Nope! I Am NOT going to be Quick about Quitting!

This is week 17 of the ABC with the Accidental Knitter meme.

My letter Q is for Quick

Sometimes (okay most times) I just want to be quick with my knitting.   I see a cool pattern and I imagine myself instantly wearing it or giving it as a gift to someone special...like tomorrow.   

Take for example my current project.    After all, over 1800 others have knitted the Holden Shawlette.  I should be able to whip it up in no time and be really quick about it...right?

Not so quick.   As you can see by my project page, I started this 2 weeks ago.   I have re-started it twice.  Tore it out to the life line three times.   Counted and re-counted stitches over and over. 

Okay so,  I finally successfully get past row 5 of the lace part and onto row 6.  Whew.  I'm on a roll now. Row 6 - even number row, WS, so naturally I purl.   And then as I am reading the directions for row 7,  I notice the directions clearly state that Row 6 was supposed to have been knitted.   AARGH! 

Tear it back to the life line (which I placed just before the start of the Lace part) and the life line frays and gets tangled in the stitches and I scream and tear the stupid life line out.

I rip back to row 90 of the stockinette part, knit two more stockinette rows and I am back to the Row 1 of the Lace part. 

I have this thing memorized by now.   Don't even need to read the directions.   Nope, not me, I can quickly get through this.  

I knit Lace row 1.  Count to make sure I am on track.  Great so far.

Lace row 3.  Perfect!  Right number of stitches and everything.

Lace row 5.  Couldn't be better.   Don't even need to count...You know where this is going, don't you?

KNIT row 6.  Not gonna fool me twice.

Complete row 7.  Yeah!  I finally made it past row 7. 

Onto Row 8.  Maybe I should count my stitches, just to make sure...

I am 14 stitches short.  14 stitches!  How did that happen?  Can't I just add 14 stitches evenly spaced?

I know, I know.  This is lace we're talking about.

At midnight last night, frustrated, I bunched the whole thing up and threw it in the bag.

First thing I think of  when I woke up this morning...I know why I am 14 stitches short.  

Directions for Lace row 5...There is that extra yarn over BEFORE the K2tog.  

So now I am not so quickly un-knitting back to Lace row 3.  Yes un-knitting...because I was soooo confident that I figured I didn't need no stinkin life line!

And NO I am not going to QUIT!

Reading His Face

After I heard the news yesterday about the not as positive as they have been CT scan results, I was overcome with emotion.   It is my nature to push my feelings down as far as they will go and hold back the tears for as long as I possibly can.

From the time he was a little boy, Joe has been a quiet person.   His feelings are communicated, quite loudly, through facial expressions.   I have learned to read his face.

I know when he is happy because his eyes light up and he allows a small smile.   When he is angry, his lips tighten together.   When he is disappointed his face becomes very still.

Even though I have only recently learned his frightened face,  I have a clear picture of him sitting on the exam table as he listened to the Doctor explain to him  that the existing tumors have grown and that there are two new growths on his lung.

I have a clear picture of him after the Doctor left the exam room as Joe fought hard to push the feelings down as far as they would go and hold back his tears for as long as he possibly could.

When I spoke with him later, I fumbled with words.  The standard motherly comforting words of "Don't worry, it's going to be okay" somehow just don't seem to fit.  

Because I think it might make him feel uncomfortable,  I haven't shared my blog with Joe.

  But this is what I want him to know.

 Joe, my dear son,

 I am so sorry that you have to fight for every moment of your life.  I am so grateful that you and Anne found each other again.   I am so happy that you have gotten to experience the joy of having a son.   I am so sad that your time with him might not be as long as it should be.  I am so angry about the unfairness that this has happened to such a gentle soul.
 I love you more than words can say.    

Your strength is my inspiration to stay strong so that I can be there for you every step of the way.  

