My all-time favorite car

When I was young and beautiful with long, dark hair and flashing blue eyes and figure that made people stare, I bought a 1963 metallic dawn blue Pontiac Bonneville convertible with a matching blue top. A heavenly car - full of power, soft as morning, flashy - this convertible bespoke everything I wanted to be. Unfortunately, I was not yet 21 years old; so the car could not be in my name. I put the car in my lover's name, but no doubt about the true owner.

We went tripping out to Arizona to help her grandmother take care of Grandpa. I loved them dearly. Grandpa finally died of emphysema and congestive heart disease. Before that I often sat outside with him under the palo verde tree and watched him carve. I still have a six inch rifle that he carved for me. Grandma went back home to visit for a few months. Wanda and I moved into an apartment while she was gone. Wanda was gone a lot...and I was left without my beautiful convertible.

When Grandma returned, we moved back in - or at least I did. Wanda, it seemed, had business and love elsewhere. She'd had this love for all the time we'd been together (which really wasn't very long in time but was very long in miles). I asked if I bought her a car would she sign the convertible over to me when I turned 21. Yep. So, I bought her the cutest 1956 Ford - all jazzed up. She moved out and I continued to live with Grandma. We got along fine.

Once when the yard was flooded for irrigation, the fuse blew. The fuse box was in the back of the house; so I donned rubber boots and went around to see what size we needed. They box was taller than me, and I could see that it had those old long tube fuses. I couldn't do a thing. Came back inside and called the fire department. You know those folks came along very quickly (and quietly) and changed that fuse for us. Yep, Grandma and I got along okay.

But I thought I loved Wanda and I longed to be somewhere else. So I put the convertible in the shop to have the ball joints replaced and made my plans to drive to South Dakota to see a guy that I knew and liked. He promised to find me a place to stay while I was there.

Wanda refused to sign the car over to me; she said I didn't need to be driving alone from Phoenix to Sioux Falls. I was tired of taking her stuff; so I talked with the mechanic. He agreed to hold the car until she paid for the repairs or possess it with a mechanic's lien; he didn't like what she was doing either. So, I took the money I would have paid for the repairs and bought a plane ticket to Sioux Falls.

And, that was the end of my beautiful 1963 Pontiac Bonneville convertible.

Here are a couple of pictures of cars from the internet that resembled that one: (my apologies to the owners of these cars - I lost the site address.)

My second car, really

credit for photo:http://www.singercars.com/profiles/roadster.html

Okay, so I bought a roadster like this that didn't run. I bought new tires, and we were going to fix it up. Wouldn't it have been the perfect car for me. Bought it from the same man who got me the 1949 Chevy. Unfortunately, as I said before, he became ill, and they had to move. I couldn't afford to get the little car fixed or moved; so he gave me my money back. I've always regretted never having that little car. Isn't it a beauty?

For North Carolinians Only

Suzanne Reynolds with Justice Ruth Ginsberg after a class they taught together.

This is a political entry:

Please vote for Suzanne Reynolds for the State Supreme Court. Suzanne is one of the most honorable and reasonable people that I know. She is well-trained in family law and would bring that training and practice to a court direly lacking in that expertise.

This is a non-partisan position, and you must get to the end of the ballot to vote for judges and justices. So please, mark your ballot completely and please mark it for Suzanne Reynolds.

My first car

This isn't my Chevy, but certainly mine was like this. You can find a couple more images at these websites:
http://memimage.cardomain.com/member_images/7/web/3163000-3163999/3163677_2_full.jpg

http://memimage.cardomain.com/member_images/3/web/2427000-2427999/2427794_1_full.jpg

My first car came from a fellow I met during the rodeo summer. I started visiting the family and said I needed a car. Being a sometime mechanic, he found me a 1949 Chevy, gray, paint faded, very inconspicuous. I drove it for over a year with a temporary tag...around Memphis and back and forth to Mississippi where Mom lived. This car was not without problems though.

First, the gears tended to lock when you shifted from first to second. So, you had to stop, open the hood, read down inside and grab the rod and pull it back into place, turning off the motor was optional. One day, I needed to go somewhere special and I left my car with Mom and took her car (a bit more reliable Chevrolet and much newer). She was at the traffic light in the middle of town when the gears locked. Fortunately, I had warned her about this and she jumped out, raised the hood, popped that rod back into place and made the turn signal on green. I laugh at that image. She could be very prim and proper, and my image of her under the hood of the Chevy brings laughter.

I learned a lot about cars with that baby. The seller, whose name I forget, came over and fixed a couple of minor things, and then he got sick and couldn't do that any longer. He taught me over the phone how to change the brushes in the generator. Now these brushes are little pieces of metal, about an inch long and less than a half inch wide, less than a quarter inch thick - nothing to do with our image of brushes. They got their name from the fact that they brush the inside of a metal coil and create energy that is transferred to the battery. They are run by the fan belt which hooked onto the motor and the fan and the generator.

One day, the car wouldn't crank in a little town called Nettleton (they make Lane recliners there), and I stopped in front of an auto parts place. I left the car and caught the bus on to Memphis. Got home and called the guy, he talked me through the process and I caught the bus back to Nettleton and did the work myself - until I got to the part where I had to reattach the fan belt. The generator was the critical piece on getting the fan belt tight enough. So, I had help in holding the generator in place with a crowbar while I tightened the bolts that held it to the engine.

Later, after I met Wanda and was living in Memphis, the head gasket blew. In the misty rain, we replaced the head gasket with Mom sitting in the car behind us smoking cigarettes and worrying about what we were doing - and about my being out in the rain.

One night, after I moved back to Columbus and was working for the newspaper, I was going to take pictures of something at a shopping center...rain, fog, started to turn left, was bumped by the car behind me. No damages to either car but the police came and tried to find any sign that the Chevy had damage - none. The other car had a dent from hitting my back bumper.

I loved the Chevy, and it never did get a real tag. We sold it to buy a more substantial car for Wanda to drive back and forth to work about 60 miles away. I've always been a bit sorry that it went away - such a faithful and easy to fix buggy.

The next car I owned was the car of my dreams: a 1963 Pontiac Bonneville convertible, metallic dawn blue with a matching top.

Tomorrow

I resolve to take a new picture for my profile. My hair has grown and is still lovely white and curly.

Work day. Am knitting something for display that's not working out - knitting it with the needles that the yarn calls for - too loose. Will show it to the boss and get her opinion. Looking forward to seeing her - she's good people and she was away last week.

Partner will continue to work on the lower deck - replacing some boards, putting up handrails, building a back to the seats there, painting to match the house. She's always up to something. Next she's going to build me a tall, narrow, shallow bookcase for the hallway so that I don't have to give up all my books to the garage. Or maybe she can just add it to the guest room shelf wall so that the hallway stays pretty and wide and open. I told her no on that at first, but I think I've changed my mind.

I'm still making potholders by the zillion and coasters. I hope my friends are in need of them. LOL Christmas gifts?

Kite Festival - we are going there my birthday weekend - at Atlantic Beach, NC. What a lot of kites we'll see - and stunt kites and kites that dance to music and giant kites like the kitten and the squid you see here. We'll probably help out with the Festival since the owners of Kites Unlimited (Don, Geri, and Bret Dixon) are friends of ours. They also have a bird supply shop attached to the kite shop. And lots of fun games and banners and feathers and fun things to attach to outdoor hanging spots.

All are invited to the Kite Festival, October 25 and 26 at Atlantic Beach, NC.

James Taylor

Just listened to an interview of James Taylor by Tavis Smiley. He talked about how he began making music - referring to the Episcopal hymnal and playing a bit of "Jerusalem", was a good interview. Touting his new album "Covers".

