UGHHHHHHLY

About 1 and 1/2...maybe 2 years ago my Godson came to my house and saw all of my knitting stuff. It's on days like this that I wish I had cleaned my house that fateful day.

My Godson is super cool. He likes things because he likes them, not because they are cool or that he saw someone else enjoying the same thing. I LOVE that about people. I especially love that about my Godson because he puts so much energy and crazy faces into the cause of loving life.

He will sit with my sister and myself and drink tea with the "Mom's and Duck" even when all of the boys are toting nerf guns around and playing war. SO COOL.

Therefore when my nephew got all tangled in my knitting yarns and finished playing with all of the "jewels" (sparkly rocks and buttons) in my house and looked up at me with his big eyes and said, "Aunt Smax, will you make ME a blanket?" I said "OOOokkkkkayyyy, but you know it's going to take a long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long looooooooooooooong time. (I really did sit there for about 5 minutes saying this)

"That's ok." he said, in his sweet little boy voice. I almost felt a feeling!

"What colors would you like in your blanket?"

"Army colors and RED!"

UUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

This blanket is SO ugly. Which is why 2 years later, I am still reluctantly working on it. I HATE this blanket. It's AWFUL.

I was hoping my Godson would forget about it. I was hoping I would forget about it, too.

NOPE.

2 years later..."AUNT SMAX, when are you going to finish that blanket?!"

Is this kid an ELEPHANT?!

Thankful

I get cranky when I don't produce something. Needless to say, I've been feeling cranky lately. It is difficult to feel guilty, though. I haven't been sitting around at all. I've just been so busy with things that aren't on my list I haven't really felt very in control of things.

I am thankful for the motivation to keep going when things get unbearable. That motivation derives from the people I love and who love me in return.

I am also thankful for a few days of peace. They have given me the time to get back into my routine and get the real stuff done.

Here are the results!

Remember When...

Once Upon a Time, long long ago I used to knit. There is dusty evidence of yarn wars past amongst the neglected and unfortunate shoes, socks, magazines, paintbrushes, pins and various other items in the forgotten house at playground drive. This was back when people were responsible and took care of themselves and their needs, rather than their wants.

That was a long long time ago. This was when I did my job and not 5 other people's jobs. It's a funny thing being pegged as responsible (ick, my inner child curdles at the very mention of such a characteristic!) these days it means..."HERE take mine too! You're so good at it!" For some reason people consider a responsible person something of a curbside drop off. Dump your stuff HERE! Soon the curbside is no longer a curbside with dandelion's and crickets basking in the sun, but more of a hot messy trash heap with too much going on, and not enough space.

That's how I feel this year. I keep looking at my blog thinking I should post something on it. I chastise myself for not being more productive. I had awesome goals before, a LIST full. I can't remember where it is. The only thing I can see right now is my third cup of coffee, a stack of papers to grade that is as thick as the family bible, and a bunch of emails I have to read begging me to do more.

All I really want to do is knit, read, and nap. If everyone could take their own responsibilities back and reread their job titles that would help me out a lot. I am certain it would clear up the pimples, relieve the knot in my shoulder blade, defog my brain and loosen up my facial expression.

CHEERS! BACK TO WORK!

Asante Sahna Squash Banahnah...

You are a baboon...and I am not! I think Rafiki got it right. Sometimes I feel like I am surrounded, but really I am the crazy one.

Life has taken some wild back roads lately. This project was started in the middle of summer when I had no worries ...I thought for the rest of my days. Alas, I had to work again. Lots of changes swept me right off balance just when I perfected the tree pose and my yoga in the park days were done. I always try to finish what I start however.

Yoga bag completed, which is good. I have hung up my yoga mat for the foreseeable future theoretically, and now I can hang it up in reality as well.

At the end of yoga sessions we say...I forget. I always say it, but I always think ASANTE SAHNA SQUASH BANAHNAH when I am saying it. I have been informed by my bestie that the word is NAMASTE.

