More than my luggage

I spent the day yesterday with my dear old friend, J.  As always, he seems to arrive just as I need him.  He's been doing that for 11 years.  Our friendship is the real deal and I'm so enriched by it.  B has even gone so far as to personally thank J for being such a good friend to me.  I cherish him so much.

 

I taught him how to knit yesterday.  Pretty funny, actually, teaching 6 foot 3 inch 278 pound gay guy to knit.  As all new knitters, he was all myopic about it - too tight, too tiny, too tense.  But it was really funny to watch this enormous guy working with little bitty white schwag yarn on knitting needles.  He did great, though.  Just great!  I was so pleased.

 

We spoke at length about the internal work I'm doing and the draw I feel to the Buddhist way of life.  He held me and listened and laughed and loved me and told me how proud he was of me. 

 

We watched Fraggle Rock with the boys, drank coffee, and wondered how in the world time flies so quickly?  My children and his are growing so fast.  We are aging just as fast as they are.  He had just turned 18 when I met him - now he has the most amazing salt and pepper hair and wrinkles around his eyes.  I'm bigger in some areas, smaller in others, and most certainly saggier in almost all places than I was when we first met.  Our love for each other has deepened with each passing year, line, wrinkle, stretch mark, sag, tattoo, piercing, zip code.

 

(Prince Albert is still in the can, although he did pierce both his nipples yesterday and I actually wet my pants in laughter as he told me how he screamed like a little girl and shouted, "Oh sweet Jesus" and then said, "yeah, go ahead and do the other one, too!")

 

There are 3 people (adults) who draw breath in this world that I trust completely.  3 people and 3 people only (adults) who I know will love me no matter what because I know I'll love them no matter what, too - and I love them as I love myself, my children, my soul.  They will listen without judgment, praise my success, sympathise with the failures, and laugh hysterically when I trip over myself.  They are constant to me.  JFL is one of those 3 people.

 

I love you, JFL.  More than my luggage.

The Buddha Within

I found this piece of artwork this morning while hunting around for some Buddhist centers in my area. It's beautiful, isn't it? It speaks to me. It's called The Buddha Within and the artist is Aesha Kennedy.

I'm working through some really hard things these days. The stuff that many folks burry down deep inside. I'm digging my way down to my roots, nearly 30 years worth of muck. It's hard, but not as hard as living without dealing. I've done that long enough to know that I suck at it.

For the first time in years, I'm contemplating taking up a faith, a religion. Buddhism, however, is more of a way of life. It calls to me, it speaks to me, and what it says to me resonates deep in my soul. It's what I want for myself. I'm hoping to find my own Buddha within. 

Blatherings

So, I have this new wireless optical mouse.  Occasionally it will trigger some sort of telekinetic experience as things will get clicked (most often, right clicked) without my fingers touching the crazy thing.  I'm hunting around for a mouse exorcist - any suggestions would be greatly appreciated.  Especially if it's from you computery folks.  ESPD, got any favorites?  Maybe someone with a white button?

 

I spoke on the phone to one of my dearest friends yesterday.  He'll be coming for a visit on Monday.  I've known this guy for 12 years.  We've shared everything.  We've shared secrets and drink mixes and even an apartment for awhile. I've gone with him when he's gotten a piercing, was consulted by him when he was deciding on some of his tattoos (he has LOTS.)  He told me yesterday that in a couple of weeks, he's getting a Prince Albert.  For those of you asking yourself, "A Prince Albert?  Isn't that when ...." yes, yes it is.  It's exactly that.  For those of you not familiar with a Prince Albert,  here you go (NOT kid friendly.)  I will not be sharing this experience with him.  I think I'll leave that to which ever guy he's dating these days.  But I'm sure it will result in some hysterical stories which I will, of course, share here.

 

B just left to run errands.  His parting words were, "There's not a single corner of this house that it's engulfed in wool fuzz."  Yep, he's right.  But you know, he appreciates the money and we both agree it's worth the fuzz.  Seriously, this is coming from a guy who had hair down to his ass for 11 years and who married a dreadlocked hairy legged chick with hairy pits.  Fuzz we're familiar with.

 

I found some awesome wild salmon at the grocery store yesterday.  Love that.