Last installment too dry

Here's a funny from that time of life. I was a feminine person (tailored) at that time, and I've always loved clothes. So one night I was sitting around with friends in a black pegnoir set. We were talking about our childhood and I said I remember when I could shinny up a tree. For those who don't know about shinnying, it's when you grip a tree and pull yourself up using your arms and legs. They said "No, you couldn't or wouldn't do that." I took that as a dare. We found a tree about 6-8 inches in diameter, and I crawled out the window (shortest way there) and shinnied up the tree in my black pegnoir. Needless to say the nylon pegnoir was damaged beyond repair, but we all laughed and laughed and laughed. I couldn't get back in through the window because it was too tall for me, and hedges blocked my path; so a friend climbed through the window, boosted me up, and he jumped up to the window and we pulled him in.

I also discovered during that time that I couldn't drink champagne. For my 19th birthday, some friends gave me a champagne party. Personally, I think it was just a good excuse to party, but after two glasses of champagne, I remember nothing until I awoke very ill the next morning. I was living in the unfurnished apartment - had a single bed, and oak buffet and a borrowed card table and chairs. I don't know how Pete got me from the party, two blocks away, back to the apartment on the second or third floor. But, he was sound asleep on the floor cushions (very thick and comfy) when I awoke the next morning in the bed. Bless him.

Pete

Then I got Asian flu - the stomach kind - in 1964, and dragged myself to the doctor - also two blocks away. They gave me an IV and prescriptions and sent me home. I couldn't afford a taxi to get home. The drug store was next door, and I managed to get the prescriptions filled, but getting home as another story. I began walking, and I ended up crawling before I got to the building. I don't remember the stairs up to the top, but my boss came by to see about me. He called Mom, and she came to get me. She made me take the stomach medicine before we left for Columbus, Miss. As we traveled down the road, my tongue began swelling. I was lying in the back seat, trying to tell them something was wrong. This is nighttime, and we are speeding down the two-lane road in the back side of nowhere. I'm choking by this time and my tongue is swollen and sticking out of my mouth about four inches. Pete was driving, and he saw a hospital sign in some tiny town. We were lucky; the doctor had been called in for a severe cut and was still there. I don't know what she gave me, but it lessened the symptoms, and she sent me by ambulance back to Memphis where I spent the night in Baptist Hospital. Pete spent the rest of the night in a waiting room and Mom stayed in the room with me in a chair.

My soup making abilities developed about this time. Roomie and I decided we would take some of my homemade soup upstairs to our landlord and friend for supper one night. The door was unlocked and we trooped upstairs with bowls and soup and spoons. What a shock to find him and his girlfriend naked in bed. However, we found another bowl and spoons and enjoyed the soup - us sitting on the floor and them propped up in bed - still naked. Laughing and eating soup.

Leaving college

I majored in journalism, and we had a crusty old newspaper editor as head of the department. He took the students on tour each year to the area newspapers - well, the big ones in Memphis and Birmingham. I got so drunk in Memphis at a nightclub where Gene somebody was singing about a haunted house (okay, so I used to know both his name and the popular song) that my buddies had to pour me into the car and take me back to the hotel. I missed part of the following day's activities. But, Birmingham was another story. We dined atop the mountain, compliments of the B'ham News, and toured radio, tv, and newspapers. That was wonderful.

I was taking all my major courses in my second year of college. Somehow I knew that I wouldn't finish - too many problems. Mom wanted me to make decisions and then she could complain when something went wrong. Mind you, this is a 17 year old making decisions for the family. And, Sue and I were arguing every day. Mom finally caught onto the fact that I was really drinking heavily. My boyfriend was getting discharged from the service that year, and I decided I would leave college and marry him. Didn't really consult him about whether that was what he wanted to do or not. Mom and I visited his grandmother, who reared him, in Cullman, AL, a couple of times, and I was not the most popular choice for his family. After the last visit, Jim and his uncle took me to the bus in Birmingham, and I knew I'd never see him again. I didn't tell Mom that. What I told Mom was that I was moving to Memphis to work until Jim and I could get married.

Jim and Mom

Moved in for temporaries with my late brother's best friend and his wife and daughter. Way out from town. Job hunting was almost impossible, and I had no transportation. So, I rode to work each morning with brother's best friend and made my few rounds, and back to their home. On weekends, I would ride to work with him, and we would go rodeoing with his girlfriend and a married guy. They were pretty good and made enough to cover our expenses on the road. Brother's best friend's wife stayed home. (Needless to say, that marriage didn't last.) Summer was lots of fun for me. I learned to ride and learned to ride barrels. I learned a lot about sex and cheating. I visited a lot of little po-dunk towns in Mississippi, Arkansas and Tennessee. I met a vet who gave me phenobarbital for my migraines.

Summer ended and I moved into the YWCA downtown - better to job hunt. I would wander down to Court Square and drink coffee with the sailors from Millington. Later, when I had my own place, we'd do more than drink coffee, especially since I don't drink coffee. But I finally found a good job agency and got a job as assistant editor of a trade magazine.

Now, one thing I haven't talked about much is being sick. I had a lot of respiratory illness during my childhood and had rheumatic fever during my junior year of high school. the illness continued, and I missed some work, but I was very good at my job and my mentor-boss was great. However, when I returned from vacation after my first year on the job, I was fired because they were reorganizing the magazine and didn't want a woman as editor - the only position that would be open. LOL Of course that was 10 days before the law was passed that made discrimation because of gender illegal.

That year at the magazine is a blur. I lived with a college friend until she became pregnant and moved back home. I lived with Sue's sister for a while until I couldn't take the other roommate's obsessiveness any longer. I lived briefly in an unfurnished apartment. During an acute bout of illness, Mom came to Memphis and moved me into a furnished apartment in a house with an old lady who yelled at me whenever I made the least noise. And, when she thought someone was spending the night, she threatened to throw me out.

I bought a 1949 grey Chevy and drove it for over a year with a temporary tag...back and forth from Memphis to Columbus, where Mom lived.

I moved into an apartment owned by a man I met at a bar; I lived downstairs; he lived upstairs, and I was not his official girlfriend. But, I thoroughly enjoyed his red carpet and his tape deck - one of those old big ones that you had to build yourself. One day, he told me that a friend was coming to town, and could she stay with me for a while.

Carol moved in. One Sunday when some college friends were visiting (including the college gossip), I answered a knock at the front door to discover two very butch women, very dirty, standing at the door. Carol's friends. They had all been in the Navy together and all discharged for being lesbians. My friends departed quickly, and I was scorned on campus thereafter.

Carol and I got an apartment that was the entire upstairs of a house near the bus lines. Her friends visited. We took in boys who had been discharged from the Navy because they were gay - kept them until they could get enough money to go home or to go to work and find their own place. We took in one woman who was incontinent, put her bed in the dining room, and finally had to ask her to leave because of the smell. She was very nice, but we didn't have a washer/dryer.

I had a pet skunk (descented) who liked to ride horses with me - would hook his claws into a pad on the top of my shoulder and flatten himself against my body when we rode. We had cats and a rabbit once. They all used the same litter box and ate the same food.

new computer

Okay, folks, I sinned today,and I am suffering guilt and elation. I bought a new HP TouchSmart computer - the 504 model without tv coordination. Most of you know that I don't watch tv, and that's not important to me.

But, I know I have split the budget wide open, and I have regret, but I also have this wonderful new machine. I will repent in a few days...or else I'll figure out something to sell to help pay for this 22 inch monster.

Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our reckoning with the budget.

College

Ummmm, my roommate had transferred from Sophia Newcomb, a women's college in New Orleans. She was shy and depressed. I would sneak out of the dorm after study hour was over, block the fire door open and go to the "Old Goose" to buy snacks for me and others on the floor. A raincoat over my gown was "dressed" for that occasion. And, we discovered that we could sign out for the library at night, go in the front door of the library and climb out the back windows, reverse the process when we had wandered as much as we wished.

My best friend, Yogi, and I wandered a lot. The Dean of Students, Margaret Goen, drove an ancient black sedan, and she would often give us rides when it was raining and we were both trying to shelter under Yogi's wonderful wool cape. The image of friend means a tall, blonde girl in cowboy boots and a long blue wool cape (that she sometimes let me borrow). Jumping ahead: she eloped in our sophomore year, and we didn't see much of each other; then they moved away. Last year, she returned to my life, and I'm grateful.

