Long blonde hair, eye make-up and Rick Springfield

I haven't blogged in a while, I mean really blogged. I have "logged" a bit, meaning I have given a rundown of my weekend, provided the particulars of my day, but I haven't actually blogged in a way that I like most: putting into words what matters to me most at a given time and space. I suspect it is because mostly there are just random thoughts and processes running through my mind. And I am not much good at communicating them until they have been tossed and tumbled a bit.

This often drives Cynical insane. I'll be going through a "rough patch", and grumbling a little under the surface, but I find I am just not ready to "talk about it yet". I need more time to think it over, to review what it is that's bugging me and perhaps decide how I really feel about it. Then I am ready for a logical, considerate conversation.

And I find that perhaps now I am ready to share something with you. I have had time to absorb it, time to make it real and time to understand it.

I was online yesterday, and for some reason I decided to read through the obituaries posted via my local newspaper. I am not sure why, just passing time I suppose. And as I scrolled down, I saw her name.

And it took my breath away. My hand shook as I moved the cursor over her name and clicked. It was then I knew it was true. I saw her photograph, and knew it was her.

When I was in middle school and junior high, I was friends with a girl that was in my homeroom each year. It seems that the alphabet had brought us together, as we were segmented via our last name and we assembled accordingly each morning. We eventually shared a locker too.

I was the kind of kid that didn't fit anywhere. My parents weren't "blue" collar, but they weren't "white" collar either. I was a good student (a tribute to being the offspring of two educators), but didn't have anything in common with the smart kids. I wasn't one of the pretty girls. I wasn't one of the exiled. I wasn't a concert t-shirt wearing thug. I wasn't a socialite. I didn't smoke behind the stadium and I didn't apply lip gloss regularly. I was just me. Nothing special. Nothing out of the ordinary. Not tortured and unhappy. Not bubbling and giggling.

And Beth, that's what we'll call her, was her own person as well, with no real group to call her own. So,we were friends. We were lunch buddies. We were locker pals. We hung out together.

She had long blonde hair, beautiful handwriting and a true appreciation for Rick Springfield. She wrote volumes of poetry, and wore eye make-up.

I was finally at an age where my parents had agreed to let me spend the night with someone other than my grandmother. And in all honesty, I suspect they were very glad to pawn me off on someone once and a while. Eventually we were good enough friends for her to invite me over. I loved spending time at her house. She was the youngest of six and doted on by her siblings and mother. And, the best thing: they actually ordered food and brought it to their house. Big sloppy, juicy hamburgers, fixed any way you wanted.

And her mother had let her plaster the walls and slanted ceiling of her room with all sorts of heart throb posters. There was always someone to take us to the movies. She was always game for staying up late, talking and listening to Rick on her stereo. Oh, and she had a rabbit, in a cage in the garage. It was heaven: a true friend, good music and snacks.

That's the way it was until we got to high school. We still shared a locker, but we were in different classes and therefore different activities, but still slipped each other notes, written in her beautiful fluffy, feminine handwriting. I was a little embarrassed to be in the "upper level" classes with her in the "basic track", but she never made me feel badly about it, just teased that I'd be a college girl one day.

Beth became pregnant in our sophomore year and had to attend an alternative school. I was devastated.

I went on to college, she raised her family. I saw little of her. I know that happens, you grow apart from your friends, you begin to lead different lives. I understand that is often the natural progression of some friendships, but I did miss her and think of her often.

I saw her a few times after college, stopping by her house to visit her and play with her two kids. But, we were heading in different directions, so our friendship, while still there, was a bit dormant. I haven't seen her in years.

I went to the funeral home recently upon learning her mother had passed and was disappointed that I didn't get to spend some time with her. She wasn't there. Her family remembered me and greeted me warmly. They gave me her cell phone number and encouraged me to call. I felt awkward calling her at such a time and kept putting it off.

I am ashamed now that I didn't call; that I didn't contact her. It's a missed chance at closure or some attempt at reuniting.