 

Burt's Bees is amazing. EVERYTHING is amazing.  If you haven't joined the hive, do it now. Your body will thank you.

 

Anniversary coming up.  SO excited.  I cannot believe how excited.  What am I, like 4??

 

I need sushi. DDFF, you up for it, baby?  Next week?  I'm thinking obscene amounts. 

 

 

OUCH!!!!

Just got back from the local natural food store.  Got myself some good ol' Dr. Burt's Res-Q Ointment to rub on my forehead.  It's sore and bruised from being banged into the wall in response to some folks' unbelievably mind-numbing stupidity.

The face of love

There is a person in my life who struggles with love.  It's been a long standing issue with her - nearly 40 years now.  Due to less than ideal parentage (yes, they did the best they could - we all do, but that was still lacking in some serious areas,) as well as some unfortunate situations and poor choices, this person is constantly looking for acceptance, validation, love (I don't feel as though I'm speaking out of turn - these are words she, herself, has used.)  She has wondered, aloud in her blog, if she is really in love with Mr. Z (and oh so very recently, Mr. D, and a bat of an eye before that a different Mr. D) or if she is just in love with the idea of being in love.  It's absolutely not my place to have an opinion - this is something she's going to have to figure out for herself.  And I wish her the best of luck in finding the answers.  It's gotta be a tough question to ponder.

 

I bring it all up because it's gotten me thinking a lot about what love really is?  What is HEALTHY love?  How can someone recognize it when they've never seen it before?  It's got to be incredibly deceptive.  When I was in my teens and early 20's, I had no freaking idea of what true, healthy love was.  I made a really big decision that resulted in my saying the two big words ("I Do") based on a very faulty idea of love.  This was NOT the I Do that married me and B - it married me (a former me,) to a different guy.  This was a marriage based on desperation and control.  I was desperate to prove to myself that I could keep him (even though I didn't want him,) I wanted to control the fact that he'd not be with anyone else.  He was desperate to hang onto me (who knows why, we treated each other like shit.)  Mostly, we married each other because we either needed to get married or to break up and never see each other again - and we didn't know how to get out of the addictive, controlling, manipulative cycle we'd been in for 7 years and never see each other again. So, we got married.

 

I thought I loved him.  And, I'm sure he did love me the best he knew how, but sweet jesus, he didn't know how.  I thought I loved him.  I thought I cared enough about him to stay with him forever.  I didn't.  I didn't love him at all.  Oh yes, I did once upon a time - when I was just a teenager.  Well, I loved him with a teenage love.  I loved him for what it would give me. I loved him for making me part of a couple, keeping me from being alone, I loved him for providing my booze and my weed and concert tickets.  I loved him because it meant that I could keep him from loving anyone else.  <<shuddering at the truth.>>

 

Within 15 months of our marriage, I had moved out.  That was the single most loving thing I ever did for him - leaving.  I divorced him a short few months after that.  He was stunned and upset and vowed that he'd never have left me.

 

We both remarried and we (at least I) chalked that first marriage up to practice, an experiment.  I learned from it and moved on and remarried.  He also remarried, but I don't feel he learned anything from it - his second marriage just ended and he's not yet 31 years old.  I guess he's still trying to recognize the face of love.  Somehow, I saw it and recognized it -but I don't know how.  Maybe I just saw that what I had found was honestly not like anything I had ever known.  Maybe my heart knew that what I was feeling wasn't going to pass, that it wasn't contingent upon anything, that even though it was going to be hard and I'd lose a lot, I'd gain more than I ever knew. 

 

I sit here now in a home that I own, surrounded by toys and games and clutter of a house that is lived in, not just scoured clean.  I kissed my husband good-bye this morning and, after 7 years of being together, I still count the minutes until he returns home.  We have 2 children together.  We have a future together.  We have the strength of the knowledge that we can handle each other's truths and fears and doubts and mistakes and successes.  We have arguments and disagreements.  We have laughter and joy and pain and confusion.  We have faith.  I know that he is always free to walk out -and I know that I am also free to do the same.  If he wanted out, the last thing I would want him to do is stay -and I know he feels the same about me.  It is a choice we make every day - we choose to love each other.  And it's a choice and an investment that is paying off in spades.