Therefore I had to ask my friend, given my brainfart. Angela, I didn't want to give out your phone number so I had to cut off your name in my screen capture, but you are the Yogi to my Boo boo when it comes to nonsense!

Sometimes I have no clue what I am trying to attain, but then again, sometimes it's the simple things, like finishing what you start that give me the feeling of NAMASTE (not the Rafiki version).

This is the park that I used to YOGA IT UP in.

Breaking News

This news may be a complete shock and surprise, but nonetheless here it is:



I am painfully unable to sit still for long without doing something, making something, or annoying something.



*GASP!* I KNOW!



I never knew it about myself.



I thought I never wanted to see another knitted baby item for the rest of my life after making those three baby blankets. I was very done with the comments about how many children I had, and how nice it was that I could take time out of a busy mother's life to create these wonderful items. Do these people see a child around me? Am I carrying a "mom bag?"



Neeeeoooooooo... Here's proof. No one I know can understand why:






A. I bother to carry a bag at all


B. Can fit anything inside of said bag

So, on Monday I sat down on my couch in the morning and said to myself: "Great, A day of nothing. I'll just sit here and bum it. I never do that, it'll be totally awesome and my friends will be so jealous that I do nothing while they go to work."

...30 seconds later...after twisting and contorting on the couch to the point that my head is touching the ground and my legs are slung over the back of my couch, I give up.

I search through all of my yarn in the huge pile in the corner of my living room because I yelled at myself earlier this year for buying yarn and not using it. I found fun colorful stretchy and bouncey yarn! YAY!

Problem: It's baby colors. Dang. Another baby project.

Good news: Baby projects are small just like their tiny little toes, and fingers and eyeballs, and whatever else, so it won't be a huge "baby blanket" kind of project.

AND here is the final product on an actual baby:

The End

May I never knit another blanket again!

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Blah.

More projects are supposed to be done and posted here. Notice them? Me neither.

Background information: When I get annoyed with projects I ignore them until I forget what they were all about.

My first Christmas tree in my very first house on my very first Christmas alone fell over...THREE TIMES. It layed there for two days, broken glass ornaments included, until I mustered up the patience to look the mess in the eye and say..."no prob, I can redo this entire thing after I clean up the mess."

My dog must have experienced a close encounter with a werewolf and then been exposed to a full moon and chewed up my back door, leaving sawdust, sweaty dog breath, and various debris. It stayed in a scattered mess on the floor, eventually tracking all over the house because I couldn't even look at it. It took me a month to clean it up. As in START to clean it up, or even acknowledge a mess even existed.

Needless to say...my house is rarely clean. You should see my car.

If a person halfway knits a project, gives up, and rips it out (expletives included)...does it count as a project? I've had three of those so far. I finally re-balled the yarn today. Yay me.

The teacher in me is coaching myself: "But think of the things you've learned about knitting because of those projects?"

The student in me responds: "BUT think of how much more DONE they would be if I had done it right already?!"

I'm just saying I get my students. I erase their work and they puff out all of their breath like I'd just given them the Santa Clause talk. "You mean I have to start my life ALL OVER!?"

YUP.











Positive Note: I read "The Girl Who Chased the Moon" in basically one day. Take THAT progress!

Daddy

There is one thing my Mom said about her father at his wake. It stuck with me because it is simple, true, and perfect:









"Here's to you, Daddy. The first man I ever loved, and the first man who loved me."

Just sit there for a moment and read it over a couple times...






In my family, we have Daddies. Lordy, "Father" is such a stiff, unfeeling word. It feels unnatural when the syllables clunk around in my mouth. Someone once told me that I wasn't a little girl anymore and that I was being juvenile when I said Daddy.

"I mean, at least say Dad."

"I can't, he's my Daddy."

This very MAN, a couple years later saw his "father" driving his car in the opposite direction we were driving and involuntarily shouted out "DAAAAADDDDDAAAAYYYYYY!" (sober)

It makes me laugh uncontrollably STILL.

BUT, you know what that means? He has had some stellar moments with his Daddy. He has bonded with his Daddy and he knows his Daddy would take care of him if he still needed it. Kind of like being a little juvenile child.

