Happy New Year!!

In a few short hours, we'll be saying goodbye to 2005 and hello to 2006. UNREAL. The years go by faster and faster as time goes by. This has been an amazing year for me and my family. Some of it has sucked, to be sure, but overall, I cannot complain. Afterall, we are all still here, we are all still together, we are all still out of jail. That spells success to me!

B and I will be leaving our house in a couple of hours and going to the town where we both lived as teenagers. I think we will win the strangest cargo contest - we'll be toting along a suitcase entitled "Traveling to Grandma's," a bowl of Ceasar salad, a spinning wheel, 2 children, an overnight bag, a huge bottle of bourbon, 22 skeins of handspun yarn, and probably 4 fishing poles and 2 tackle boxes. Say what you will about a minivan - just try to load that shit into a Corvette.

After we drop the kidlets off at Grandma's, we'll be having dinner with David, his wife Terri, Velma, and some friends of theirs. It will be very interesting because, you see, the house where we'll be eating is the same house in which I fell in lust with B 12 years ago. Velma and I used to sit on her porch and watch 20 year old B climb out of his VW bus (shirtless, no less,) and run into the house he rented just 2 doors down from Velma's. The house holds magic, I'm certain.

Then off to the gala of the year (at least for us old parental types,) the NY'sE bash at Jill My Bill's (someday I'll post about why I call her that - but that's another time.) This could be amazing, it could bomb, we just don't know. What I do know is that I am looking forward to spending the last few minutes of this year and the first few of the new one with old friends and the ever present reminder that the old cheesy song is true, " Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver and the other gold."

If I survive, I'll post pictures.

To all of you - Happy New Year. May you all stay out of jail, may you all stay on the road, may all of you have someone to kiss at midnight (even if it's just Johnny Depp on your TV,) and may all your dreams come true!

CHEERS!

House of Blues

Music has always been an essential part of my life.  It's always around me.  It's about as important to me as air, sex, food, family, and friends.  As a result, I made a decision the minute the stick showed two lines with Duck that my children would live a  life of music.  I wouldn't force it on the, for there is no more certain way to make them loathe it.  But I would surround them with music, give them opportunities to try their hands at it.  Music would not just be that thing that you hear when you're on hold - music would be a way of life.

 

And, fortunately for me, my kids have jumped into music with both feet.  They love to listen to it, to try to figure out what they are hearing, pick out each instrument.  They love learning about famous musicians (Duck went about 6 months of obsessing over Stevie Wonder,) they love learning about the different types of music.  They love it.  And now they are wanting to learn to play instruments.  Awesome.

 

They take Kindermusik classes and love them.  Stealth loves to hear the music and is learning about different instruments.  He has resonator bars, jingle bells, and a shaker from his classes and he brings them out all the time.  This coming semester, I believe he gets a drum.  Duck has the resonator bars and a Glockenspiel.  He's learning to read music.  At  5 years old, he can identify A, C, and F on a musical staff.  He can repeat rhythms and create rhythms and write them out.  So cool.

 

For Christmas, we requested a lot of musical instruments.  I'm not one of those Mom's who refuse to buy my kids noisy toys - bring it on!  I love hearing them trying to compose their own symphony.  Anyway, the boys were gifted with many wonderful things and I believe we have enough to start a band.  They have a tambourine, symbols, a keyboard, a mixer (like DJ's use at clubs - it's a riot,) a recorder (the flute type things we all played in 2nd grade,) an accordion (yes, you read that right,) and a harmonica, in addition to the instruments listed earlier.

 

So, if you're looking for some good tunes, come on by Mamakohl's House of Blues.  I'm sure it'll be an experience you'll never forget!

 

 

Reunion

Yesterday I saw a friend of mine whom I haven't seen in over 10 years. Well, actually, I saw her 9 years ago, but she was in a funk and so was I, so it doesn't even count 'cause we barely spoke to each other. Surely I've done worse (RELAX, freakshow, it's FINE!!!) We went to Shakespeare's and gorged ourselves on pizza and beer with her hunky, delightful, Dutch husband and her amazingly grown up little brother who I still see in my head as being 11 years old, although he's out of college now. Did I mention the beer? That would explain the ridiculous look on our faces - and this terribly lame and pathetic post.

I laughed so hard yesterday, I thought I might ruin my jeans. Good friends stay good friends, regardless of miles between you or years since your last visit. Jill is a good friend and has an amazing stash of local gossip although she lives in freaking Ireland!

She brought the kiddies toys! HOORAY! And she brought me a huge stash of yarn from her local yarn shop in Cork. I cannot imagine what I'm going to do with it.

I'll be seeing Jill again tomorrow night for the big ol' New Year's Eve cocktail party - along with about 20 or so other folks I haven't seen since I crossed the threshold into my 20's. It's going to be a blast and B is even humoring me enough to come along, although it will be agonizing for him. Soon, she'll be off to Botswana. But I'm sure I'll be hearing from her - she's supposed to be sending my kids a monkey. 