 

I want this for my love seeker. I want for her to know true and honest love, deep compassionate love that comes when the passion of newness ebbs. But I cannot tell her what it looks like.  I cannot tell her when she's on the right path or when she's on the wrong path.  Only she can figure that out because if I tell her, she hasn't learned how to recognize it for herself. 

 

It's hard. It takes a lot of faith.  Maybe this is part of the way that I love her.

Ozark Handspun to Decorate Big Ben

Okay, well, maybe that's looking a little too far into the future - but it's on the way, I can tell.  Yesterday at the trade show, Dave, Terri, and Velma took on 27 (28?) new shops that will be carrying Ozark Handspun.  One of them is in LONDON!!  So, yep, intercontinental.  Not bad, eh?

 

Take a look at the booth!!
 

And Velma, your pride in me makes me swoon with warmth - I'm just so thrilled to be a part of it.  Thanks for including me!

Must remember

that kids fighting is normal and that I should stay out of it.  Unless there are things being broken or names being called or fists being thrown, I should just stay out of it and say, "Wow, how nice it is that my children are teaching themselves how to negotiate and problem solve!"

 

Ugh. By far the worst part of parenting.

 

Praise for the man

Before you all call 9-1-1 for your own apparent heart attack, let me rephrase. "Praise for MY man."  Pshaw - yeah, like I'd ever praise "THE Man."  Did you forget who's blog you're reading?

 

Anyway, our anniversary is coming up.  In less than a month and I'm so excited.  We've never really done anything, never really gone anywhere.  We have small children and I have a career that often means leaving at the drop of a hat to see those darned unpredictable babies come into the world, so leaving and going anywhere isn't really something we feel comfortable doing.

 

Until this year.  This year, we're going somewhere alone and my man, my delightful man, planned it himself.

 

I'll not say where we're going (give a girl some privacy, eh) but we'll be staying in a delightful B&B with white pine plank floors, a room with a king sized feather bed, fireplace, and a private Jacuzzi tub for 2.  The area is wooded and loaded with perfect isolated trails for hiking, there is a state park close by, several points of interest. 

 

I just love it when the ball and chain is platinum and jewel encrusted.

 

 

Bustin' out all over Part One

VJ, Dave, and Terri are driving down the California coast as I type this on their way to San Diego for the National Needle Arts Trade Show.  This show is HUGE.  Beyond huge, probably, but let's not get too carried away, eh?  It's possible that Ozark Handspun will walk away from the show with many many many new clients (?) who will sell the yarn in their shops.  This is big business.  This is also the site for the Fashion show that I mentioned a few months ago where a hat and a purse that I designed and created will take the stage with a vest from Dave and a scarf from VJ to complete the ensemble.  All things considered, this is a very important trip.

 

So I called VJ this morning to wish her luck and safe travels and such and to tell her about the revelations I've been having about myself (watch for Bustin' out all over Part Two in the coming days,) and she had some news for me, herself!  She spent quite some time at the SF post office yesterday to mail a package to Deb Stoller.  Now I've written about Deb Stoller, author of Stitch & Bitch and Stitch & Bitch Nation.  Deb Stoller also happens to run a not-so-little magazine that I love love love called Bust Magazine: For women with something to get off their chest.   All of my girlie friends reading this, you know Bust Magazine, eh?  Certainly you've at least gotten a Bust e-card from me.  Anyway, it's a pretty big magazine. 

 

The package that VJ mailed had a skein of Ozark Handspun in it.  It will be featured in an upcoming article in Bust about hand spinning.

 

Seriously, folks.  Seriously.  I think I peed a little in excitement.

 

Buddha, I'm stuck!!!

So, I'm reading If the Buddha Got Stuck by Charlotte Kasl . I am stuck. I'm just plain ol' stuck and it happens. No biggie. Just need to get unstuck. This book is amazing, delightful. Since I don't so much have it in me to write my own review of it at 8 in the morning (the boys actually slept in until 7:30 - can I get an AMEN???) I'm just going to post what another reviewer wrote.