Sue divorced and convinced Mom to move to Memphis and study computer programming. Back then, that meant hard-wiring boards. Sue and Mom both completed the course, but neither found jobs as the computer industry had moved faster than the training. Sue worked as a waitress at Toddle House. I was in summer school at Ole Miss, studying how quickly I could drain a bottle of rum or case of beer or whatever alcoholic.

One weekend a girl from my dorm asked me to drive her to Memphis to pick up a friend's girlfriend. We went in the friend's car, and we were late. It was a stick shift; so I was the only one around who could drive one. Seems like it was a 1954 Ford that he had "hopped up." And, we flew, at least until the head gasket blew, and we limped into a garage in a tiny town just off Hwy. 55 about 15 miles from Memphis. The garage was filled with good ole boys, and we convinced some of them to tow us back to Oxford. I sat in the back seat with one of the boys and she sat in the front seat with one or two others. We spent the entire time fending off probing hands, and praying for our safety. But, we were delivered safe and sound to our dorm and told the boys that we would be willing to see them next weekend. Bad news bears. The following weekend, they actually showed up at the dorm - all cleaned up and ready to date the college girls. I don't remember what she did, but I hid in my room and bribed the girl at the desk to say that I was ill...and I was - scared silly.

That summer was one of the worst bouts of my drinking. I was failing history (world civ), and the night before the final exam, I took a bottle of rum and a big glass bottle of Coke and went to hide in the cubby where we partied in the woods. I had our car because I was moving home the next day. I do not remember returning to campus, but I do remember walking into the classroom to take the exam thinking "Well, this is it - all over now." The professor was either very sympathetic or the answers just flowed from my drunken brain; I made a D in the course. I lost my honors at MSCW because of that D and the scholarship that went along with it.

I could not drive home; so Mom, now back in our tiny town and keeping Marty, got someone to bring her to Ole Miss and got me. I did not get out of bed for several days after that.

Sometime the next week or so, the doctor told Mom that she had nephritis, an incurable kidney disease, and would be disabled. We had no income. I had a little bit of money left from my part of my brother's estate. I asked if she could withstand a move; the doctor said yes. So, we drove immediately to Columbus, where MSCW is located, and I rented a small apartment. I don't remember how we moved, but we did. And, I entered school that fall as a day student.

Mom subsequently recovered enough to get a job at the new Cable Company as the office person - a job she kept until she retired at age 68. The company grew as did her responsibility, and she had a staff of 10 when she left.

Sue moved in with us. I gave up my bedroom to Sue and Marty and Mom and I share a room. Mom decided we couldn't afford to live there and moved us into the projects. I began drinking heavily again and riding my bicycle everywhere. I made lots of friends with guys at the airbase, and we danced and drank our way through a year.

More personal history♦

Telling my story in my blog is easier than telling it over the phone to my best friend. So here goes - for her sake and the sake of some good mini-stories.

Near the end of my sophomore year in high school (1961), my drunken Dad began to get violent. He grabbed Mom by the wrists and shook her. Sister in law Sue and I got on either side of him with iron skillet and butcher knife and threatened to kill him unless he quit. We moved the following week. I took final exams two weeks early, and Mom found a dump truck driver who would move us into my grandmother's empty house (she had recently remarried). Mom, Sue and baby Marty drove there in our 1949 Ford and I rode with the trucker to show him where to go. As soon as Mom got out of site and we got on the highway, he pulled over and said he had cancer and the drugs he was taking made him so sleepy he couldn't drive. Could I drive? I was 15 years old, but I'd been driving since I was 12; so that wasn't really a problem. Between tractors and the old flatbed truck we had, I figured out the system quite well. He went to sleep in the passenger seat, and I drove the two hours. We switched drivers just before we got there. He needed the money badly, and I was hooked on driving anyway.

We had no money, no job, little food, and were living in a town of 150 people- so no jobs either. I went to work as a waitress that summer. Grandmother (Mema) gave us what little was left in her local bank account. We stretched it a long way. My brother sent regular checks from his job as a welder's helper with the pipeline. My sister-in-law screamed at the baby. My mother was horrified and somewhat helpless. She was paralyzed by the fact that she had finally left my father, a home, and a job. Of course, that really was a small price to pay to keep us from killing him.

I flirted with the local bootlegger who came regularly to the cafe for lunch. What fun! He was good looking, and his wife was reputed to be on the lookout for his running around. So, when she came in, I slipped out the back door and stayed gone until she left. LOL Did she really think a 15-year-old was competition? Probably not, but it was fun for me.

My brother died in November of that year, and I can't even begin to talk about that on these pages right now. After so many years, the pain is still there.

Sue and Mom hit a horse on the interstate coming back from Christmas shopping in Memhphis, and I found bits of glass in my Christmas presents - they were wrapped and in the back of the car at the time. Mom carried a forehead scar the rest of her life, but both of them survived without too much damage. The car was totalled. The horse was dead. Now, they do have fences to help keep the animals off the road.

Age 17 the dress was white with bright red lace over it

I made friends in school for the first time in my life, and they visited in our home. We had lots of fun that junior year of high school. I had two boyfriends, went to the junior-senior banquet, wrote the prophecy and worked on the school newspaper - including running it off on the ditto machine.

Sue went back to high school with me the following year as a senior. I sometimes rode the school bus and sometimes rode with Sue. Mom got a job as a bookkeeper in a small furniture company; so we were getting by. Marty, the baby, had convulsions with fever and we were so far from a doctor that he lost his hearing as a result of the high fever. He was a good looking tot! Sue remarried sometime that year, and Marty lived sometimes with Sue and husband and sometimes with Mom and me. I started drinking with my next door neighbor that year.

The smoke house behind our house caught on fire that year, and the volunteer fire dept. hoses were rotted; so all we had to wet down the house to keep the fire from spreading was a tiny yard hose. The preacher was screaming, "The house is gonna go, the house is gonna go." Mom was panicking. I told the preacher to shut his damn mouth. So the following revival, I was told that I would join the local Baptist church. The preacher dropped me as he was dunking me, and I personally think it was a deliberate reprisal for my cussing. Of course, the religion didn't last long; they kicked me out the church because I started a teen club where we danced!!!! They said I had to quit dancing or leave the church. So I left. My Mom's buried in their cemetery, but we had a graveside service; I won't go back inside that church.

At Christmas that year, Mom and I went to Texas to see the man who had tried to save my brother's life. We were two days late getting me back to school. The high school principal tried to suspend me for being late. I said cuss words to him because several other girls were not back for school yet. The superintendent of the schools stepped in, converted my trig class to business math and pronounced that I had enough credits to graduate. I had already been accepted at Miss. State College for Women, and so I moved into the dormitory January 1962 and began college classes.

Unfortunately, Mom had her heart set on seeing my walk across the stage and receive my diploma from high school. So, between final exams at college 70 miles away, I traveled back and forth to attend the baccalaureate (Sunday afternoon church celebration of graduation)and Monday night graduation. Then back to college on Tuesday to finish up exams. I made honors that semester. End of installment One

Update on me

The non-tropical storm that came through last week played havoc with my respiratory system, and I missed a half-day of work, yoga and other things. I am better but still tired, and tomorrow is another work day.

Because I want some comprehensive information about what is going on with my body and someone to interpret this, I have made an appointment for an evaluation at Cleveland Clinic in mid-November. I'll have more information on this as the time approaches.

I've begun taking my prozac again and my relentless minor depression has abated.

I'm skipping yoga for a few weeks and beginning again in mid-October.

Work is going well. We did a bustling business on Saturday with visitors coming to Tryon Palace and stopping by the shop to look AND to buy.

We continue to have couples counseling and continue to learn more about how to have the relationship we want. Some days it's fun and some days I cry.