Notes

Notes:

• Happy Birthday, my brother.  Sincerely.  It’s my brother’s 35th birthday.  Tear it up.


• Having the flu at Christmas sucks ass.  Getting it the day after Christmas is better.  Marginally.


• Ex lovers who have remained friends will just have to understand if I don’t answer the phone.  You’re on my time, baby (but, I do wish we could have met up – you still have to meet the boys!)


• When you buy clothes, but regret spending the money, life smiles on you and the clothes don’t fit or they make you look like a grandma or like you’re a grandma trying to be 19, so you take them back and get your cash in return!  It’s awesome – you get the rush of shopping, but you never lose the dough!


• Sometimes you find the perfect pair of embroidered distressed jeans – and no need for returns.


• My husband knows me better than I know myself.  He proved it this year at Christmas.  I’m a lucky woman.  And, damn, the man has great taste!  Thanks, B.  You outdid yourself.


• Playing Candy Land with your kids is more fun than it was when you played it yourself as a child.


• There is nothing more valuable than friendships.  They should be insured and cared for more than jewels and property.


• It is hard to enjoy a good stretch in my life when others who I care about are struggling.


• 4 inch wool fibers are infinitely more difficult to spin than 6 inch fibers.  That size doesn’t matter stuff is bullshit.


• Think before you speak and I will try to do the same.


• Never underestimate the power of an electric slot car track to tear grown men away from their wives at Christmas.  Seriously, I don’t know if that track was for Stealth and Duck or for B and Uncle B!!  SIL D, maybe you should buy one for your house, too.


• Want your partner to agree to re-decorating the bedroom?  Get a fancy new silk quilt as a gift.  Viola! It’ll even be his idea.


• Shakespeare’s Pizza is the best pizza (maybe second only to BeauJo’s in Colorado Springs.)  Having Shake’s with an old friend only makes it that much better.  (Can’t wait, Jill My Bill.)


• Starting the new year surrounded by friends and family and optimism can only result in good things.


• ESPD is a great guy.  Having met him in person twice now, I only grow fonder of him.  Thank you, Mr. , for understanding that my girl can take care of herself, but for taking care of her anyway.   You two are a good pair, even if she does put holes in your nuts.  (


• Taking a break from blogging makes it hard to get back on the horse.

Beauty

So, this morning I woke up and looked down at my bed and smiled. I was wrapped up in something beautiful - a new silk quilt made for my by Velma. She told me the story of the quilt, the story of the squares and how she came upon all these lovely little silks. It's called "Conversations" and I cannot think of anything more appropriate. The quilt reminds me a little of the picture to the left. It's bright and beautiful, just like Velma, and I love it - just as I love her.

Thanks, VJ. 

Quote of the YEAR!!

Okay, folks, just in time.  Here it is:

 

"As long as I can keep my penis on my body, I'll be rich!!!"

          - Duck, 12/22/05

 

And so it was ...

So here sit 4 tired, crabby boys. The twins and their mama come by for a visit today and all of the 4 billion Thomas the Tank Engine friends came out, as did the Bob the Builder stuff, and the game of Upwords, until finally, a movie won out.

It was a nice visit. My friend announced that she is expecting their last child in April - a girl!

It's always a little strange visiting with this particular group of folks - especially in my house. My friend has many degrees, her husband is an attorney and a partner in a prestigious law firm in Houston. They have money. They have a nice house and nice jewels and nice nice nice. We are hippies. We are artists. We have a small house that needs work, Bob Marley blasting from the stereo, spinning wheels and mat cutters and yarn and beads everywhere. My friends have more room in their bedroom closet than I have for a kitchen AND dining area combined. They are nice and polite and we are earthy and free spirited. The great thing about this is that we still deeply care about each other (I was a bridesmaid in her wedding,) and our differences have never out shown our similarities. BUT, as they tip toe around my house, trying to figure out where to sit (is there room to sit??) it's hard to not feel inferior. They are always loving and kind and have never once passed judgment on me, but wow, different worlds.

Then I see my kids and know that they will not be going to daycare. I see my house and know that the curtains were made by me, that the fuzz on the floor is from my art. I see my family and how we fit perfectly into our little house. There's not much room for any more - any one else or anything else - but we don't need anything more than we already have. Our home keeps us together. It keeps us safe. It keeps us.

Our family, our house, our lifestyle may not be conventional -but I've never wanted to be conventional. I've wanted to be comfortable. And screw anything that says otherwise.

Merry Christmas, M, S, R, & J (and new baby girl.) May you all get exactly what you want and may you always want exactly what you get.