____________________________________________________________________

Once upon a time, in a quaint village filled with sidewalks, brick townhomes, and freshly cut grass there was a brood (SIX) of children driving two adults mad. In this little piece of heaven, known as Collingdale, behind the house filled with thumping feet, squealing voices, and things that could never be kept nice, there was a small garden patch.

This is the place where small little girls learned the value of grass stained knees, bare feet, bumble bees, and tangled hair. You see, one of the adults, the leader of the nuthouse, always dreamed of being a New Jersey Tomato Farmer. He swiftly realized that his dream would not come to fruition if that meant he must also raise little wild children. He knew that the only thing worse than wild little girls were wild and crazy Jersey folk. You know, the kind that live near the tomato farms, in a trailer, circa 1945, with no distinguishable road leading into or out of the trailer lot? The Jersey trailer folk were not to be trusted, especially with the whispered rumors that they, themselves, were housing the Jersey devil in the off chance that a small little Jersey girl wondered off in her barefoot splendor. This very thing did happen ONCE...and that is how we got Snooki.

So this adult, nay, Daddy folded his dream into his pocket and replaced it with a backyard strawberry patch that was safe and warm and deliciously located in the sane world of Pennsylvania.

He never forgot his dream, it continued to thrive inside his pocket. It shone through, though, and all of his children grew in the sunshine of his dream of farming and growing and cherishing everything from the outside and natural world.

One of his little girls, watched his every move, followed him with her little plastic bubble blowing lawn mower, drank her juice when he drank his "juice." Tried to weed and mulch and pick up heavy things that were five times her size. She even tried to touch the worm on the end of the fish hook even though it was really gross and slimy and dying because that's what her Daddy did. That little girl carries her dreams in her right pocket, but also carries her Daddy's dream in her left pocket.

SO, whenever her shiny headed Daddy comes up with a hair-brained scheme to build ANOTHER barn, or replace a roof (where she still tries to carry things up that are five times her size), or EVEN BETTER: drive donuts in the snow on the ATV, she is there. Even when he retires and she has her own job and house and dog and life, she visits to make sure the tomato plants are tied up, the strawberries have been picked, the "varmints" stay out of the garden and that the dream that has been kept in pockets for so long has been tended and watered and given sunshine.

____________________________________________________________________

You see, strawberrries remind me of my Daddy's dream. That is why I love strawberries. They represent the beginning. The first step in a decade long plan towards a dream that continues and evolves. Strawberries represent the simple truth that my Daddy told me when I said I wanted to play football in middle school:

If you want it bad enough and you WORK HARD ENOUGH, you can do it.

(I didn't want to play football bad enough)

Love you Daddy

summa time

It is here! You may not quite understand if you are not a teacher. You may in fact be jealous, as almost every year I get the inevitable comment from a friend of mine..."I want your LIFE!"

Let me explain the feeling of the first moments of summertime: It's like the end of one of those dreams where you are lost and separated from someone or some people. You rush about constantly, your heart pounding, the irrational thought that You may not make it without them! You do EVERYTHING you can day and night to run and search and and through the darkness you...screeeeeeeaaaaaaam! And that is when you wake up to summertime. It's like a fresh breeze across your face while your heart returns to a steady beat and you giggle at the thought of your own insensibility. You feel alive for the stress you have put upon yourself...but it makes you feel more alive with the extra gift of time and availability to accomplish everything and nothing with no consequence. Ahhh summer...I love you!

I choose to plan nothing and accomplish nothing this year for summer. Now I know that is quite impossible. I have far too much energy and ADD to sit still and do nothing. But perhaps I could slow down a bit...

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Prepping for REAL life

You know, working really gets in the way of living. I mean, it really takes over!

I love my job to pieces. Ask my friends, who, due to the last sentence, have already rolled their eyes. You see they have heard me rant, cry, gush, GUUUUUUSSSHHHHH, love, hate, fight, sing, and all kinds of other actions/emotions in regards to my job. BUT, and it's a big BUTT...it is not my life.