The nights are getting cooler here, and I'm enjoying being able to open the doors and windows sometimes. Partner and I went jet skiing last week about three miles up the creek and saw a beautiful hawk who swooped down to investigate us. Although I don't really get wet with the jet ski, putting them back on the lift requires getting in the water, and it's getting cooler, too. So, we may have had our last ride of the season - except when we put them on the trailers - then I get to ride!!!

I figured out one reason I do love doing figure 8s with the jet skis. Many lifetimes ago when I was 18, I rode barrels in rodeos for a season. I wasn't very good, but it was very exciting. I get the same thrill from the jet ski.

Life is good. The stock market has not affected our income YET, but our net worth fluctuates with the market. Our bank has been bought by a larger firm. The local yacht manufacturer, Hatteras, has laid off over 300 people. The drawbridge work continues even on weekends, and we're hoping for a mid 2009 reopening.

On the negative side, the GLBT group we've been trying to start at our church has had a trying time with the pastor and governing body. They think that calling it the GLBT Support Group is too militant. LOL. Well, so is the American flag and they process it down the aisle every Sunday. I don't go to church anymore; I've been rejected enough.

So goes my life. Amen. Hallelujah.

Memories of rabbits and spider lilies

(picture courtesy of Brian Chandler of Imaginatorium)

Good memories tint the bad ones with light and remind me of the hymn, "I Want to Walk as a Child of the Light".

This morning on the way to therapy, I saw red spider lilies blooming in a yard - just springing from the ground amongst the newly mown grass. No leaves - they come later - stems with beautiful delicate blossoms. We had spider lilies in our yard when I was a child. I would find the blossom heads among the grass and put sticks up to guard them from the lawn mower. Some years I failed and they never bloomed; the leaves came up later. But, mostly I remember sticking my face down in the mass of blooms and getting pollen on my nose and cheeks.

And just yesterday my partner was talking about a doghouse she had made and a friend commented about his rabbit house when he was younger. I suddenly remembered that I had rabbits when I was a child. (note: this is not my rabbit and the image came from this site) The cage sat beside the "old house", a falling in place behind our house. It was a wire cage on legs with pieces of wood covering the top to protect them from the weather. Grandma Woods, a neighbor, gave them to me. She raised rabbits of all kinds. I had one whose fur was blue, and I suspect he was a very special rabbit. They were bittersweet pets because I could not take them out of the cage. We had dogs and cats that ran amok in the yard. I could occasionally, by standing on a bucket, take the boards off the top and open the little door in the wire and pet them. They were afraid of me as they were afraid of most things. I commented that I had to give them back to Grandma Woods when we left for Bermuda (Dad was in the Navy and consented for us to join him there). However, I somehow remember that they left before that; when summer was over and we had to buy rabbit food, I doubt that we did. We didn't have enough for ourselves. The cat and dog (one of each by then) ate scraps and whatever they could forage for themselves. I suspect my grandparents fed them some.

My therapist says maybe I should replace the bad memories with good ones, but that's hard to do when each memory triggers both the good and the bad. It's like fantasy stories where light and dark fight one another; but real is that both light and dark are One. Good and bad are One. And, I'm not sure what that One is, but I trust it more than separating the two.

First Day of Autumn

Happy autumn!

And, unhapppy me. I've been reading a series of fantasy books about Pellinor - the Naming, The Riddle, The Crow. I just finished the last word of the third book in the series. It came out in paperback in August 08. The next book isn't due until March 09 in Hardcover! YOW!

I am not a patient person. I want to know how the story ends...at least this war - for all the fantasy books have war - light against dark. Stories that are like Revelations - not prophecies, but tellings of the current situations in settings that disguise slightly the real events. Apocalyptic stories. Not real, but not unreal.

Somehow, these stories symbolize our world and all the Dark things that are happening as well as how the Light struggles with the Dark. In the end, the Light and Dark are one...as we know that is true in our world.

So, I want to know the ending. What happens when Light and Dark become One. Who? What is that One?

A Dream Visitor

Me on the left and Ginni on the right on a playing trip to Longwood, a farm near Columbus, Mississippi. We wanted the stump; the limestone ground was unwilling to give it up then.

Last night in my dreams I was visited by someone who died earlier this year. Ginni, about whom I posted, was a person who had a lot of fun. She, like me, suffered from deep depressions. But, last night we played. She came and took em to her house in the mountains with a small pond/lake nearby. Lots of people were visiting, and all the beds were out on the porch. I never went into the house. I was the first to arrive, and we had wonderful talks while others arrived. Then we all piled into the beds and had a nap. When we awoke, more people had arrived and we squeezed into an open jeep with roll bars, everyone hanging on for dear life and we went barrelling down the mountainside towards the pond. We went down the steps of someone's house, over a short drop-off and across their patio to stop. I was amazed; I thought I was going to be killed in a jeep/mountain accident. The lake had furniture underwater, floating on the water - sofas and chairs of all kinds and tables - places for people to gather. I knew the water would be cold, but no one minded. I don't know if I actually got in the water, but I remember that I had a good time. When I went to find to our hosts, they had arms, legs and hearts - no heads, no torsos. I thanked them and they told me what a pleasure it had been to meet me and get to know me. I asked about getting back to Ginni's and my car, and they said that special steps had been built beside the ones we came over in the jeep for people to use. I awoke when I started for the steps.

I had played...young adult play, but play nonetheless. I remember running, talking, napping when we were tired, being easy with one another - though Ginni is the only person I remember. I vaguely remember hastily put together sports-like games with balls or tag. I remember looking up above the porch to the many-windowed home and thinking, Ginni would like that. A great visit.

Dining Out

Hmmmm Good. And, I'm not talking about Campbell's Soup. We ate at Olive Garden tonight - seafood alfredo with that wonderful salad and breadsticks. Brought home enough to have for supper tomorrow night, and the room has a refrigerator and microwave. Hmmm, good.

Walked it off by going to Ben Franklin - now a crafts store. However, my first job was at a Ben Franklin store, and I began working behind the candy counter. LOL After a week, the candy loses its lure, but I still love the old fashioned bridge mix with lots of nuts (other than peanuts) and chewies and good stuff. Then I was moved to the toy department because I seemed to be so good with the kids. I remember a young boy, thick glasses, couldn't see over the tops of the counter. I picked him up so that he could look in all the bins of toys and choose what he wanted to buy with his handful of coins. Turned out he was the son of the richest family in town. He was just another kid looking longingly at the toys to me. And, I think of him fondly and wonder where he is now.

Anyway, now Ben Franklin is much like Michael's and AC Moore; so I bought some beads and some yarn. Made a hostess gift for our dinner hostess tomorrow night...a crocheted hot pad from some luscious burgundy thick wool. It's kinda cute, and maybe I'll remember to take a picture tomorrow night.

Tonight it's comfy beds and sleep.

Part 3 - Being a Lesbian

Some things have happened in my life lately that have made me realize that the GLBT community is totally unlike the one in which I came out. My life as a lesbian is so far removed from what my life was like as a lesbian in the 1960s that I should have already recognized this.

Young men are divorced and hold joint custody of their children. They attend school meetings, take them to doctors, go to games and performances, worry about putting money away for schooling. They live in houses and own property. The ones that I know here in our part of the state and in other states are responsible, monogamous people.

The same is true of the young lesbians I know. And, the older women. They come from all walks of life, have had successful careers, may be disabled and living on a fixed income. They may have children and grandchildren. They may have been with a partner for 50 years. They might have come out to themselves last year.

They dress in dresses, shorts, jeans, khakis – some with frills and some tailored. They wear makeup or not. They have fashionable hair styles or not. They may have some wine occasionally, but they don’t frequent bars or nightclubs. Oh, some may go to the gay bars in resort areas when they go away.

In short, they don’t fit any stereotype that I knew when I was in my 20s. They look like your neighbor, your chorister partner, your bridge partner, your nephew, your sister or your son or daughter.