All my love,
That strange liberal hippie chick with the nose ring and wild sons who live in a breadbox. 

the twins are coming

The twins are coming today, along with their mama, my dear friend.  And for a brief second or two, their father and grandfather as well.  I haven't seen these folks since my friend was 6 months pregnant with the twins - it's been 4 years!

 

Of course, the basement won't keep any heat, which sucks eggs 'cause there's a huge playroom down there that would be perfect for 4 little boys to destroy, but these folks are from Texas and might find a 60 degree playroom a little cold.

 

So, they can destroy the upstairs.  Can't do anything worse than I've already seen.

 

I'm so excited to see them!!

Yummy OM

 


I love this book. It's full of simple yet deep meditations. Read them one at a time, read them all at once. Read them from beginning to end, read them at random. Works blissfully along with a daily physical yoga practice, but without one, too. Even if you cannot stretch your body, you can stretch you mind!

Check it out 

Festive!

Last night was my husband's company Christmas party.  This morning, I am hungover.  Not terribly.   Not sick or spinny or sweaty or anything.  Just ugh.  The kind of ugh that makes you want to eat 47 Taco Bell bean burritos and drink orange juice until your bladder thinks it's vacationing in Boca Raton.  The kind of ugh that makes you want to sit on your butt and rediscover America's love affair with Bob Barker.

 

I had to pick my children up this morning at 7:15.  Which means I had to leave my house at 6:55.

 

I'm too old for this.  I had forgotten.  But it was a hell of a lot of fun trying to remember.

 

 

Flights land today for my friend VJ, and for my friend Susan and her family.  Susan has twin boys about a month older than Stealth.  It's gonna be a busy week.

Your truth or mine?

I’m getting older.  I’m nearly 30.  In fact, I’m really looking forward to being 30 and am considering forcing my husband to throw me a surprise birthday party for the occasion, but that’s not what I’m here to write about.  I’m here to write about something that happens when you age – your brain starts taking courses in creative writing and before you know it, it’s a very fine and fuzzy line between honest to Elvis memories and pure fabrication.  Usually, most things get a little bit of column A, a little bit of column B.  

It’s not like I intend to tell falsehoods.  I loathe dishonesty.  Sincerely, I can forgive darn near anything, but I have yet to truly forgive anyone for being dishonest with me (honestly – I hold this grudge like nothing you’ve ever seen.)  I am not perfect and have done many foul things in my life, but I own up to them, take the punch, and move on.  To discover that I have said some things that aren’t exactly true is hard for me to wrap my brain around, but it’s happening more and more frequently.

In my post yesterday, I wrote about getting my sister pantyhose.  Now, I know for a fact that I did it on more than one occasion, I remember several, but she says that it didn’t happen all that often.  Now, of course, the subject of the post was about me losing gifts and it’s possible that I just lost more than I found, but maybe she’s right.  Maybe I didn’t buy them for her as many times as I “remember.”

We all have “memories” that might not exactly be accurate.  She tells the story of me talking in my sleep and saying, “It’s in the pink.”  I do remember this event, it did happen, but it happened once.  In her mind (or in her stories,) it happened multiple times.  My brother “remembers” her picking bumps off a gourd (don’t ask,) but she swears he did it.  Who knows who’s right?  It was 20+ years ago! We’re all getting older (I’m the youngest,) and we’re all guilty of blurring the lines between reality and a great story – whether intentional or as a result of “Some-Timer’s Disease.”

But does it really matter if it’s true?  For years, I thought about the story of my father’s parents and chicken livers.  When my grandparents were first married, my grandmother made my grandfather chicken livers every single Sunday.  Every Sunday, he ate them.  This went on for ages until one day they had a fight and my grandmother shouted out something along the lines of, “Don’t tell me I don’t do anything for you – I slave to make you those chicken livers every single Sunday because you love them so much!”  To which he replied, “I wish you’d stop – I hate those things!  They’re disgusting.  I only eat them because you make them for me!”  

Good story, eh?  If you put just the tiniest bit of effort into it, you can see the lessons of honesty and communication, the story of a loving couple, etc.  Not a bad thing to take into a marriage, the moral(s) of this story.
But it’s not true.  Well, not entirely.  A couple of years ago, my Dad sat me down and told me that it didn’t exactly happen the way I had remembered it all these years.  Hmm.  Well, how about that?  Surely the story didn’t change – I changed, my memory of the story changed.

And does it matter?  Nope.  It matters so little, in fact, that I have again forgotten the true, real story.  The moral of the “truth” and the moral of my version of the truth are the same.  My memory brings to mind the same issues of communication, honesty, and the sacrifices of love as the real story.

In this holiday season, the issue of Truth comes up a lot.  Is there a Santa Claus? Did the oil keep burning for 8 solid days?  Are Dreydels actually fun?  Was there a baby that was born of a virgin?  Was he born to save the world?  