I called her oldest sister yesterday, ashamed that I had missed the funeral and wanted her to know I would have been there. If I had only known. The obituary had been posted over a week prior and I had missed it as I was out of town.

And so I have thought about Beth all night and into the morning, remembering even more tidbits about her and our time together, making me more sad that I hadn't made the call.

I have resisted the urge today to call of my lifelong friends to make sure they know I appreciate them, even if we haven't had a long talk lately. I have always prided myself on maintaining friendships, but now I am so sad that there are a few I let slip by.

And as I think of her, we are frozen in time. Her long blond hair is held back in a headband. She's handing me a handwritten note between classes and we're making plans to see "Hard to Hold" at the twin cinema.

Because I can't stand to look at that mushroom any more

I have collected snow globes since I was a little girl. A prized one was given to me by a friend as a bit of a joke. If you have ever travelled much in our part of the country, chances are you have spied a barn that said, "See Rock City". You know, I've never gotten to see Rock City.

Fridays and reasons to get up in the morning

At Chez Ragged this morning, one thing was clear in the minds of each inhabitant: God bless Fridays. It's not that it's been a horrendous week. It's not that I am cursing the past five days. It's just that I am ready for the weekend. Ready to get away from work. Ready to sleep in. Ready to relax a bit.

And I am working under the philosophy that this will be a light weekend at Chez Ragged: no heavy lifting, no mulching and hopefully no painting.

So, we are rejoicing in the fact that another Friday has rolled around. It's apparent in Cynical's sighs as he put on his shoes this morning. I was evident in the fact that I stood a few extra moments under the warm water in the shower. (Cynical originally had planned for another working weekend, much like the last two, but I so want a quiet weekend, I so want to knit, to read, to watch movies, to listen to music, to take photographs, to sit in the sun. No paint fumes, no ladders, no heavy boxes and splattered floors.)

And since we are busy reveling in the fact that another week is coming to a close and we have two days of freedom, let's count a few other blessings along the way:

-I wore "Matador" to work today. Between stops this morning, I jaunted into Starbucks for a skinny white chocolate mocha, keep the whip. As I was waiting for the server to belt out my name at the toop of her lungs, the nice girl at the counter commented about liking my sweater. I stood a little taller and said, "Thank you. . . (and then in my whisper voice added) I made this." And I am still beaming. I am still walking proud. The cool girl at Starbucks complimented my knitting. (I have primarily worn it on the weekends, celebrating my "funky side" away from work. But this morning, I decided the two worlds should collide.)

-Last night Kissed Knitter visited Chez Ragged, where we ate pizza, knitted and complained about anything and everything. What a blessing to have someone you know you can be so very "candid" with. I suspect, however, that she may wish I was a little "less" candid.

-I have finally released my frustration after watching "Shut Up and Sing". No matter your feelings about Bush or the war, this is worth watching. It's worth seeing three women weather a storm together, raise their families, love their husbands and still be incredible musicians. It amazes me that free speech is not a two-way street in the US. I'd better stop there.

-Did I tell you I am going to a Fiber Festival next month (in about three weeks actually) with Jenny from the Blog and Needlefingers? I am antsy with list making excitment; making a plan of yarn attack.

I shot the photo above in an attempt to capture light. The sun streamed through our windows last weekend and I loved seeing the shadows and the light created. This is our laundry basket, catching some light.

Sunlight

One reason I am enjoying daylight savings time. . . natural light streaming through our windows in the afternoons.

Other random thoughts:
I finished Green (Brown) Gable weeks ago, but haven't blocked or talked anyone into photographing it on me. Looks kinda sad just folded waiting for attention.

I got a coffee pot for my office. Know what that means? My coffee, my way. I am not able to drink the stuff everyone else consumes, it's just too hard on my stomach that early in the morning, so having my own stash, complete with my own sweeteners and fancy creamers is an incredible luxury. I feel so decadent and kinda sly. Should I share?

