t get in the box store.

Emmie texted Happy Thanksgiving to me last night, that was all I got.   This kids growing up and out into their own world thing is what we strive for as parents, but then the reality of their independence stings a bit.  And taking the mirror and looking back, I did the exact same thing.  Grew up, got independent and moved into my own life.

For the record I did call my mother 2 times.  Didn’t get her on the phone Wednesday but did chat with her on the actual day.   She was going to my sister’s for Thanksgiving and would be joined by my two aunts and a cousin and her family.   There was always the option for me to go down and spend the day with that crew, had I called and stated my intent.  But I chose to be here.    Knowing that the girls would have Thanksgiving with their Dad’s side of the family,  I had them last year.  That too, navigating a broken home and the consequences of, is something I hold the mirror up to see my part in it.      And there is no pity party in all of this.   I was rich with options.

Brenda called out with an invitation to the Godwin table,  Lizbeth called with an invite to her family table , Sara and her family called out an invite to her table and  Jo called out with an invite to join up as well.   Jo called out weeks ago when she learned that my kids would not be with me,  and I was grateful that she and her family reached right out.

And on the way up to Jo’s I saw two crows chasing an owl off to the east.   And I had wished that I had my camera as it was a magnificent shot, but insight is a fleeting glance and can only be captured from memory.     The crow is cleaver, adaptive and social .  It will harass an owl that has moved into its territory and will do so in pairs.  It needs and feeds off the carcass of rodents that are the prey of the owl.   In chasing a new owl they dance the natural contract of ‘live amongst us, but do not harm us’.    The owl, a great seer into the darkness of life, silently sits and waits.  It is known for having the wisdom of patience and a reminder that life is transitory.

My first thought seeing the birds  was a feeling that the crows were my children, chasing me away.   You can come into our lives Mum, but do not pray on us.  No lectures, no insight to how to live life, no words of wisdom please.  We are doing just fine in our little crow world and you can come visit, and drop some pray for us to eat at times, but don’t think you can get comfortable in our world. And that is all true.  I can not live in your world.

In my case, I am not as patient as the owl.  I want so much to give them lessons I have learned from my life so that they can have the best of life.  I want to spare them from my miss-steps and give them all the pearls of wisdom I have gleaned.   And all mothers feel this way at times.  We want them to have all of the insight without all experience.

But in the quite of yesterday, coming home from a Thanksgiving dinner to my own nest of solitude, I thought about how my actions always speak louder than words and that children will follow or go away from our teaching when they see for themselves what comes of our actions.  They did not see me going to my own  mother  for Thanksgiving, they saw me going to a friends’  table.  And so the hurt of my children not spending the day with their  Mum was totally misplaced.  I should not guilt them for doing as I do.   They see me living my own life and making my own choices.  And they should do the same.

Perhaps I am the owl not being chased out, but being followed…….somewhat chaoticly and full of  squawking,  wanting to have a set of wings like the owl,  though they would never admit it.

We had a snow day today. Power was out for a while and the house was cold and dark this morning.    I was able to get a blog off on my phone, of all things.  But in thinking about Thanksgiving and thinking about all those who I hold near and dear  I have been thinking of My Uncle Phil Perry. 

 I simply adored him and though he has been gone, now more than 10 years,  I still miss him.     I occasionally have dreams where he and I are on the steps in the Kingdom of Heaven and we are talking, like we always did about Greensboro stuff.  And I know it must be heaven my dreams because he is not smoking and he looks so much younger than he was when I knew him.

So because of the miserable snowy/rainy weather today and because there is always a Mayfly hatch in Phil’s heaven,  I thought I would re-post this.  

I am so very thankful for this memory. 

Uncle Phil was a terrific fly fisherman.  He loved this time of year when the Mayflies hatched and rose from the lake.  That meant that the trout in Caspian  would rise and fishing from the canoe would be in order.

I loved going fishing with him, but had to be in my own boat as not to get in the way of the line as it danced in the  air when he got ready to lay the fly down.

To Phil, this time of year was his church. The fresh green leaves, in all shades, popping out.  The warm days and apple blossoms followed by cool nights and good steaks grilled over the fire pit.

After a good day of garden, golf and dinner, he would head down to the lake, and would fish in the dusk.  The trout bite best at the end of the day when the Mayflys have been hatching.