Loving you always and forever,

Mom

Anne and Joe have a special and dear friend.  Her name is Christon Stephanie Halkiotis.  She is running  in the 2011 ING New York City Marathon on Nov. 6.  Her goal is to raise $3500 in the fight against cancer and she is running for Joe.

Click here  to read more about her story and support her if you can.

Some Pages Are Quite Serious

Today is the 16th Monday of An Accidental Knitter's ABC Meme
My letter P is about Pages

Now that my blog is six months old, I thought it was time to examine a few other options that are available with Blogger.

One of the main reasons that I chose to write a blog was to express my feelings about subjects that might sometimes be uncomfortable for me and for readers of my blog.

Something that I noticed on other people's blogs were different tabbed sections which appeared across the top of the blog, such as an "About Me" tab.

I wondered if I could create a section like that and use it for my more serious thoughts and feelings.

I did a little research and found that these tabs are actually called "pages".   I know that to the experienced bloggers this is "Elementary, my Dear Watson".   (By the way I just found out that Sherlock Homes never actually "said" that exact phrase).

Anyway I digress.

So I successfully created an "About Me"page  and a page which I am calling "My Stream of Consciousness".  The "Stream" page will contain those serious thoughts I mentioned.

I also discovered that these pages will appear on every post.   I am assuming that I can add to my "Stream" page each day if I want to, right?

Anyway "TaDa!"   My new pages.

Obliviously Not Observant? Or Is It Simply Williams Syndrome?

This is week 15 of the ABC with the Accidental Knitter Meme

The letter is O

My post was going to be about the reason that I have no sense of direction.

 I was going to blame it on the fact that I am oblivious and not observant about my surroundings.   Obviously the O words.

I always thought that not paying attention and not noticing details are what is to blame for the fact that I usually can't find my way to my destination.  Finding my way back home is sometimes even harder.

By the way, the following incident that I will describe is highly embarrassing but sadly true and typical of me.   But I have to relay it  in order to prove a point.

A few weeks ago, Ross and I went shopping.   We were going to be going away for a few days and I needed a few new things. :)

I am very lucky because Ross loves to shop...with me.

The dressing room in Macy's has two entrances/exits.  My worst nightmare.

Ross was sitting on the "husband" chair, waiting for me to come out and model.

 But each and every time I would come out of the stall, I would not know which way to turn  in order to  come out to where Ross was sitting.  

I would make the same mistake each and every time.

I finally figured out what to do after about the thirteenth time.

I found a picture on the wall and used it as my "landmark".  Each time, though, I had to  say to myself,   "okay now, turn right at the Roses Painting."

I have always been this way.  Thank goodness for the "Lady" on my GPS.    Before her and Google directions,  I never knew which way to turn.

So I just accepted the fact that getting lost was my fault because I simply did not pay attention.

I decided to do a little research on the subject before I wrote this post.   As it turns out,  I may just have a genetic disorder called Williams syndrome.

"Williams syndrome, a rare condition which occurs in one in 7,500 people, is caused when a small amount of genetic material is missing from one human chromosome. Individuals with Williams syndrome have strong language skills and are extremely social, but they have trouble with tasks like doing puzzles or copying patterns or navigating their bodies through the physical world."


Hooray!  I guess...  I suppose in someway it does make me feel a little bit better to know that I am not alone.     


So when Ross teases me when we are out for a walk in our community by saying "If I spin you around three times, would you be able to find your way home?"  I can admonish him for not being politically correct.   After all it is quite offensive to make fun of  we Williams people.


Here is the article that I found to support this theory.

always lost

And Still Waiting for the "Great Timer App" Alarm To Go Off

My original plan for this rainy Sunday was a movie. Specifically "The Help".   Ross said he wouldn't mind seeing it.

But this rainy Sunday turned out to be a torrentially rainy Sunday.   And even though it would be a good day to spend inside of a theater,  I would just as soon not have to go out in a down pour just to get back inside.

So my next suggestion to Ross was: "Hey I have a great idea, let's clean out your closet..."