Kasl blends Buddhism with mind-body approaches to focus energy and move beyond
the overthinking mind to a connection with our emotional body. Whether or not
you are familiar with Buddhism this lively book on the art of flowing with life,
despite the waves of ups and down, are filled with simple techniques to stay
clear of chatter and familiar emotional responses. The practices proposed by
Kasl are designed to calm the mind, sooth the emotional, and release the tension
in the physical body. This is ultimatley a guide to connecting with your spirit
and wisdom of soul. A wonderul handbook when the chronic patterns of the past
pollute the present and corrupt the future. Simple brilliance ... just like the
Buddha.

Yeah. It's that good.

There's another book that might interest some of the folks who stop by here to read my blatherings (YES, I'm talking about YOU.)

It's called If the Buddha Dated.

 

Cut the cord

Finally I cut the cord.  On my mouse.  Yep, today I got one of those handy dandy wireless optical mice (???) and I have to say, I love it.  LOVE IT.

 

So, now the boys get the corded optical mouse I had - easier for them.  Believe me, you've not seen gunk until you've seen the kind of crap that gets trapped around the roller ball of a mouse that belongs to a 5 and a 3 year old.

 

Ugh.

 

Breaking the Rusty Cage

VJ leaves MO tomorrow. I saw her for the last time (this visit) yesterday. It's always hard when she leaves. There are always tears and I can barely look at her the last 20 minutes or so we're together. I'm not sure why. Maybe because I see her eyes and I know they are saying the same thing that my heart is saying, "I love you. You are my sister. I will miss you terribly. I will feel as though a portion of my heart is half a country away." Guess that's what phone calls are for, eh?

We have big plans, she and I. We're going to go on a cruise when we're 80 (or, well, when I'm 80 and she's 78.) We'll wear big hats, red lipstick, and knitted bikinis 'cause we'll be so fabulous that we won't care. We'll dance and drink Mojitos and spank old men on the ass. It's gonna be great. I almost cannot wait.

Every time she comes to visit, she leaves me with amazing gifts. Many of them I can show you - many of them you can hold in your hand. But the best gifts are the ones that only I know about, the ones that you cannot see, cannot hold, cannot touch. They are gifts of the soul. I guess it would be fair to say that she gives me the ability and safety to give gifts to myself.

Like the gift of forgiveness.

Recently, my sister B wrote something in her blog about PostSecret. I commented on it and mentioned how good it feels to live a life of honesty, of truth, with no secrets. Over the course of the last couple of years, I have confessed many things. I have started and tried to live a life of honesty. But there was something that always held me back. Something that happened 13 years ago. Something I did that was morally reprehensible. Something that changed the course of my life. Something that led to self loathing, self doubt, a sense of unworthiness. I've been working on this. I've spent the last few weeks thinking about it, this deed, wanting to release it and let it go. I wrote about it in my journal - I wrote about it in honesty and truth and totality - something I had never ever done. I prayed to my higher power about it. I meditated about it. I devoted several yoga sessions to it - you know, it is possible to stretch and bend yourself into a new awareness. Finally, yesterday, I confessed it. I said it out loud. I said it out loud to someone who knows me deeply, my VJ. She knew me 13 years ago when it happened. She looked me deep in the eye. She held my hand. She said, "There is no judgement here." She listened. She waited. She listened some more. Her faith in me allowed me to speak and think clearly and openly. She was patient as I back tracked and started from the beginning a million times. Finally, when it was all said and done, I realized a few things.

1. I'm human. I will make mistakes. I'm supposed to make mistakes. I'm supposed to learn from my mistakes. It's okay.
2. I did the best I could with the tools I had at the time. What I did was done out of self preservation, not out of any intent to hurt someone else. Clearly it did hurt someone, but I never intended that to happen.
3. Many of the bad decisions I made in my life were based on this action - I have learned from them and don't have to repeat them.
4. I don't have to beat myself up about it for the rest of my life.
5. The person I really have to make amends to is myself.
6. I'm capable of doing that.
7. There is no time line.
8. I am free.

You cannot buy that kind of support. You cannot buy that kind of friendship. It is a gift and I'm so grateful that I have been gifted by VJ.