Teaching is, however, a big part of my life. I have instinctively and innately taught people (whether they liked it or not...you heard me Sue) my whole life. This is besides the truth of the matter. You can live and teach without being in a school...and more importantly I think you should...I think everyone should. I think teaching is the greatest thing you could do with your life. I think the most important way of doing that is to LIVE.

Living is best done in 70 degree weather. Thus today...I lived. It was fun. It was a lot of work.

Today, life started in a cool, breezy walk to school. I was totally jamming to a song in my head and probably walking like I had a wedgy, because that's how bad I jam when I walk. I have no idea then, why a coworker would slow down, roll down the window and ask this "babe" if she wanted a ride. There can not be anything attractive about the wedgey dance-walk. I don't know if the smile was interpreted properly in return, but I love a good joke, especially a long standing one like a "hey baby" in response to my obvious disdain for the classic "shaawwwtaaay" call of the young bucks. It makes my morning anytime I get that longstanding joke thrown at me in the morning. I threw back, like two monkey's flinging crap...I said I'd rather walk.

No disrespect, I really did. BUT, it is nice when a plan comes together and I can be sassy as well.

By June though...a nice morning walk can quickly fade. Let's be honest teachers, June is all about surviving. Brains have turned off, drooling begins (for teachers and students alike), and brick walls come up at every turn. BUT, it is also a time for nostalgia. I usually like students a little more in June because I have a limited time with them and there is really nothing more I can do for them beyond wrapping up the basics and appreciating the little teeny tiny personality traits that make you smile. Thus, worn out by lunch, I went for a walk.

I walked home, which is STILL totally awesome and hippi-pleasing. When I say I walk at lunch, it's the kind of walk you see the older fellas doing at the mall with the weights. You know the crew, the ones who's hips look like they will swing right off their bodies...right...left...right...left. I decided to walk all the way uptown, my hips kill tonight, let me tell ya! I went up and bought some sushi from my favorite fresh sushi place. Second time I've been there and hot sushi guy was there. HEAVEN. Ahh, 75 degrees by lunch, light breeze, blazing hot sushi chef. AND icing on the cake...I didn't carry the watermelon! If you don't know what I mean... Dirty Dancing... watch it. Like now:

http://youtu.be/O38URvsTjjM

Best lunch break EVER! Slick Sushi turned around to give me chopsticks, saw me smiling away like a big goofy dope and dropped all of my sushi, catching it with his hips just before it hit the floor. Don't worry, I ate it...it was in a big plastic container, no grossness. Yet another person to make my day. I practically did a jig out the door after he turned all red, fumbled to get the order together, complimented my dog (who was sitting outside), tongue twisting and swelling I am CERTAIN...mainly because I'VE BEEN THERE...a lot. Hahaha, I DIDN'T CARRY THE WATERMELON! WIN!

Side note: Let me tell you how bad I carry watermelons, almost on a weekly basis:

I think about two years ago on my birthday I went out to this American tapas bar for drinks. I told this guy at the bar who was nice enough to take our picture that he was "like the old guy at the bar."

Oh man, not old like that...

Me: "No no no no...not like that. I mean you are the guy who knows all the people here because your here all the time." Shoot, I am calling him a drunk...

"No, I mean..."

Heather: "Jackie, Let's leave now."

Me: "Sorry!"

I carry watermelons...BIG watermelons.

Anyway, lunch=sushi success.

Back to work: Sit down, turn around turn around, sit down, SERIOUSLY, what do you mean you don't know how to fill in a scantron?, no you can't use a calculator, no calculators, GIVE ME THAT CALCULATOR!, Sit down, sit down, SIT DOWN, fine...get in line, get in LIIIIIINNNNNNNNEEEEE. Go go go GOOOOOO, get in the cafe', GO INNNNN THE CAFE'

YES school is over...time for more living of life and teaching by example.