I say yes.  I say YES to it all.  It doesn’t hurt a bit to say yes.  It makes the holiday season brighter for me, it makes the magic real.  In this day and age of parenting and stuffing stockings myself, I can use all the magic there is.  The lessons of love and gratitude and appreciation and hope are the same, whether or not any of it is true.  In fact, if any of it isn’t true, I don’t want to know.  I want to keep on believing. I want to walk blindly through my beliefs for the next 70 years.  I want to keep the magic.

In 70 years, I’ll be 99 (almost 100) years old, my brother will be 105 and my sister will be 107.  We’ll probably never know what happened to all the pantyhose or for certain how many pair there were, my siblings will still be passing the buck on the gourd deal, I’ll still tell of the chicken livers, and I’ll probably still be known for saying, “it’s in the pink.”  None of it will be any more true then than it is now.  And it won’t matter any more then than now, either.

So bring on aging, bring on dementia, bring on creative memories and story telling. Bring on the creative truths.  After all, if it weren’t for those things, we’d not have Santa Claus, we’d not have Hanukkah, we wouldn’t have Advent and Christmas Eve, and we wouldn’t have the magic of Christmas and the delight in the eyes of children as they wake to find gifts magically strewn all over the living room and socks on the wall spilling with sweets and small treats.  And that, my friends, would suck rocks.

Concrete Jungle hit the streets

Yesterday, Concrete Jungle hit the streets.  Sorry folks, it has now been sold.  Thanks, Brenda.

strange

There is something in the trash can in my office that smells like cheap mens cologne.

 

DONE

I finished Christmas shopping today.  Well, my portion of it.  B is buying for his father, my mom’s husband (lottery tickets,) and me.  EVERYONE else is done.  Husband, parents, inlaws, children, nieces, nephew, brother, sister in law, sister (hush, you,) friends.  Whew!

Now the hard part is not giving folks their gifts right this second.  DDFF and I just said, “Screw tradition,” and exchanged gifts early.  Man, I love her.  It’s so hard to keep things from people, regardless of how soon Christmas is.  And there’s the hiding of the gifts, which is never easy.  Christmas presents, once hidden, can find their way into all the nooks and crannies you might have, often times never to be seen again.  It’s happened all my life.  When I was a little bitty kid (elementary school aged,) my folks would give each of us kids a certain amount of money and we’d have to use that money to pick out gifts for our siblings and parents.  Even as tiny kids, I remember doing that.  As a small girl, I always bought my sister pantyhose.  ALWAYS.  I was so little and still wore tights that came wrapped around cardboard that the idea of wearing pantyhose that came from a plastic egg was so elegant.  I thought it was a GREAT gift, those lovely Leggs pantyhose.  I probably bought them 3 or 4 more years than she actually got them because they’d get lost under my bed, in the closet.  Whatever.  I have lost bath beads and candles meant for my father’s wife, cds meant for my brother, earrings for my mother, who knows what else bought for whom.  Countless little toys for the kids.  Gone.  Forever.  Or maybe not.

When I lose presents, I realize it and then feel so guilty that I over compensate.  The folks who’s original presents were lost end up getting stuff much more extravagant than I had planned on getting them but last minute shopping means 1) everything is already sold out and,  2) I’m desperate.  So they actually WIN.  And, so do I, several months (or in some cases, years) later when I discover the still wrapped gifts jutting out of my desk drawer, out from under the worktable in the garage, in the back of the freezer (honest to Elvis.)  Yep, those babies are mine.  All mine.  And, let me tell you, I use that meat thermometer all the time.  Sheesh.

So, for the rest of you, happy bargain hunting.  It’s gnarly out there.  I suggest going during the week or at 2 AM.  Lots of places are having huge sales, some places give you hot cocoa when you walk through the door.  Most places give you disgruntled looks, unfriendly groans, and very little help (Westlake Ace Hardware being the exception – those folks are awesome,) but they give it in abundance and they give it for free.  BEST OF LUCK TO YOU ALL.

And if you need some size A nude Leggs Pantyhose, I can tell you of a house in Imperial, MO, that probably has a 20 year-old pair stuck in the basement closet wall.  

Christmas in the Ozarks

Check it out.  Thanks Mark!
(Flash player required)

PAID IN FULL

are the nicest words to give and recieve.  And when folks pay in full up front, well, that's just a real nice treat, Clark, a real nice treat.

Ohhhh, dogs and snow and christmas. I love it

Click here: The Snowdog - animated Flash ecard by Jacquie Lawson

Turn up your sound and grab the kids.  Duck and Stealth loved this and did it over and over and over.

Where does it all go?

It's just after 7 in the morning and we've been up for over an hour.  Duck is doing his "school work" at his computer (he's doing crossword puzzles,) and Stealth is watching him.  It's amazing - Stealth is still young enough to have the fuzzy, warm, baby smell and look and feel when he wakes up.  It's slowly drifting away from him, he's growing up.  Soon he'll be doing crosswords and I'll still be wondering what where my babies went.