However, I need to close my story about my life as a lesbian. In 1968, I moved back to Mississippi to live with my mother. I met a young man and we had sex. It was good. I was tired for losing jobs – blamed it all on my being gay. I was tired of moving from pillar to post. I was tired of feeling stigmatized. So, we married in 1969.

He became a drug addict and eventually a dealer, and we divorced in 1978. During that time, at his instigation, I slept with several women without any emotional attachment. When I finally got smarter and moved in with my best friend, I became monogamous and have remained so. My best friend and I married in 1980 and divorced in 1996 after he fell in love with the teacher across the hall.

At the tender age of 53 I met a marvelous woman and experienced love at first sight. She stuck out her hand and said, “Hi, I’m Blank.” She could have said any name in the world and I wouldn’t have remembered because I was in love. I have no recollection of what I said. We had a holy union service at our house blessing in 1999, and we had a civil union at her family reunion in Vermont in 2003.

We have taken all the legal precautions possible to gain us the same rights as married couples, and we share our resources in common. Our motto is “All that I am and All that I have, Always.” We do not fit the stereotypes that I knew or that people expect. I have far too many female physical attributes to ever be thought butchy, but I can lift over 100 pounds and have good upper body strength. She is slim and could occasionally be called butchy, but she wears all kinds of clothes and cooks and is an active boater and leader in the church. We have a wide variety of both male and female attributes that make us “normal” women.

So, here ends my series on being a lesbian. When I find some of the old pictures, I may post them.

Church down the road

The sign at the church down the road says "even the hairs of your head are numbered." While I realize that's only a partial quote of the verse, it sounds absurd by itself. Why would I want a number on every hair on my head. Partner says that it's just to mean that God cares about the most minute parts of us. Okay, got that.

Now, when God created, two marvelous things were included:
1. God gave humanity the right and power to say yes, no, maybe, I'll think about it, call me back tomorrow, hmmmmmm, and all sorts of answers in between. We can give these answers to God, to our fellow humans and to all the rest of creation.

2. God made all of creation co-creators. We have the ability to create - not necessarily from nothing as God did, but we can make new things. In fact, most of creation can make new things - trees from acorns, frogs from tadpoles, combinations of elements that are very different from their parts...you know all the examples.

What a tremendous leap of faith God had! To believe that creation would continue to do well and create new things. I've never been sure that God didn't create the evil in the world as well as the good; so I'm certainly not sure that we could create only good even if we tried. I know, I know, God looked at creation and said, "It is good." Okay, so define "good" - good as in without evil, good as in this works, good as in this might be interesting, good as in should give them some challenges. I don't know.

But, the major piece of this is that not only are we co-creators with God, we have the right and the power to not create, to be nothings, to do evil, to do good, to be nice today and not tomorrow. We have the right and the ability to say no when God asks (however that might happen) us to do something. Of course, I've been slapped up side the head with a two by four by God a couple of times when I've said "No" or "Not right now"; so you have to be careful about those answers. Equally, I've been abused and hurt by humans after I've said "Yes". Pick your battles.

And, listen: this is important!! It's easier to be forgiven than to ask permission.

So, just remember those two things: you are a co-creator with God and you have the right and the power to do evil, good and all things in between.

Part 2, My life as a lesbian

I was no saint, and in a pledge for honesty in writing this, I confess that I was a hell-raiser and a drunk for much of my young adulthood. I still enjoy the thrill of doing the dangerous or the slightly dangerous, but alcohol and I parted ways some years ago.

When I visited Memphis friends after Wanda and I broke up, one of them sat on me before we went out to a gay bar and demanded, “Are you straight or are you gay?” I had no truthful answer, but she was my friend; so I answered, “I am gay.” I still am not certain of the answer to that question, but I know more clearly that I prefer the social company of women, and I trust women more.

We went to the bar and my friends introduced me to a woman named Jaye, a short, firmly built, blonde with twinkling eyes. I was 21 years old and had been using alcohol as a prop for about five years. I didn’t drink every day, but weekends were filled with laughter and sex (when I could find it) and alcohol. Jaye was barely a drinker at all. Bars were our only social venue though we were still wary of being raided by the Vice Squad. And bars were mostly segregated – men and women. I don’t recall seeing anyone of color in a woman’s bar, but I do remember several men of color in other places. The Twilight was a bar that was mixed, and in later years I attended a drag show there. Whenever we went to a bar, we were careful where we parked. The bars were not located in really safe sections of town, and we often walked to our cars together – feeling there was strength in numbers. Gangs existed in Memphis even then, and they occasionally prowled the bar areas for loners.

Jaye and I shot several games of pool. Gay bars were the only places that women could access a pool table. A couple of weeks later, I moved to Memphis to live with Jaye, and was with her when I lost my first job for being gay. And, I began drinking more heavily. Two doors away from us on the corner was Margie’s Diner, a small bar with a table shuffleboard, which I loved. I can remember crawling down the alley some nights before Jaye got home from second shift so drunk that I couldn’t walk. I don’t know why she put up with me, and I owe her many amends for how I treated her. I have named her as she was known then in hopes that someone out there in the blogsphere will see this and send her this way so that I can acknowledge the goodness of her love and make amends as much as possible.

Somewhere along in our second year, a young girl and I began an affair. She was a tall, butch with dancing eyes. I think it’s the eyes that get me. I was her first voluntary sexual encounter; she was very under age. And, I was very in love with her, as I had not been with Jaye. Finally, I got the courage to leave Jaye and move out on my own. My promiscuousness caught up with me with Chlamydia, and I was seeing a doctor regularly for treatment. That’s when I lost the insurance job. I could not afford, even with what they called a decent wage for women, a telephone in my apartment. So, I received the call that I had been fired at the doctor’s office…partly I suppose because of my illness and time off from work, but the stated cause was that I did not fit their family image.

During the time I lived with Jaye, we attended many women’s softball games, had friends for dinner, went to some horse show and rodeo events with friends. Those were relatively safe public places for women to be seen in pants, shorts and jeans. We did not gather in groups in restaurants.

I moved back to Mississippi to live with my mother once again. Both Jaye and the young girl came down to see me regularly.

Being a Lesbian, part 1 - 1965-1969

At age 19 at the C&G Bar in Columbus, Mississippi

On my 20th birthday, I went to Memphis to visit my former roommate and other friends. The weekend was our usual laughter and fun including a road trip to one friend’s home in Arkansas. On the way back, she gave me a fur stole as a birthday present. I was a tailored girl/woman then; so that was a magnificent gift for me. And, living on a farm where we hunted animals and had friends who were trappers, I thought nothing of the significance of the fur.

Sunday came, and I realized that I had to leave this friend, a woman named Wanda. I did not want to leave. I had watched her leave Memphis too many times for Arkansas or Arizona, and I had grieved. I realized I was in love with her. We formed a relationship then that took us to Mississippi (where my mother said, “Is Wanda your boyfriend now?”), to Arkansas, to Arizona and back to Memphis – several rounds of this. My first lesbian experience.

Wanda was cute and butchy – we had butches and femmes back then, and when we went somewhere I usually wore a dress and she wore slacks and shirt. A nightclub north of Memphis near a state park was a frequent weekend stop. This was hidden in the woods so that the Memphis Vice Squad would not raid the place. We met lots of lesbians and gays there. However, Wanda was a wanderer, and I followed along – getting and quitting jobs along the way. Finally, I realized that she was and had been two-timing me with another woman for many years.

I went home to Mississippi and curled up and wanted to die. Fortunately, I didn’t. I visited another friend in Memphis, and she took me to a gay bar where I met a woman who became my next girlfriend. I moved to Memphis and we lived together in an apartment where other gay couples also lived. I got a great paying but mindless job with Pepper Sound Studios. They made jingles for commercials in return for advertising time on radio and television stations. I was keeping track of what played and how to bill it to our customers. Then, someone realized that I had only women friends. They saw someone pick me up at work. And, I was fired. I did not fit their family image.