That was at 9:00 this morning as he was sitting in front of his computer.   He has been talking about cleaning out this closet for, I don't know years, no really years.

Since I was willing to help, he kinda agreed to do it.

First I have to tell you that Ross is the world's greatest waster of time.   No, really check out the Guinness Book.  Okay, maybe he isn't mentioned in there, but he should be.

Here's how it went.

Ross:  "Okay, let me finish my coffee and have breakfast, then give me a half hour to clean up some paper work on my desk.
       (side note: he is constantly saying that he is cleaning up paper work)

 After another 20 minutes, he finally got up to have breakfast.

At 10:15 he heads back into the den.

I am reading my e-mail, looking at blogs while he (or so I thought) was "cleaning up some paperwork".

After 10 minutes I turned around to ask how he was doing and I see him browsing through Mac Apps.

I asked what he was doing and he said he was looking for a timer app that he could use to count down the 30 minutes that he was allowing himself to "clean up some paperwork".

"Why don't you just use your alarm?" I ask.

"I can't find it," he says.

That's probably because it's buried beneath all of that "paperwork", I thought.

It's now 11:30,  and since I hear some rustling of papers.  I assume he found a "great" timer app.

I can't wait to hear that neat alarm tone going off which  I am quite sure took him more than 30 minutes to select.

Dear Ann Landers - Sadly Watching From the Sidelines

I was raised by first generation Italian American parents.

There were a set of, what I thought at the time were arbitrary, rules we had to follow.   I'm not sure who originated these rules or how far back they went,  but they were followed by all.  Now that I think about it,  I don't remember any rules for the boys in the family.  Hmm, but I guess that was the European way.

There was an age appropriate guide line for specific rights of passage, so to speak.
For instance;  eyebrow tweezing, shaving legs and lipstick were age 14.

Forget even mentioning dating a boy until age 16.   And by dating I mean school dances.
Curfew was always 11:30; even after I was engaged at age 21.

I'm sure even today's generation  has heard this from their parents. "As long as you are living under my roof, you will follow my rules!"

So you get the picture. They were very strict.

When I was 15, a boy asked me to go to a movie.   I approached my parents.   I went to my mother first.   She said ask your father.    I asked my father and he said "NO!"

Needless to say I was pretty upset and felt quite oppressed.

 As I sat on my bed, flipping through the newspaper, I turned to one of my favorite sections - The Ann Landers advice column.

Ann Landers

I thought that if I wrote a letter to Ann and she put it in the paper and my parents saw it, they might consider changing their silly rules.

So that's what I did.   I don't remember exactly what I wrote, but it apparently had something to do with the lack of trust my parents had in me.   The letter didn't appear in the newspaper, but I did get the following response from Ms. Landers:

It wasn't until I became a parent that I understood what those rules were all about.

My children are grown now with children of their own.

The fact is I could use a little advice right now:

Dear Ann Landers,

I see one of my children heading down a path that I think may be potentially destructive.  As I watch from the sidelines,  I am not sure what to do.  Do I step in and try to help?
I've been there before to pick up the pieces.   I know that parenting is a lifetime role, but perhaps it's time to let go and let him find his own way, whatever the consequences may be.

I respect your opinion and would appreciate your advice.

Regards,
Lynda Grace   

Nostalgically Remembering 79 Hillcrest Ave.

This is week 14 of the "ABC with the Accidental Tourist Knitter. (oops) :)
The letter is N

Nostalgia

Don't we all get that way sometimes.   I was feeling that way last weekend.   I decided to take a ride to my old home town.   My intention was to have breakfast at the Edison Diner.  We got a little bit of a late start though.  We were both way to hungry to wait so we stopped at a diner in Brick instead.

About an hour later we passed the Edison Diner.

I gave Ross the hometown tour.   This is where I went to grammar school, here is my old high school, and this is the old neighborhood.  This is the house where my friend Cathy lived.  We would meet at this corner and walk to school together.