 

I saw a lovely birth of a gorgeous little girl yesterday.  The mama who I was certain was going to have a long, drawn out, traumatic birth ended up having a super duper quick (4hours) labor and a slow and gentle birth in the water.  Beautiful, simply beautiful.  You just never know.

 

I saw this woman and her husband look at their brand new daughter and it made my heart jump, it almost always does.  They'll be looking into those eyes for years and years until one day when they, too, will wonder where their baby went.

 

Everything as it should be.

Beauty, Balls, Beads, Bullox, Brilliance - not in that order

Here's my set up for spinning. I had it set up in the living room for the weekend, but last night it moved into the basement. That basket used to be overflowing, but now the loose wool and mohair that remains have been smashed down by the 6 skeins that I made over the weekend. Each skein gets better, but there's a LONG way to go. I feel so much comfort from the fact that David has said, "It'll take you 6 months to learn to spin well." Whew, no pressure! I can say that one of my main issues is dealing with over twist - mostly because I'm too slow to realize that when I want the yarn to stop moving, I need to stop moving my freaking feet. That's brains, folks. Big ol' glorious brains. And they're all asleep. Ah well, I'll get it.

DDFF and I were hired by a lovely couple yesterday who are hoping to have a vaginal birth after 2 previous cesareans. Man, I hope it happens for them. They have the 2 most beautiful little girls that I have ever seen - huge brown eyes, dimples, smiles from ear to ear. I'm really looking forward to working with them.

Speaking of clients, we have a client who is making us pull our hair out. I cannot even call it miscommunication, maybe LACK of communication is a better word, this gal has had at least 3 women all totally confused as to our roles in her birth - she cannot make a decision. It's frustrating when folks believe the world revolves around them. It's her birth and, of course, she should call the shots as to who is present, but damn, if others are counting on your decisions, make the damned decisions, eh? Control issues like this often lead to long, gnarly births. All we can do is shake our heads. Sometimes this job stinks.

I've got to hit the craft store today. My nephew is 12 years old going on none of your damned business. He wants a necklace for Christmas - a black beaded necklace. I can dig it. I know that stage. Hell, part of me is still in that stage. I'm really looking forward to looking for stuff for a dark piece. I love beautiful jewelry and accessories - hell, I make money creating them, but sometimes it's nice to make something that has a bite.

Richard Pryor died this weekend. Damn. I'm glad that he's no longer messing around with MS. That's some nasty disease. But it's sad that the world has lost such a brilliant comedian. Of course, he's not exactly what I'd call a role model for my kids, but I have always loved the fact that he told it like it is, no holds barred, and everyone just had to deal with it. Rest in peace, Richard. I hope you went knowing that you were loved by Whitey, too. (Man, my brother's Christmas present is extra timely now.)

The boys were gone all weekend and B took time off so we had the weekend to ourselves. While most people would have visions of crazy monkey sex, loud music, late nights, and salad in the living room, we actually worked all weekend. B finished 2 pieces he'd been working on for ages, just in time for Christmas. These families are going to be so happy to have them. Framing is so complicated - so much more so than even I knew. He has finally started a project he's been wanting to do for 6 months and it's coming along well. So well, in fact, that I think he's going to make a duplicate for our home. NICE. We both accomplished a lot - but now it's Monday, the weekend is over, and we feel like we didn't see each other at all.

DDFF and I exchanged Christmas gifts this weekend. She's so generous - it makes my head swell. Thanks, DDFF. I love it all. We're going to be the two best smelling freakshows in town. We gotta get sushi soon. SOON. Maybe we can do a cast of a fish for food? ;-)

VJ comes to MO in 7 days. Need I say more?

It's going to be 44 degrees today. A heat wave. I need to go - I must go find my bathing suit. 

First Skein

I spent the afternoon with David yesterday. I have to say, as I told VJ yesterday, I'm beginning to think that I'm starting to become about 20% Gentzsch. While I was there, I looked at a new fashion they're designing and actually ended up doing some invoicing and shipment labeling while I was there. Not much has changed in that house (well, in some respects.) When you walk through the door, you just never have any idea what you'll be doing.

After an hour or so, I sat down at the wheel for my first stab at spinning. Can you say Ethel and Lucy? Oh my goodness, it was hysterical. David has been spinning for years and it comes as natural to him as breathing, but he's never taught anyone. I have never spun before, but learn everything ass backwards, so I'm sure it was frustrating for him to try to teach me and I was frustrated trying to learn! There was much laughter and guidance, but ultimately trust won out as I left Ozark Handspun with a wheel and a basket full of wool and mohair with which to practice. Yes, that's right, a spinning wheel now lives in my house (for how long? who knows.)