I worked with a job placement agency, and my counselor tried to find me another job that paid as well…to no avail. I did temporary work for a bit, then worked as a draftsman for a city planning firm for a while. Finally, she found me a position with an insurance company. I worked there for six months before the boss’ secretary called me at a doctor’s appointment and told me I was fired. I did not fit with the family nature of the company.

I felt dirty and abused. I felt like my nature marked me as the devil. Everyone liked me until they discovered that I was gay. And, that discovery was not difficult. I had a lot of friends who were what was called then “stone butch”. Transvestites is the term used now...or transgendered. That meant that they dressed and acted as a man, binding their breasts, getting male haircuts, even some padded their pants. I had some friends who were very butchy and despite their breasts and hips dressed as men. In the 1960s that was not acceptable. Even wearing jeans wasn’t. I wore dresses to work every day. Being a lesbian meant that you carefully considered every place you went – would you see someone from work, did you look too butchy, who was going along, how dangerous was it to go there from the standpoint of being beaten up? Women's softball leagues abounded, and we were safe there.

The Memphis Police Vice Squad regularly raided the gay bars – dragging off to jail those who were thought to be dressing too much like the opposite sex, anyone displaying affection, dancing with a person of the same sex, using the ladies room if you were a man, or anyone who talked back to them. I believe those laws that the vice squad enforced in gay bars was repealed in the early 1970s. Being a “femme”, I was berated and verbally abused, but never arrested.

Yoga

Had my first yoga session today. I've resisted it over the years even though people told me yoga would help me breathe better. They were right.

I learned to breathe in several different positions today. And, that little Tai Chi position that I learned so long ago at St. Anne's during a Lenten meditation series - wow, my yoga teacher opened it up and refined my version of it so that I can clear my throat and my mind and get my body ready for bed or for morning.

She's also a healer. Thanks be to the Goddess chickie.

I haven't learned all that terminology yet; so you won't be hearing words you can't pronounce associated with positions that this human body isn't meant to achieve. But, you can bet I'm going back next week. And, I'm practicing my new Tai Chi position/movement every day.

Sleep

Cityscape potholder

Amazing what 8 hours of good sleep can do for a body and a mind! I used to think I had a high endurance for pain, but now I'm not sure. I added a pain killer, prescribed by my doctor to help my hip pain, last night. I did not hurt. I did wake to a noise and realized it was the cat, got up and picked up the stuff from the floor and went back to bed. Not in pain.

I've been doing the exercises the doctor recommended for this hip, and the knuckle pain is so whimsical that I never know when it's going to hurt or not. The swelling in my knuckle is going down.

On to brighter things. I got most of the yarn stashed away last night, packed two boxes to send to knit/crochet swap partners; so this morning is looking brighter since I have less hassle. Here are a couple of projects I've finished.







Small potholder, mitered square in Peaches & Creme double stranded





Coaster and Pitcher Pad set in Peaches & Creme 8 ply, linen stitch

Five Questions from Father Terry

1. How do you feel about the term "born again"?
We are born again in many ways throughout the years; some of them have to do with God and most of them do not. To me, being "born again" means that I have discovered and begun to use some new facet of my being to renew and update who I am in the world.

2. Has anyone ever tried to save you?
I was reared in the deep South and kicked out of a good Baptist church for dancing. They tried to save me and keep me from dancing. I have also had people try by talking and quoting scripture to convince me that I should not be a lesbian.

3. Is there a difference between spirituality and religion?
Yes. Religion has to do with an organized set of beliefs that is supposedly systematic - that is, consistent within itself. Spirituality is a more generalized practice of relying on various principles and theories to make life easier and more bearable. Sometimes they may co-exist, but I believe spiritual practices within a religion are much broader than the organized set of beliefs of that relgion.

4. Which spiritual person do you most admire?
Desmond Tutu

5. What would you say to Christians if they would listen?
Diversity exists among all peoples of faith. Just as we are not alike physically, so we are not alike in our interpretations and beliefs. But, one God does exist, and Christians don't have the corner on that God. God is big enough for all people. Live your beliefs, state your beliefs, but don't get in someone else's face or condemn anyone.

From Fr. Terry at Listens to the World Check out this blog - used to be Father Jake Stops the World - has shifted to a very thought-filled blog.

Crochet pot holder

Okay, Micki, here's one of your goodies in persimmon 8 ply - finished this morning. Of course, the story is that I'm making it from 8 ply yarn - very heavy. So I cast on the number of stitches called for in the pattern and I crochet and crochet and crochet, and finally, I think to turn it to see how much I lack to finish. LOL Well, it was big enough to fit a table. So, I frogged it and started a new with a more reasonable size.

And, here's a picture of my market bag as it nears its finished size.

Listening

I spend a lot of time listening to frogs and crickets, to birds and waves, to the air conditioner and the air cleaner, to the shower and dishwasher, to the click of knitting needles or keyboards. But, I also spend a lot of time listening to voices - people talking around me. I don't seem to talk a lot any more.

As a friend said last night, I feel like an outsider. I will occasionally share my story, some pain, some funny, but not often. Conversations swirl around me without my really being a part of them. Sometimes they are about things with which I have no experience or knowledge - remembrances of camp or private schools or vacations or friends and playtime. Sometimes, the conversation flows along at a pace that I don't want to interrupt, jumping from one person to another to another with each person spurring their vocal horses to get into the minute piece of silence that signals another person can talk. Getting into those spaces is near impossible for me. So, I ride along on the edge listening to others talk about their lives. Almost a part, yet not really.

Last night I thought about the conversation - dreams of going places, doing things, plans for the future. Others have those - I don't seem to have any plans or dreams. I feel as though I'm just existing for a while. I knit, I've learned to crochet, I work a few hours a week, I do laundry, I clean house a bit, and I will be starting yoga next week. I have no need or use for the things I make. I buy yarn and I learn - for what? I don't even know. I'm just existing here for a while.

I have no desires that aren't fulfilled. I could wish to feel better; I'd like to ride my jet ski more, to kayak more. But, I have no long term goals or hopes or dreams or plans. Life is just flowing along.

Sometimes when I listen to conversations, I feel as though life is flowing around me and gently carrying me along with it like a piece of driftwood that slips along the edges of the river - not part of the current but moving still, immersed in the busyness of getting to the mouth of the river, but not going very quickly. The driftwood bobs along and lets the faster current get their first.

I think somehow in the last few years, I've retired from the hustle and bustle of living. In the process, I've also retired from some essential part of life, but I can't figure out what that is. I've bought things for enjoyment and use, but most days they are meaningless. Maybe that's what's missing - meaning. Like, where do I go from here?

sharecropper to driftwood

Retreat

Had to leave the retreat - aching and couldn't breathe. Think part of it is being with a number of unknown church women in a group. I love Margaret Neill who is leading the retreat - think I said she used to be my spiritual director. We began the morning with making a joyful loud noise to God! And, I lost my voice, couldn't breathe, hurt just sitting in the chairs.

Gripe, gripe, gripe.

I am truly grateful that I got a hug from Margaret, that I got to eat lunch not fixed by me, that I met some of my partner's friends from church, that it is a beautiful sunshiny day, that I have air conditioning and a nebulizer, that I could leave the workshop and drive only a mile to be at the condo and a comfortable bed, that .....

so, my gratitude is overflowing. So is my need to sleep.

Breathing

Breathing is important to one's mental and physical health. When I worry, I don't breathe very well; I hold my breath and then gasp. When the humidity is high or the wind is blowing, I don't breathe well. So, I'm sitting here breathing - in and out. Sometimes a sigh to catch up.

The workshop trip is over, the file cabinet is in place in my workroom, therapy is over for the week, grocery shopping is coming up next today, and I'm digesting a wonderful lunch of Taco Bell tacos. Now is my time to catch my breath and change my internal tension level.

A couple pieces of good chocolate have helped, too.