School teaching is so stressful because they time you. The students try to slow you down like a pace car, and it's a lot like trying to get those two opposite ends of the magnets to touch, in SO many ways. Add in that the government takes away your magnets and STILL expects you to get them and then get the opposite ends to touch...well that's basically teaching.

In real SINGLE life, the pace can be slowed. 77 degrees outside on the walk home, doing the wedgey-dance walk, no one beeps at me or makes fun of the awesomely awful walk and best yet, Bert the destroyer took a day off from destroying. I understand, it's difficult to be consistent.

Bert and I go outside and do my FAVORITE THING. I pretend to do something productive on a picnic blanket, see below:

AND THEN I fall asleep. Bert falls asleep also. He's way cuter about it though. You see, I feel weird now that I live in a townhouse. When I lived with my parents at the farm, I could fall asleep pretty much anywhere on the 20 acres and no stranger could see you. Townhomes: different. Townhomes: any nosy person in the area can peak through the chainlink fence to see me snoring away and the neighborhood folk can peek out their windows and see me totally napping away. It's a little weird. I don't know exactly why. Maybe it's the idea of opening your eyes to an audience, or someone walking right past me into my house without me seeing them. I can't get used to it, which is probably good, otherwise the naps would probably last until nightfall. This way, with the paranoia, they only last a very respectable 15-20 minutes.

Napping is awesome by the way.

Next: bike ride. Biking up to First Thursday, Listening to FLUX CAPACITOR. My friend told me about how much I'd love this band. He's always right about my music. I loved them from the first note. They are SO fun. They jam, they have dredlocks. More than likely they smell unique...A beautiful recipe.

Continuing the bike ride down to the park, this is because last night I saw MILLIONS of lightning bugs down there, and I just love that park. They take care, these local hippis, young and old, they take care of these local parks. I don't care what those Repubs say, we need these hippis in our life. I love bike rides, but it's not an innocent lust. One of the greatest things about bike rides is no one hears you coming. Not even in my old borrowed rusted heap. It squeaks for god's sake! How do these people not hear me?!

I always start out trying my hardest to get people to notice me...but I'm pretty sure my invisibility shield extends down to the bike when I ride. I've always been pretty invisible. It's partly because of my amazing stature. In high school, I got really good at ducking and weaving backpacks, hands with pencils in them, and butts. The butts were the worst. Thus I have learned to stand pretty solid when pushed.

ZOOOM ZOOOM...'SCUSE ME!!!!!

REVENGE IS SWEET. By the middle of the bike ride, I've given up being nice, now I'm just cutting and weaving in and out of small groups of old speed walking, hip-throwing, hearing impaired old ladies. I sneak a one-sided smile as I go past and I hear them sing "ooohhh myyyy!" with arms doing an awkward butterfly flap, arm skin swaying in the breeze. I am leaving those old and (sometimes young, prematurely old) unsuspecting people in my "eat that high school!" dust.

Ahhh, it's been a revitalizing prep for real life AKA Summer.

I hope you've learned from teacher.

It's the Little Things

It needs to be done...I need to explain a very important part of my life:

BIRTHMONTH

Birthmonth has gotten a lot of notariety this year, but in actuality, birthmonth has been going on for several years. It takes on a new form each year, but basically Birthmonth is the best month.

You see, my birthday is May-OH Second. Yes, it's May-OH Second, not just May 2nd. This dates back to my first meager attempts at speech. My brothers and sisters have NEVER wished me a happy birthday...it's always "Hey Jax, Happy MAY-OOOOOOHHHHH SECOND!" I have relished my own birthday since the very beginning...but why not continue it on?

Birthmonth came about as my very very good friend Heather had the very very VERY bad judgement to continue the friendship, particularly after college. I tried to get rid of her, I tried REALLY hard. I spoke my mind, I was myself, I even tried bad hygene. The girl is stubborn. I blame her parents. For some reason they seem to like me too (although I think it's more Bert the more I stop by their house). In any case, Heather's birthday is next weekend...May 29th. So, you must see where this is going...