Spinning is all I've been able to think about and this morning I got up at 6:30 because I could hear the fibers calling me. And what do you know? I am starting to get the hang of it. Don't get me wrong - I'm nowhere near anything even remotely resembling good, but I'm not failing miserably! I'm getting the wool to catch and spin and wind itself on the bobbin. I am starting to get the feel of where to hold the yarn and where to NOT hold, but simply guide, the wool. I'm getting a feel for the tension and the rhythm and the art. It's art, ancient art.

It'll be a long time before I'm good, but I'm going to get there. What you see in the picture above is what I did this morning. There are loose sections and sections that are soooo tight, but it's coming. I'd dare say that I'd certainly knit with what I made. No one else might wear the creation that came from it, but it's a start.

Hell, even Michelangelo had to learn to hold a brush at first, right? 

Christmas Gone Wild

My Dad sent this to me this morning. It's the coolest thing I've ever seen in regards to Christmas. Sincerely. Check it out.

You'll need a media player with sound.

Apparently this guy has a small FM transmitter so you can sit in your car and listen to the music on the radio and watch the display.

Christmas Gone Wild Safe for work, for kids, for reindeer.

Thanks Dad.

Eh, maybe it's not so bad

I went to bed last night after staring out the window and watching snowflakes slowly drift to the ground. For the last few days, it's been spitting snow out there. Not enough to stick, really. Occasionally you could find a small pile of about 57 snowflakes (and if it's there to be found, Stealth is the one who'll find it.) Regardless, I went to sleep knowing that the forecast called for 4 inches of snow.

The boys woke me early this morning. At 6 in the morning, it's cold in this house. And so, when B pulled me back into bed, I didn't complain one little bit. Pretty nice way to start the day. When it's warm and nice weather, I don't get back into bed. There's too much to do. Today, however, it wasn't warm and it wasn't nice weather.

By 7 this morning, there was already 4 inches of snow on the ground and it's not supposed to stop until this afternoon. It really is beautiful out there. Our property is sprinkled with trees - there's probably 10 or 12 trees, all told - so when it snows, all the birds come out of their frosted homes. Looking out over our backyard, it looks like a fairy land.

It is officially time to break out the annual holiday swimming pool, aka My Grinch Mug. This thing is HUGE. It has to be 8 inches tall, has a diameter of at least 5 inches. This morning, after getting the boys breakfast, I filled that thing with Lady Grey tea. NICE.

B is home today. It's his day off. The boys are excited and I'm excited and B's excited. We'll go for a woodland hike in the snow and then come back to the house to play in the yard. Afterwards will be hot chocolate and video games and stories and movies. NO homeschooling today (but they'll learn volumes, anyhow.)

I'm warm, I'm loved, I'm happy.

Maybe winter isn't so bad. 

O Christmas Tree

We have a small house. Well, okay, it's not such a small house, but the layout is such that the rooms are small. There's not a lot of room for big items

We used to have this big, glorious, magnificent, majestic tree. It was so large that it brushed the ceiling. Every year, we fell in love with it - for about 10 minutes. Following those 10 minutes, we immediately tried to figure out how in the hell to live around this behemoth.

Last year, we decided that as long as the tree was taller than the tallest child, it was tall enough, so we replaced the beast with a nice 4 and a half footer. Goes up in 10 minutes, comes down in 10 minutes. Still taller than our tallest child - it's perfect.

We decorated it Monday evening. Rather, the boys decorated it. It was the first year that they were old enough to want to and be able to do it themselves. It took my breath away watching them.

A tree has never been so beautiful. 

Super Star

Thank you, thank you very much.

 

Start Spreading the News

I have a business meeting this coming Friday for Kohleidoscope.  Well, it’s with David, so you know, the words “business” and “meeting” are used loosely.  I’m sure we’ll spend the better part of the “meeting” discussing “business” over coffee and huge amounts of laugher and the frantic antics of fiber addicts.

Regardless, we’ll be discussing the show in San Diego, I’ll be taking the preliminary steps towards spinning (oh yeah, baby,) and we’ll be also talking and planning for something BIG BIG BIG.  I cannot really go into details, but I’ll give you a clue.

NYC

I’m going to be a part of it….

Har de Har Har

For your funny bone, Mamakohl proudly presents
The Duck and Stealth Comedy Hour

Why did the chicken cross the road?  To get to the other side

Why did the crab cross the road?  To get to the other tide

Why did the rainbow get some oil?  ‘Cause the mouse won’t stop squeaking!

What do you say when you meet 7 monsters?  Hello, Hello, Hello, Hello, Hello, Hello, Hello

Why is 6 afraid of 7?  Cause 7-8-9

Knock Knock.  Who’s there?  Boo.  Boo Who?  Don’t cry, it’s just a porcupine joke.

Why did the chicken cross the road?  To read a book!