Safe travels, Sister of mine. Love that new kitty and hug and kiss The Bald One for me (I never did fix his hats,) and remember - you're infants as they are infants. You grow as they grow. You learn as they learn. It's more important to know the right questions than to know the right answers. You can always learn the right answers, but you have know the questions first.

And, finally, when it doubt, burn it.

Stitch and Bitch loves Ozark Handspun

A few weeks ago, Debbie Stoller, author of Stitch and Bitch and Stitch and Bitch Nation sent out emails to thousands, possibly millions, of members of Stitch and Bitch groups around the nation requesting that folks submit their favorite yarns to be included in a a new book.  I, of course, replied and submitted Ozark Handspun.  I didn't mention that I spin for OH or that I am close friends with the owner, I just touted the yarn on it's qualities.

 

Lots of folks must have mentioned Ozark Handspun.  LOTS OF PEOPLE.

Dave called me yesterday to say that he had just spoken to Debbie Stoller on the phone.  OH will be featured in a Stitch and Bitch calendar (and probably in the book, too.)  A FULL PAGE COLOR calendar and we get to be displayed for a whole month!

 

Cool, eh?

 

PSA

Public Service Announcement:

 

If you are late, and you do not call to say you are going to be late,  you are not just late.  You are disrespectful.  You are disrespecting MY TIME.  Yes, emergencies happen.  Yes, things come up.  I am not inflexible.  I am not intolerant.  I am worthy.  Being continually late is a passive agressive way of trying to manipulate me and it is not okay.  I will not allow it to continue.
 

I am powerless...

over bacon.

 

If there's some laying around, I'll eat every last piece.  Cholesterol be damned.

 

Big G, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

A Million Little Questions

It's recently come to attention that James Frey, author of A Million Little Pieces, may have lied.  His book was picked by Oprah as a selection for her book club and subsequently, the book went to the top of the charts.

 

In case you're not familiar, A Million Little Pieces is supposed to be a non-fiction truthful story about an alcoholic and drug addict's road to recovery.  The Smoking Gun has published reports that much of his story (arrests, life altering moments, etc.,) is false - that there is no evidence, no paper trail to back it up and, in some cases, there is clear evidence that Frey is lying.

 

CNN also reports about it here.

 

James Frey will be on Larry King Live tonight at 8 CST.

 

I won't lie.  I loved this book.  This book meant something to me.  I wept reading this book. I couldn't put it down.  I missed sleep because of this book - I stayed up to read it, I got up early to read it, I took it everywhere.  I felt my heart pull and ache and bleed while reading this book. I felt my brain stretch and pull and grow and shift.  I shook. I sobbed.  I read it -and I'll read it again.

 

I feel a betrayed by this news, but to be honest with you, I'm not sure that 1) I'm surprised or 2) that it really matters to me.  Yes, absolutely, it was smarmy of him to lie about his past (if indeed he did,) just to write a better selling book.  Yes, it's reprehensible of him to have played on the emotions of so many vulnerable people to make a buck.  I cannot and will not defend that.

 

What I will say, however, is that his story of addiction and recovery are true.  Whether or not the details of them are true, the fact is that the man was a raging alcoholic and drug addict for years and he nearly died.  He's sober now.  Has been for 13 years.  And no matter what lies you tell, you cannot take that away from him or from anyone else.

 

Addicts don't know the truth.  They run from it, hide from it, ignore it. Eventually, there is no difference between what the truth actually is and what they want it to be in their heads.  I should say that not all addicts are like that and even if they start that way, they can change.  I don't want to blanket anyone with my statements.  Most, however, spend years in denial.  So do their families, their loved ones.

 

I love an alcoholic.  He has been sober for 17 months - 17 amazing, wonderful, gut wrenching, challenging, horrific, trying, tumultuous, joyful, inspiring, infuriating, disgusting, earth shattering, life altering, beautiful, hopeful, delightful, confusing months.  In those 17 months, I have learned a lot and changed my mind about a lot of things, but the one thing that has not and will not ever change is what life was like for the years prior to these last 17 months.  We may all forget whether it was 24 or 26 beers, we might forget if it was 1:30 or 2:00 in the morning when the cop call came, we might embellish (accidentally or on purpose) the story of drinking the bar clean out of the preferred booze.  What will never be forgotten, however, is the shame.  The pain.  The disgust.  The self loathing.  The Fury.  Frey writes about The Fury and I can say for certain that it is real.