See that shopping center over there, that used to be a bowling ally - Edison Lanes.    Over there is the Swim Club.   Our family couldn't afford the membership, but I had plenty of friends with guest passes. Now it is a community pool. 

We drove down Hillcrest Ave.  Number 79 is house that I grew up in.   I took a picture of it from the car window. 

See that house across the street?  That family had 13 kids.  And their grandmother also lived with them.  Cookie (her real name was Joy) and I used to  take walks around the block on hot summer nights. 

Ricky lived in the house next door.  He had crush on me.   He used to ask if he could walk me to school.  But you know he was into frogs and snakes and that wasn't my thing.   So mostly I would say no. 

The family two doors down had 7 boys.  I guess they weren't going to give up until they had a girl.  Cindy was number 8.   I wonder if they thought they were on a roll with girls and that's why they had a ninth.  But Kevin, number nine, was their last.

When we moved into our house, there was an empty lot next door.  About a year later a couple bought the lot and built what we thought was a very large home.   We knew they must have been very rich because she drove a pink Cadillac.  It was the only house on the street that had a second level and a patio in the back yard.

Now that house has been sorely neglected.   I have a feeling it is in foreclosure.  And it didn't look as big to me.  In fact the whole street didn't seem to be the way I remembered it.   I guess things do look different when you are a kid. 

After my visit,  I understand what Thomas Wolfe meant when he said  "You Can't Go Home Again".

Do you think that's true?

BTW,  Ross was very patient during the tour.   But he kinda owed me.  I have been on so many tours of his beloved hometown of Nyack that I could probably give that tour too.

And the Winners Are...The Mysterious Surpise Mystery Give A Way

The announcement of the winners and a continuation of the story...

Part One
Mysty had been driving straight for over six hours. She was starting to feel tired.  The road was flat, straight and monotonously hypnotizing.    Her eyes were getting heavy.  She still had many miles to go.

Her better judgment told her that she should take a break and stop at the next WaWa for gas and a cup of much needed coffee.

The all night gas station was empty.  Not surprising, though, since it was 3:00 a.m. in the middle of no where.  A sleepy young attendant sauntered over to her car.   As he was filling up the tank,  she ran into the convenience store for a large Dark Roast.

When she got back to the car, she noticed that another car had pulled in.   As she glanced over,  she thought the car looked familiar and she was sure that she had seen the driver somewhere before.  

The attendant handed the receipt to her.   She started up her car and got back on the road.  She didn't want to have to stop again until she reached her destination.

She  had waited a long time for this; practically her whole life.   She couldn't help but wonder what it would be like.   How would she feel once she was there?

She became engrossed in her thoughts.   A half hour passed before she noticed the headlights of another car behind her.

Another soul on the road at this time day?  How curious, she thought.  She wondered if it was the same car and driver from the WaWa.

She and the car behind her kept up a steady pace for the next two hours.

She was happy to finally see the sun rising, peeking through the distant mountain tops. The warmth of the sun would be welcomed.  Even though her twenty year old blue Chevy II was reliable, the heating system was not.

She was wearing her old red parka.   Her long brown hair was tied up under the bright orange hat her Mom had made for her.   At least her hands were warm in the blue mittens. They were the last thing that her mother ever knitted.  

She could clearly see the other car now.  It was the same one from the gas station.   The driver wore a baseball cap, but Mysty knew that the driver of the other car was someone she knew.

As she continued driving, her thoughts turned to the last day her Mom was alive.   Mysty sat on the edge of the bed.    Mom's breathing was labored, but she insisted that she needed to tell Mysty something.   Mysty held her hand as her mother revealed the secret.

That was more than twenty years ago.   Mysty had made a promise to her mother that on this date she would take the journey that she was embarking on today.

She had a few regrets during her life.   She hoped that this would not turn out to be one of her biggest.  But a promise is a promise, especially one made to your mother on her death bed.