***Opinions not necessarily representative of blog owner.  Neither is sense of humor.***

Winter Sucks

It’s cold.  Currently, it’s 15 degrees outside.  This afternoon, the mercury will shoot up to the high, high number of 24 degrees.  For those of you who are out in areas where it never dips below 50, let me say two things.  Number 1 – at 15 degrees, it physically hurts to be outside.  Number 2 – screw you.

My husband and I have a love affair with old trucks and VWs.  While we no longer have the VW bus with the popup, we do still have 2 Toyota Landcruisers from the early 1980’s.  Now, given, one is a parts truck for the other, but still we have two.  The beauty of these trucks is that they will go over anything.  ANYTHING.  They are built tough, strong, built to last and keep on kicking ass until they drop.  And, I have to say it’s fun to see the reactions as I drive around in this enormous truck.  The bitch about them is that they are old, they are crotchety, they are pissy, and they take forever, and I mean forever, to warm up.  B usually ends up spending time sitting in his truck letting it warm up, freezing parts of his body and trying to watch the choke so the engine doesn’t explode.  You know, normal morning activity!

Since it was so damned cold this morning, B decided that it was time to dig through our enormous storage barrel that holds all our scarves, hats, gloves, coats, etc., to bring out the black leather coat.  As he was digging through the barrel, occasionally screaming out, “hey baby, look what I found!,”  I hear a colossal crash and spill followed by, “Holy Fuck.”  Now, we have a great sex life and I would say that some of our evenings of bliss could very well be termed spiritual, but when I hear him say, “Holy Fuck,” I know he’s not ready to have a cigarette and fall asleep.  Something happened, something bad.

Sure enough, I turned the corner into my workroom for Kohleidoscope and saw the cause of the reaction.  Holy Fuck, indeed.  While I’ve kept it under wraps, I’m expanding Kohleidoscope to include jewelry.  If you’ve ever made jewelry, you know that it entails millions and millions of tiny beads, spacers, clamps, gems, gizmos and doodads.  All of these little things had been organized in a special container and guarded with my life – until this morning.   This morning, I turned the corner to see all 13 bazillion of these tiny little things flung all over the room.

It took us an hour to pick them all up and get them organized.  AN HOUR.  

Meanwhile, the truck was about to explode.

I hate winter.

Kohleidoscope is having a Sale!

Just in time for the Holidays!

Check it out!

Casey

I got a lovely email this morning from a woman out East named Casey.  I don't know how she found me or my contact information, but she did, and I'm glad.  She wrote to ask about knitting with Ozark Handspun.

 

In her email, she shared some parts of her history with me and I felt blessed to read them.

 

It occurs to me that part of the reason I love knitting so much is because, for the most part, it is done with one continuous strand, one continuous thread.  Everything is connected to the one continuous thread.  It's ancient and ancestral.  It is all connected and so are we.  Two sticks and a string connecting everyone and everything.

 

Thank you, Casey, for being a part of the thread.

Postsecret

If you haven't already, check out PostSecret.

Fa La La La La

This is a random post, folks.  Nothing deep or important today.  Maybe tomorrow!

 

22 more days until Santa comes.

Yesterday the big brown truck arrived in our driveway to deliver a present each for Duck and Stealth.  While we have a pretty good list of things to give them for Christmas (and they always make a haul,) these were the first things to enter our home.  It's hard not giving the gifts to the kids right away - I know they'll be so excited, and I get excited when they get excited.  Sigh.  For now, they sit in the garage (No Kids Land.)

I think my new SIL and I have come up with the best plan for Christmas gifts.  She just married my BIL a few months ago and they are still sorting through wedding gifts.  They don't really need anything at this point.  B and I have been together for almost 7 years and, while we need some things, this is a pack rat house and we don't have much room for anything else.  SO, lovely SIL and I decided that we're going to use the money we would spend on each other (she and BIL and me and B,) and we're going out instead of buying gifts.  Get a sitter for Duck and Stealth and the four of us adults are going to hit the town.  Dinner.  Maybe Blues jam.  Maybe bowling, shooting pool, insane arcade games.  Something.  Fun!

I am finished DDFF's present today.  I know you're reading this, mama, so you're just gonna have to hold on.  I promise, it's not a fruitcake.

Tonight is the living windows downtown.  I think the boys would love it.  I think there's not enough money or sexual favors in the world to get B to go.  Sheesh.

There's a sale today and tomorrow at my favorite local yarn shop.  I don't have any money that I should be spending.  Shall I spend some, anyway???  Argh.  I could save up to 50%!!!  I'm scheduled to meet a new potential client on Sunday (thanks, DDFF,) and that could bring in some money.  We're probably bellycasting someone next week, that could bring money.  And I have a client who is scheduled to pay me the remainder of my fee in a couple of weeks.  Money.  It's coming.  But I don't have it now.  DAMMIT, I hate being responsible.