 

When I read Frey's words, it brought up issues that I had buried.  Things that I figured I could ignore now that the alcoholic in my life is sober.  The words that he wrote are words that I heard come out of the mouths of my addict.  The stories of losing days are my story.  The ache, the want, the need, the pain, the hate, the desperation.  Those touched me.  Those are my words.

Made up or not, they touched me.  And isn't that what writing is all about?

Think about the books that have changed lives (for good and for bad.)  Think about the books that have shaped our culture, our history, our personality as a nation, as a group.  I can think of several books that have been categorized as such.  The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Catcher in the Rye, Catch-22, 1984, etc.  While they may be based on some facts, at the end of the day, they are ALL FICTION.  But, the effect is the same.

 

I feel betrayed by the latest news. I'm mostly disappointed.  It will be yet another lie by another addict -something I am used to.

 

But regardless of what comes of this all, regardless of what is factual and what is fiction, the change in me is real.

 

My pieces are finally intact.

Priorities

I've been mulling something around in my head for a long time and finally have gotten to the point where I need to do something about my thoughts. I see that I need to honestly reevaluate my life, set priorities, and honor them. As a result, I'm going to be scaling back Kohleidoscope.

When I first started doing things, I had in mind a nice way to knit and create without having all the products loitering around my home (seriously, how many scarves and bags does one need?) It was based on a way for me to enhance and continue my enjoyment of creating.

Success came, but along with it came expectations and pressure to expand and grow and get big and involved. Soon words like "Retail" and "Wholesale" and "Productivity" and "Deduction" and "Taxes" started rolling in. With each use of these words, my whole body would clinch up. My body was telling me "NO NO NO," but I kept on doing it, kept on discussing it, kept on keeping on. But I would then find myself hitting the yarn shop to get stuff for a project and feeling resentful and overwhelmed.

This is not what I had in mind when I started saying that my creations came from Kohleidoscope. Things are no longer enjoyable for me. I find myself not wanting to do anything - not even for myself. And to me, that's not okay. The possible income that I might bring in is not worth the loss of release and relaxation and enjoyment that I get from creating.

So, I'm going back to doing things for myself and for other folks, upon request. I'll still be designing new things, I'll still be obsessed with fibers. I'll still make things for you and for anyone else who asks (and yes, I'll still charge something for them - although I might do more trade and barter or you can pay me in sushi, you know, but cash always fits!) I'll be lovingly and happily maintaining my relationship with
Ozark Handspun (I'm LOVING spinning,) and will continue to design creations using OH and making things for Dave to use to promote OH. But I'm going to go back to Kohleidoscope being a hobby, not a Business. I'm releasing the idea of selling things in stores (really not something I was interested in anyway -I felt it lost the personal touch that way.) I'm releasing the idea of being a huge success with Kohleidoscope - I'd rather be a huge success at being a woman, a friend, a person, a mother, a wife, a teacher, a human. When I'm stressed out trying to make myself a commercial success, I fail miserably with personal success.

http://knit-pics.blogspot.com/ will still be up and running and I'll continue to post pictures of what I"m working on, what I've done.

I am so grateful for everyone's support and encouragement. Thank you. I cannot tell you what it means to me. B and I do have big plans for Kohleidoscope's future. In the upcoming years, we can see a storefront in our life. Kohleidscope is not ending, not closing - it's just remodeling. For the first time in history, downsizing is a very positive thing.

Isn't it interesting...

that the good pictures of me also feature my kids looking absurd. 

Stealth

Here's Stealth bowling. This was his first or second stab at it. I didn't get the picture of him slipping onto his little butt almost immediately afterwards.

Eventually, he did get the hang of it.

But he still fouled most of the time.

And yes, his shirt is on backwards. He dressed himself and insisted on wearing it backwards. 

Who can resist?

Maybe the cutest picture of Duck ever taken. Well, at least in my opinion. Well, at least in my opinion today. I have nothing to say other than "this adorable little elf is my son."

He's growing his hair out -wants it LONG. What a little hippie! Hmm. Wonder where he gets it?