I'm busy making coasters and pot holders for a knit exchange, finishing a baby hat for a soon-to-be-born girl (she probably won't wear this until the end of the year in Mississippi), continuing to knit a market bag, and occasionally working on a hat for the Seaman's Institute (hard yarn - feels like indoor-outdoor carpet - supposed to be waterproof when I'm finished and likely will). Oh yeah, I'm also working on a shawl for a friend and will then begin another one in a different colorway.

Partner has spruced up the outside of the house while I was away - got the front flower bed looking great and the back latticework painted.

We're going to a religious retreat this Wednesday at the beach - tough life - I hope we're meditating on blessings because I feel truly blessed. I really don't want to think about what God may be calling me to do or to care for the poor, the hungry, the homeless, etc. Let me just meditate on God's goodness for a bit. I don't want to think about new starts or old endings or how they fit together. I want to focus on the here and now and just be grateful. Mother Margaret Neill, who is leading the retreat, will choose what she believes we need to hear - and it will be good.

This is the potholder that my exchange partner Micki sent me - a delightfully thick one - and she really thinks it might see a pan - ha - it will be pinned on my workroom wall to remind me of how far I have to go in crocheting.

Flickr workshop pix

Flickr Pisgah workshop pix here

Excitement

And, not the best kind either. The fire alarm went off about 8 pm and people were scurrying out, finding the stairs, getting outside. First, of course, most of us had to put on some clothes - and you could tell that we just grabbed the handiest things - at least many of us.

Three fire trucks arrived - one a ladder truck since this hotel is 5 floors. Fully outfitted firemen rushed from the trucks into the building...just like in the movies or on TV...I guess, since I don't see much of either of those.

And, we waited and waited. We saw firemen walking from one end of the building through the lobby to the other. We saw the desk clerk running from the front desk to the back office. We waited.

Someone said it was on the fifth floor. Someone said they were on the fifth floor and they didn't smell anything. Someone said they were cold (and yes, I realize that someone should be followed by a singular pronoun, but this is easier). We sat on a damp low wall. Some read, some talked on their cell phones. Some had briefcases; some had purses; some late arrivals tried to go inside. Some laughed and continued their conversations about other things. One man pushed his son around and around in a wheel chair.

After slightly more than a half hour, the firemen came out and said we could all go back to our rooms. Some of the firemen were still inside, and many of us thanked them for their response. Some just walked by silently and coldly.

But, I was back in my room, picking my knitting up from the floor and thinking that I ought to keep my medicines close to my purse when I'm away from home. Car keys, ID, money, medicine, room key - handy in case I need them again.

Now to calm down and think about bed.

Last day at Peaches & Creme home

Now in Winston-Salem, left Old Fort around noon and with much regret. I saw Maile and Marian, Sharon, Eileen, Marie, Bill and Janice at the P&C store this morning. Ahhhh. And, Maile was talking about new patterns and test knitting and Christmas already. So, I'm really looking forward to seeing the upcoming things from her creativity.

Some of us had fun digging in the seconds bin - bits and pieces, whole balls and lots of tangles because we'd all been digging. But, what a steal! I left with a stretchable garbage bag full and overflowing this morning with everything.

I'll be posting more pix from the workshops when I get permission from the participants, but for now, the pix at the top is a creek that runs near the Pisgah factory and the view from where the workshops were held.

more about workshop

Just a couple of pictures from today's knitting workshop. Don't have program to edit pix on this computer; so just getting raw stuff. LOL The Pisgah outlet store was lots of fun, my trunk is full.



Maile doing the loop-de-loop cast-on - so named by Kim.














Beautiful Flo in the shawl that someone made her - maybe Brian?

Workshops

Flo at Peaches & Creme is a honey. She organized great workshops and pulled together everything so well.

The morning began early on the top of the mountain at the fire station...about 60 women and a few men gathered for knitting, crocheting and weaving. What wonderful chaos! And, such beautiful yarns, I kept oooohhh, and ahhhhhinng over all the gorgeous packets for the various classes.

My first class was weaving, and I learned so much and got a good bit of hands-on time during the day on looms that weren't being used for projects. I chose the packet for a blue scarf, but I didn't start the scarf since I don't yet have a loom and would not finish it before the end of the workshops. I wasn't ready to actually begin weaving, lots to learn beforehand. We created some patterns using graph paper and colored markers. Then we created a pattern using pipe cleaners. I discovered that my graph paper pattern would be difficult to weave for a beginner, but it's very pretty. My pipe cleaner pattern was simple and good looking even if I did use a strip of brown and no (I repeat) no blue. That was fun. I wound bobbins of several kinds and used the floor loom, the table loom, the small knitters loom in practicing.

After lunch, I learned to crochet. Now, mind you, we're talking basic chain and single crochet, but I managed to complete at 2 inch x 3 inch square that mostly looks right - at least as well as everyone else in this class. And, I've been practicing tonight. Now, all my yarn overs are going in the same direction. LOL No twisted stitches for me. My hands still aren't coordinated in holding the yarn, the needle and the crocheted piece; so they cramp after a few stitches, but I'll get there.

I had a break sometime in the morning and walked down the road with my water bottle and enjoyed sitting on a culvert looking out at the beauty and the kudzu. I'll try to take a picture tomorrow - such wonderful green sculptures that devour their infrastructure. Sadly beautiful.

Lunch was great with food brought in from local cafes. I got fried chicken, but the person next to me got pintos and corn bread. She gave me a pinch of corn bread - not sweet. I was beginning to think that people in NC could only make hush puppies or sweet corn bread. This was so good that I stopped at that cafe on my way home and ate pintos and cornbread for dinner.

The final class of the day was knitting for me...a cabled scarf with Maile from Cloth of the Week group. I chose emerald green. The yarn is rayon and not plied - which means that I keep splitting it. I had a hard time even getting it cast onto my needles - so many little strings of rayon - all slippery and beautiful but not doing what I wanted. I was tired; so I quit for the day and brought it all back to the room.

I'll work on one of the projects tomorrow with Maile, but maybe not this rayon. Tomorrow morning I'm going to the Outlet store and look over their reduced table adn choose some wonderful yarns for home projects.

On the way home, I passed what appeared to be a thrift shop - but was actually a junk shop - no order, chaos reigned. Found two large Coca-Cola glasses and a bunch of pieces of old jewelry that I will transform...all for $3.50. Last of the big time spenders.

Now, I'm a zombie, but I still want to knit and keep practicing my crochet, and figure out what I'm going to buy tomorrow at the mill outlet. Ummmm. tough choices. I think bed wins. Goodnight.

Adventurous day

Spent the day in Asheville, NC. Left all my notes and maps here at the hotel. Found the shops anyway. Most of the yarn shops had the same kinds of things that we sell, but I found one shop with some hand spun yarn - beautiful, but I didn't buy any of it - couldn't figure out what I'd do with it - dyeing yarn is not my thing.

Found a wonderful bead and gem store - bought some raw stones - two pieces of opal that I intend to wire wrap for partner and me, and some lovely lapis that the owner claims is not dyed - it's so blue that I suspect color has been added. Also a few other pieces of various stones that I think will make up nicely - one has mica in it and will leave tiny bits of glitter on the skin of the person who wears it, but that's attractive, I think. The stuff was also available without the bits of mica, but not nearly as pretty.

The bead store that used to be a great delight to me was a big disappointment - I didn't find anything neat or really unusual there - lots of seed beads, and I'm not doing seed beads right now.

The Guild shop had all kinds of crafts found in this area and the stuff to make them with - but nothing that really struck me...so I came away from there empty-handed. The bookstore had one thing I wanted - some Medicine cards - sort of like Tarot but using animals and their Native American interpretations.

The downtown area is covered with food places - everyone at table along the sidewalks, but I couldn't find a place to eat that didn't have a wait time of half hour or more. Thought I was going to starve. Ate at a place that specializes in sweets - my cake was a bit dry, the quiche was okay but served plain, but the tea was great...though the refill cost me half the cost of the the first glass.

Lots of shops with Indian or Eastern things - art, clothings, beads, junk.