Part Two

Mysty would never forget the summer she was 15.   He told her that she was the prettiest girl he had ever seen.  Even though he would be leaving for college in the fall, he promised that they could talk on the phone every night and they would be able to see each other during school breaks.    They had their whole life planned out.  

But that was a whole lifetime ago.  

She turned off the highway at the exit for Millersville.  She realized that the car that was behind her for most of the trip did not take the same exit, but continued on the highway.   

As she followed the directions that the attorney had given her, she found herself driving down a tree lined street in a quaint little town.   Situated among a group of old Victorian buildings was number thirty-two.  

She nervously walked up the steps to the front door.   The sign outside read "My Mom Knits".   

There was a large window with a display of  tiny hats,  little sweaters,  pink booties,  green, yellow and white baby blankets.   She recognized each of the items.   She had spent most of the nine months knitting while waiting for the birth of her baby girl.  

As she opened the door she heard the tinkle of the old overhead bell.    

All around her Mysty saw nooks and shelves filled with soft luscious yarn.

She noticed a group of women sitting around in old rocking chairs.   The women were chatting and knitting away.  

She spotted her immediately.  She was bending over talking to one of the women.

How beautiful she was...


Well I am sure there is much more to this story which just might pop up in a future post.

I want to thank Sharon from Witchyknits and Amy for their wonderful suggestions.   A mystery surprise will be on the way for each.

Mysty and the Case of The Mysterious Surpise Mystery Give A Way

Monday - Learn Your ABC with the Accidental Knitter.
Today is Lucky 13- The Letter M.

Mysty had been driving straight for over six hours. She was starting to feel tired.  The road was flat, straight and monotonously hypnotizing.    Her eyes were getting heavy.  She still had many miles to go.

Her better judgment told her that she should take a break and stop at the next WaWa for gas and a cup of much needed coffee.

The all night gas station was empty.  Not surprising, though, since it was 3:00 a.m. in the middle of no where.  A sleepy young attendant sauntered over to her car.   As he was filling up the tank,  she ran into the convenience store for a large Dark Roast.

When she got back to the car, she noticed that another car had pulled in.   As she glanced over,  she thought the car looked familiar and she was sure that she had seen the driver somewhere before.  

The attendant handed the receipt to her.   She started up her car and got back on the road.  She didn't want to have to stop again until she reached her destination.

She  had waited a long time for this; practically her whole life.   She couldn't help but wonder what it would be like.   How would she feel once she was there?

She became engrossed in her thoughts.   A half hour passed before she noticed the headlights of another car behind her.

Another soul on the road at this time day?  How curious, she thought.  She wondered if it was the same car and driver from the WaWa.

She and the car behind her kept up a steady pace for the next two hours.

She was happy to finally see the sun rising, peeking through the distant mountain tops. The warmth of the sun would be welcomed.  Even though her twenty year old blue Chevy II was reliable, the heating system was not.

She was wearing her old red parka.   Her long brown hair was tied up under the bright orange hat her Mom had made for her.   At least her hands were warm in the blue mittens. They were the last thing that her mother ever knitted.  

She could clearly see the other car now.  It was the same one from the gas station.   The driver wore a baseball cap, but Mysty knew that the driver of the other car was someone she knew.

As she continued driving, her thoughts turned to the last day her Mom was alive.   Mysty sat on the edge of the bed.    Mom's breathing was labored, but she insisted that she needed to tell Mysty something.   Mysty held her hand as her mother revealed the secret.

That was more than twenty years ago.   Mysty had made a promise to her mother that on this date she would take the journey that she was embarking on today.

She had a few regrets during her life.   She hoped that this would not turn out to be one of her biggest.  But a promise is a promise, especially one made to your mother on her death bed.

Where was Mysty going?  What was the secret?  And who was following her?

Ready to help solve the mystery?   All you have to do is suggest answers to the above questions.  All participating suggesters will win a mysterious surprise.

My next post will reveal all.   Perhaps your ending will be the best one.