My kids are growing up so fast.  It breaks my heart.  But it thrills me at the same time.  They're so cute it hurts.  Stealth is reading more and more everyday.  At first, I thought he was just bullshitting me, but nope, that little 3yo is picking it up.

Duck wrote a letter to Santa the other day.  It read, "Dear Santa.  Get me Benny.  Love, Duck."  The most polite, genteel kid in the universe and he just demands things from Santa.  Smooth.  BTW, Benny arrived in the brown truck.

Friends are starting to make the trek back home for the holidays.  HOORAY!  I see a lot of sushi and laughter in my future.  And I will always spend money on that.

 

The hardest to forgive

Some people view me as harsh. It's true, I don't mince words. I never have, I never will. I find "tip toeing around" and "beating around the bush" to be disrespectful to myself and to the person I'm addressing. Seriously, don't we all just deserve some honesty? I am not about to insult anyone's intelligence by assuming that they cannot handle the bold, bare assed truth. I sure wouldn't want anyone to underestimate me that way. But some folks don't enjoy it, some folks find me preachy, holier than thou, yadda yadda yadda. What these folks don't really understand is that there is one person who gets the brunt of my bluntness. One person who continually fails to live up to my expectations. One person who has sinned and erred and screwed up and made atrocious choices. One person who nags me and sits in my head and won't leave me alone, no matter what I say or do. One person who calls out to me in the middle of night, waking me from a deep sleep, wishing I had a stiff drink and a treadmill so I could be bold and run myself far away her.
One person.
One person.
One person.
Myself.
All in all, I'm pretty happy with myself now. My life is on a good track, I believe in myself and I like myself. I trust my gut and my instinct and my intellect. I am fair and honest and relatively open minded. I have an amazing family, a cache of friends that rival that popular sitcom from a few years back. I make wise choices. I consider others. I think before I act and try to see what kind of an example I'm about to set before I set it. I'm an adult. A grown up. A responsible, respectable, rowdy, revolutionary (in my dreams, if no where else,) woman.
But I wasn't always this way.
I spent many years doing things that, when I think back on them now, make my skin crawl. I sacrificed who I was for men. I confused sex with love. I read more into things than actually existed. I honestly believed that the pain of a harsh word from a man was worth it because it meant that what I was feeling was "real," and I was so glad to have the experience. Please, sir, go ahead and demean me some more! It is so painful and raw that it must mean that I really love you - and if I really love you, then I can make you love me. << Wretch.>>
I answered phone calls at 2 in the morning and I got up, got dressed, and drove to this guy's house (over 30 miles away,) just to be with him. I did this repeatedly for a couple of years. Oh yeah, other folks got booty calls, but not me. No, he really loved me still, really still cared about me, wanted to be with me. He was just too busy to see me during human hours. <<Hurl>>
I laughed like a hyena at stupid jokes, wore jeans too tight and shirts too low. I listened to music I detested, watched movies that went straight to video and swore they were Oscar worthy, insisted that I didn't get Shakespeare, either, (I've been reading and loving Shakespeare since 5th grade.) <<Heave>>
Get where I'm going?
If you know me, you know that I'm not even a shadow of that person now. What you just finished reading might have surprised you. It surprises me.
My husband tells me that I'm sexist now. He tells me that I expect more from women than from men (true) and that makes me sexist (possibly true.) I have spent the better part of my adulthood (didn't start for me until I was 24,) fighting for women's rights, for equality and justice and peace and understanding. I have defined who I am as a woman and I have defined what I am for and what I am against. It's pretty clear. While I admire tolerance, I'm not really good at it because I simply detest women who are all about everything I've been fighting against. You know, things like changing who they are for a man, insisting that when he said, "Oh I want you," he really meant "Oh I love you." Things like wearing trampy clothes, drinking too much, acting completely and totally age inappropriately. Basing their self worth on the existence, or lack there of, of a man. Like manipulating men, just becaause they can. Wagging their finger to get them to come running and, when they do, zapping them with the shock collar (figuratively.)
Things like I used to do.
I used to do.
I used to do.
There are people in my life who live this way. I have raged about them and cried about them and shut them out and let them in and tried to forget and lead and teach and learn and understand. I have tried to love them and hate their behaviors.
Truth of the matter is that these behaviors do revolt me. They do nauseate me and sicken me and infuriate me and steel my resolve to live differently than that and hopefully lead others by example. I try. I try every single day and I try hard. But someone still eludes me. One person.
One person
One person
One person
Mamakohl in her late teens and early 20's. She revolts me and nauseates me and sickens me and infuriates me. She is the hardest to forgive.

So pretty! And the shakes are nice, too!

Nice little bracelet. So pretty. Made of coffee beans. Yep. Java Jewels. Because sometimes a mug isn't enough, sometimes you have to gnaw your own wrist off for a good cuppa joe.