I came back up the hill through a shoe store - a multi-level shoe store - and I couldn't find a single pair that I could afford. When I reached the top of the hill I was very winded and red-faced. I staggered into a Free-trade shop or whatever they are called, and the shop-keeper took one look at me and pointed to a chair. She offered to get me water, but I had that handy. Thank God for the chair and the rest. Then I bought a few things for stocking stuffers this Christmas.

I rested at a number of places along the way...benches were plentiful. One of the downtown parks appeared to be full of lolling men - all ages, sizes, styles, degrees of good looking, various dress - but all men. The women I saw together or in groups were all walking and looking and talking. these men seemed to be waiting for pick-ups...or something. Maybe they were just taking advantage of shade on a warm humid day.

Many stores downtown were empty. No name brand stores any longer.

When I left downtown, I headed out to the Biltmore area, and I found all the name brand shops. But, I also found Yarn Paradise. And, I spent a long time there - bought my first set of interchangeable circular needles...a large investment. And, I was bragging to one of the women there about the wonderful BBQ ribs I'd had last night. She laughed and said she was the sister of the owner of Countryside BBQ. And, I could see a family resemblance, but she is definitely more beautiful than he is good looking. Too much good food has given him width in the middle to balance his height. LOL Ate there again tonight - still good. Going to eat there again tomorrow. Closed on Monday; so I guess it's Maccy D's for Monday.

One of the interesting things I've noticed is that many yarn companies are now selling their yarns in hanks instead of balls or skeins. This means that the yarn owners have to spend employee time winding these hanks into balls. All except two balls of yarn that I bought were in hanks. That's a lot of payroll dollars that will go into winding instead of sales and stocking.

I brought my inner child along

Well, I'm away from home for five days and already it's wonderful. The hotel has an indoor swimming pool and hot tub, an exercise room, free snacks all day and night and free breakfast. It also has a laundry, a wonderful desk clerk, free bottled water since the water is very hard in these mountains. And, it's wonderfully cooler than beside the creek.

I stopped on the way and visited for an hour with my best friend where we used to live - how great - 5 minutes and we've covered the basics and gotten down tot he nitty gritty of our lives...though it's pretty mundane stuff except for some of those we love having problems. We don't have any problems of our own, you understand (LOL).

Now. I've had dinner at a great restaurant in a tiny town about 45 miles from Asheville and I met three couples who had driven from Asheville just to eat there - BBQ ribs night - and I couldn't even finish a half rack. They were the best ribs I've ever eaten (except for Corky's in Memphis) cooked without sauce and smoked to perfection. They provided a good sweet sauce, but I may have used a half teaspoon of it. Hushpuppies were good and the cocktail sauce that I like with them was tangy but not sinus-clearing. Green beans were cooked just as I like them and the cole slaw was good. The chocolate cake was good but a bit dry.

Then I went to Wal-Mart and bought a pair of supplex shorts and a sports bra, came back and went to the pool. Never mind the rolls of fat hanging out between the two. I mean, whoever here will ever see me again -and do I care anyway - no. The pool was pleasantly cool, but the hot tub was great - not too hot, and the jets placed just right to massage my weary back and legs.

Of course, I couldn't get enough conditioner on my hair to make it feel normal since the water is so hard, but, guess what, the soap came right off. We have such soft water at home that you never feel as if you've gotten all the soap off of you or anything else you've washed.

I just feel as if I'm experiencing camp for the inner child - even if no other children are obviously present. For, mind you, I have not been in a swimming pool since ... ummmm....1979 maybe. Well, I guess I have been in the pool at the condo on the beach - but only briefly because it's cold as ice - shaded beautifully for a hot summer day, but not when I'm there. So, I gave swimming a valiant try - I probably wouldn't drown, but I'm very out of practice. Understatement of the year. At least the kids in the pool didn't laugh at me to my face - and that shows they have manners.

Now, I'm settled in the room, on a chaise lounge with a lap board and the laptop going strong. And, I'm soon to be ensconced in that big fluffy king size bed with lots of pillows.

'Night y'all.

Sigh

Breathe deeply in and out for a few breaths. Close your eyes and relax. However, it's not a good idea to fall asleep while sitting at your computer.

This has been a busy week already. Therapy on Monday - a very difficult session in which I've been suggested that I comfort my inner child who didn't have much of a childhood. The concept of the inner child is a difficult one for me, especially since I have very, very few live memories of three years - 7-10 and not much until 11. Actually, I guess there aren't many memories before age 7 either...a few incidences that are isolated from daily life. I was alone so much of the time.

then Dad went back in service when I was 7. A good bit of responsibility fell on me as my mother and brother made the crop that year - we had 23 acres of great farmland - grew wonderful cotton - usually rated good with a few middling ratings occasionally when we had to use a mechanical cotton picker. I remember things, not daily life, not events. Except, of course, the daily life events at which I failed at age 7 - like cooking dinner for Mom and David, peeing in my pants because I had walked from school to avoid a kid who taunted me and I couldn't get into the back door of the building where Mom worked.

I don't remember feeling. Life just was. Now I'm told that this child never had a chance to have a childhood; she had to grow up too soon. She never got the love and care that she needed, nor the praise or very many of those positive things that keep us going. They tell me that my defiant attitude comes from having to fend for myself and feeling that no one cared. And, they didn't...at least not in ways that I needed them to care. They said they did. They acted as if they didn't.

So, I'm supposed to talk to this child. And, I feel foolish. I would have to dissociate in order to talk to the child I was. I know the right words to say to kids nowadays that have been through some of the lack of loving care that I went through. I can comfort them. But, how do you comfort a child that no longer exists?

I can look at me and say, "I'm sorry you had a rough childhood. You should have had better food, more encouragement,...." But, so should a million other kids who grew up to be fine people without being in therapy and needing food to comfort themselves, or hoarding to make them feel safe. Why am I the one who eats too much?

Tonight Ibought yarn and stuff at the Goodwill Thrift Shop (now called the Goodwill Family Center) - yarn that I don't normally use, all donated by an older woman who was obviously a hoarder. Boxes and boxes of yarn, a hundred packages of needles, various sewing accessories in multiples of twos, threes and tens. I understand.

But, I still don't understand how I'm to talk to or write to this supposed inner child who was deeply hurt (I don't deny that) and carries this hurt yet (don't deny that either). They tell me I deserved better. Deserve is not a word that I use very much...not sure that any of us deserve anything. Lots of things would have made my life better and very different. I didn't have them. Now, I'm supposed to go back and comfort that child who didn't have them.

Maybe all I really have to say to that kid are two things: "It wasn't your fault." (don't think I ever thought it was) and "You made it anyway." (not the best way possible, but you're alive and they are dead - you have received many wonderful things and known oodles of great people - you've done lots of good deeds and loved everybody - that's making it, kid!) Living well is the best revenge. The ones who hurt me didn't live well and some of them are dead as a result of their poor choices; I am living well, and I am alive even though I've made both good and bad choices. You, the child, chose to live; and here we are, living well, blessed and graced.

Off to Work

This is our "stack" of Lambs Pride and Cascade 220 wool with a bit of Lopi at the end. Doncha just love the colors!

You are The Empress

Beauty, happiness, pleasure, success, luxury, dissipation.

The Empress is associated with Venus, the feminine planet, so it represents,
beauty, charm, pleasure, luxury, and delight. You may be good at home
decorating, art or anything to do with making things beautiful.

The Empress is a creator, be it creation of life, of romance, of art or business. While the Magician is the primal spark, the idea made real, and the High Priestess is the one who gives the idea a form, the Empress is the womb where it gestates and grows till it is ready to be born. This is why her symbol is Venus, goddess of beautiful things as well as love. Even so, the Empress is more Demeter, goddess of abundance, then sensual Venus. She is the giver of Earthly gifts, yet at the same time, she can, in anger withhold, as Demeter did when her daughter, Persephone, was kidnapped. In fury and grief, she kept the Earth barren till her child was returned to her.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.