We celebrate my birthday HARD, first weekend...and of course, we celebrate Heather's birthday HARD the last weekend...well jimminy crickets...there's only two weekends left in the month...might as well!

And Birthmonth is born.

I say it often..."Life's for Livin'." And I live by that statement. So the Truckermiller's of the world may roll their eyes and say I am completely pig-headed and may even say, as Noel has said to me, "it sounds a little conceited." But, I have to explain myself before you go on and say those things, because they ARE true.

Birthmonth is like the TRUE new year. My year didn't start on January 1st, like Patty Anne's did. My year started May-Oh Second. So to celebrate another year past is, in fact, inaccurate on January 1st. May-Oh Second is the new year, it's the celebration to get rolling.

You see, my theory is you have to get a running start if you are going to last the whole year through with enough steam to actually accomplish anything. And you should see the LIST of things I have to do!

Usually the weekend after, I designate to the person that made it all possible: My Mom. You should always celebrate your mother somewhere near your birthday because, let's be honest, she does all the work.

But back to the list:

Always take time to create:

Here is a little taste of creation:

I have to admit, rather guiltily, that birthmonth this year has been much more fun due to a certain someone who introduced me to this song:

http://youtu.be/DH5ZTEQiUgQ

Men are NOT simple

This is a general reflection on what has been buzzing around and colliding inside the space between my ears the past few days. Yes, you will shake your head at the conclusions I make in the following commentary. And YES, it really did take me this long to make these connections.

Here's the deal: Men are NOT simple, not to me. But, it's not the kind of complication that gets frustrating, it's more like the kind that makes me shake my head and laugh.

This is how the title of this blog entry started to evolve and take shape:

Once upon a time (in a land very very close to here) there was a man that spoke to me as if he were a combination of the bartender on Boondock Saints (the one who mix and matched his sayings and cursed up a storm) and "The Fonz." Many days of conversation (the term is used lightly) in passing by this man brought forth very often...very very often a "Heeeey" with this mans shoulders bobbing up and his palms flipping towards the heavens as if to greet the great greaser gods. After the traditional "Fonz Heeeeeyyy" the words that followed would be either incomprehensible or a mix match of crazy phrases. I LOVE THIS. This man has made me smile day in and day out for one simple reason. I LOVE a puzzle. It's like trying to speak in pig latin for an extended period of time with your best friend forever from second grade. It's a tricky conversation! Today was a simple one that has befuddled myself and another person the entire day.

Let me set this scene. Just as I was leaving Boondock Fonz and this other person, it began to downpour. DOWNPOUR! We stood underneath the awning contemplating the melting point of a witch such as myself and how much time off work such an event could buy me...(at least that was what I was contemplating). Small talk is wonderful in these times, it passes through the sieve of our thoughts so easily. I do not remember what was said, but this: "Heeeeeyyyy, don't be like bread with this rain!"

...

........

...........WHAT?!

As abruptly as the Boondock Fonz came into the conversation, he disappated into the background with only the trails of my voice following...."I don't know what that means...?????"

I still don't know what that means. If you think you can decode it....be my guest. I think it has something to do with soggy bread. I don't know how that relates to me, but that's as far as this pig latin-like conundrum has traveled today.

HOLD UP....this isn't the end though! This guy is certainly not simple. He's very complicated, and therefore EXTREMELY interesting! This got me thinking of New Orleans and all of the different and complicated, interesting people there are down there....

People in New Orleans ARE different, particularly the men. I was taken back in a very pleasant way by this. As I have stated to many parties, I have now forgotten how exactly one opens a door. I haven't done that in days. I also don't know how to navigate stairs without the help and balance of a man's hand leading me. I don't know how I survived before...

It was so wonderful to fool men into thinking I was a such a delicate woman. I never thought the day would come. But the fact remains, men only think about one thing...it's true and you all are right, that little fact is simple (and I mean little). It's the presentation that is complicated (to me)! I am not talking about the "hey babies" of the world, or the infamous "SHAAAWWWTTTAYYYYY!" call from the car. Those aren't the serious ones. They aren't jumping in the pool. I am talking about the get down to it, let's go fishing for a chick kind of game. There are so many lures, lines, and reels to use and I just don't get it, ask anyone that has seen me at a bar. (PS did you like how I used a fishing metaphor for meeting guys?) Men are NOT simple...