Phil had agreed to take me with him that night and I got to use his father’s fly rod. I had waited decades for him to allow me to go too.   Down  to the town hall, I went earlier in the day  to buy a weekend fishing license.  A local man was there to witness and questioned me about the inefficacy of getting such a short license.  But I knew that if I caught trout with Phil on this night, I would be satisfied that I had fished for the season.  We ate a bit earlier then usual, and headed down to the lake, he launching one canoe and me another.

Over to the drop off, by the outlet of Cemetery Creek, just a short way up the cove we silently paddled.  And as we began to move our lines,  Cousin Tom came by in his Chris craft and putter outboard motor, a rude interruption on our peace. Cousin Tom was never well schooled on the etiquette of communication during fishing.  You simply didn’t bother Phil when he was connecting with his higher power.  It would be like asking someone what they were having for dinner while they were praying.  We all knew that and never understood why Tom, who had grown up with Phil didn’t.

” Phil.. how are they biting? “  he bellowed across the cove. The echo was as rude as the noise from the motor.

“Nothing” was all Phil said as he turned his canoe away.   I think then Tom knew a blunder had been made and he again bellowed out, ” Well….. good luck to you then” and he motored off.

Phil tied his own flies and called out to me,  use the wet fly and let it sink down a little before you work it up again.  I changed off from my dry fly and began the pattern of laying the fly down.  Phil had said that the trout would strike when you could no loner see your line.  He was right.

Just as I was going on feel and not sight,  I got a hit.  I yelled out like I was five, ” hooked”  he yelled back to me ” I have one too”

We continued for a short while after, he landed 3 nice fish and I two.  But the fist fish I hooked was the largest, by a quarter of an inch, and I got to trace it on birch bark for the trophy.

The next morning we were at The Willies Store and Cousin Tom was by the meat counter with the man who has questioned my licence.   ” How’ ja do?  Fish bite’n last night” ribbed the man.  Tom answered for me, ” Well, the fish were not biting last night”

Phil came round the corner and stated. ” she hooked and landed two, one was a good 19 inches if ever I saw one”.  He continued away to the checkout.  I smiled and followed him out.

The Mayfly hatch is on and with their rising, memories of Philip and fishing have risen again too and I am there.

On a whim I tried the pilot for the gas stove and much to my surprise it worked and with the top grade off and a pan of snow melting on top I shall get my tea soon.

When the power comes back up I shall work from home. But until then I call snow day.

I have 530 odd pages of CS Lewis to keep me company, my iiPhone to keep me connected and knitting, there is always knitting.

And and and I can blog and post from my phone! Ha and double ha!

No clue until she saw Matty’s calendar and it said 4:30 Bees Knees with Alex.   Between that and opening a party RSVP by accident…someone accidently sent it to George at the office and Linda has opened his mail for the entire time she has worked there… she knew something was up.

The crew at Extension was my little family for a couple of years.  I miss them and it was great seeing everyone again.  We laughed, we ate and we all had a great time.

It was a quick up and back. Linda was given a computer so we spent Saturday morning getting it up and running and on-line.  Then a quick trip up the hill and to Willies then home.

Maple man had left a bottle of syrup for me left off at the Galaxy Book store, so everything worked out pretty well.  I didn’t have enough time though to see all who I wanted to see.  I guess I will just have to head back up again next month.

I was really tempted to stay over another night, but for the first time I actually wanted to get back………….home.

Wow.. this has only taken…well I moved on June 16th .. so 5 months!

I am still missing VT and will need to find a more affordable place on the other side of the river.  But the point is that I don’t feel like I want to move BACK.  As in Back in Time.

Linda has been a most strong and helpful support for me though all of the changes.  Our conversations have grown from the usual office stuff to the true and real stuff that makes up life.   And that is what makes a friendship continue even when we only see each other on the occasion of a road trip.

Funny how we sometimes have to leave to be able to be real with the people we saw almost everyday.    Do we ever really stop at work and really  talk with the people we spend 40 hours a week with?  Do we really see them or are we too focused on the bottom line and work is work?  I am so much richer for having the chance to get to know Linda as a friend.  And my life is better because she is in it.

I know she will be missed by the folks at Extension, but they all have the opportunity to have conversions about the real stuff in life now too.   And I hope they take the time to do it.