These men came up to the pair of us girlies (my cousin and myself). Read closely to the management of the same situation!

My very very VERY tall dark handsome cup of tea leaned over from a lower floor up to the balcony seat I was in so he was just shorter than me (man I am short) crossed his arms over the rail and started to chat me up.

Meanwhile: My cousin was talking to this cup of tea's matching wing tea cup and negotiating a dance. He promised to trade shoes with her if she just let down her long her and let him climb right up next to her and do a little cha cha on the dance floor. (they really did do some swing dancing of some kind...really fun!)

Back to the tall handsome cup of tea: He played it right. Man he looked just like a little labrador retriever leaning up to get as close to my lap as possible, turning his head just the way a puppy turns his to hear an interesting new sound. He smiled and played the "I'm so cute, don't you want to rub my belly?" trick, talking about leggoes and the sissy Navy (I know, I have strange interests). So, I am thinking "I totally get this, I do...I understand doggie body language...I think he wants to be my friend!"

PAUSE

Back to my cousin. They are cutting A RUG! SO much fun! I actually hardly notice because I am being hypnotized by this cute little puppy talk dark handsome cup of tea! But I do notice one thing: there is definitely some whisperings going on, but cousin is smiling so I think she is safe. I later find out this is what was said:

"your hotel or mine?" SIMPLE! VERY CLEAR!

Back to my labrador retriever: This is what was said to me: "You know, men are very simple creatures, women...not so much."

I am competitive. This is a challenge. I will argue!

I did argue...more of a discussion. He went to the bathroom. He came back out and a few minutes later gathered his doggy possy and left. He was polite, he said good-bye as he grabbed my knee and gave it a little squeeze. I thought "wow, what a good guy, and so cute...weird combination..."

I kid you not...it took me three days to pick up on what happened.

"OOOOOOOOooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhh." (this is what I said yesterday) "I get it now!" That cute little labrador retriever, tall dark handsome cup of tea...he wanted to hump my leg! "MEN ARE SIMPLE" = "I only want one thing from you..."

"I GET IT!"

MEN ARE COMPLICATED (to me)...but they still make me laugh.

The moral of the story here is: I need an IEP.

One of Three

So here is one third of my spring project. There is nothing quite like completion when you battle the making of a blanket. It starts out quite innocently...with each passing row a sense I'd progress and a satisfaction with the journey and craftsmanship. My stamina for interest cut out when I realized I needed two more balls of yarn. The halfway point is always bittersweet. You know exactly how much you have accomplished, which means you know that you have to do all that work AGAIN! But at least it is on the downward slope. By the end of this blanket I was rushing and rushing like a kid rushing to break the surface of the water after diving in the pool. Will I EVER get there?!

I sure hope the baby likes it....

Two more babies to blanket...

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Happy Earth Day!

I love this green ball we're riding on! Thank God for it and all of the things you can do on it. I think it's important to take a look around to seek inspiration from time to time. Perhaps looking more closely at your everyday surroundings or take a trip out and explore what the world has to offer. It doesn't have to be far. My travels took me a half an hour from my home to a little place called Port Clinton right off of the appalachian trail. I wanted to scout out this part of the trail for an overnight backpacking trip. I learned a lot of things while out there:

Being a "backpacker" forces you to do things that technology has taken away from us.

I need to appreciate my size in proportion to other things around me.

My origins and the origin of the main things in life are important.

I need to keep in mind where I am going, but I need to keep calm when it takes longer than expected.

And of course...corny jokes make life float on.

Remember: Put your best foot forward in every situation!

I like to live close to the edge, take a few chances.


But I should always remember to surround myself with good company who care.


And obstacles aren't obstacles...they're opportunities!

LASTLY:

Thank you Earth for teaching me some valuable lessons!