I want to make it clear, even though other blogs may dispute this, I did not have to be carried or assisted in any way following a St. Patrick's Day get-together at my folks. I simply needed a little something to soften the barbs being thrown. . . and it did work. However, as Needlefingers pointed out, this will not be a regular occurance as that would create a whole other set of problems. And that "making amends" step would kill me.

We joined the Blockbuster version of Netflix. Why? Because we want movies and we want them now. . . and we don't want to walk around and around the store chanting, "What about this one?", going home with nothing in our hands and being forced to watch yet another episode of "NYPD Blue" on the DVR. And you know what? It also satisfied another deep-seeded need. I love lists and this thing lets you add and move and subtract movies in your queue. It fulfills all of my OCD needs.

And in even bigger news. . . Cynical will soon be working primarily from home. I am so jealous I can taste it. I am happy for him in so many ways (Cut to me having visions of folded laundry, clean floors and loads of dishes in the sink.) Now we just have to make room for a home office. This is going to be interesting. Another reason to move, I suppose.

The above is a piece of glass art gifted to me by Queen of Cool for my birthday last year. I had hung it in what we loosely call our office, but recently moved it to the kitchen window where the sun streams in each afternoon. It reminds me of a trip to a small town in Kentucky and catching sight of similar ones clustered, filling an entire window.

Finding your place

With all of this excitement about getting our house ready to put on the market, there has also been the anticipation of finding a new space to call our home.

Now there are some particulars that we are trying to work out, some stars that need to align and some plans that need to be made. Therefore, I don't know that we will be packing up our photographs, camping equipment and yarn any time soon. I am hopeful that we can be patient and wait until everything is in place.

That being said, I must admit that we have done a bit of house hunting, cruising by those that fit our criteria in some way. And to make matters even more complicated, we attended an impromptu open house last weekend. We explored a three-bedroom, two-bath house that we now jokingly call "our next home". It's not in our price range. It needs some updating. And we aren't ready yet, but as we moved across the hardwood floors, trekked up the one flight of stairs, opened closet doors and admired the built-in cabinets, we knew in our heart of hearts that we want that house.

And now we are ruined on all other possibilities. It was too early, it was too expensive, it needed some work. But yet we dream of it each night, we lay awake and plan where we'd put our furniture, consider colors for the "creative space" and talk about the changes we'd make to make it our own.

But again, it is too early. . . so we shall wait, we shall plan and we shall be patient. And maybe, just maybe it will be waiting for us as well.

Above are two small suitcases and a basket that house my knitting needles, handknits and other sorted items.

Have you ever

caught yourself hanging onto something you just can't let go of? You mull it over and over and over in your mind. . . unable to turn it loose, letting it sting you over and over and over again. No matter which way you turn it, you can't find a solution; you can't make it ok and you can't release your grip.

I have a confession

I am strangely attracted to Vincent D'Onofrio. I love the whole "I'm-so-observant-and-smart" thing. That and the fact that he gets really close when he talks to people.

Delighting in daylight savings time

I don't honestly pay much attention to the whole daylight savings time thing. I just walk around, changing my clocks, without thinking much of it.

However, in a rare moment of clarity this morning as I dried my hair, it occurred to me that I'd have more natural light each afternoon when I got home. More natural light = more opportunities for photographs.

I haven't taken many lately, at least not any that I could publish here. Most are of family and friends, who I protect from my blogging vices. And I miss being able to shoot a few here and there when I return home in the afternoon. Finished knitting projects, for instance, must wait until the weekend before getting snapped and then I rarely remember to do so.

Hey, this daylight savings thing just might be a good thing. (It only took me 37 years to make this connection.)

May I have another Thursday night, please?

If you are a very, very good girl and work very, very hard, once in a while you get a very relaxing and peaceful night all to yourself.

After knocking out a few minor chores (not the kinda chores that Laura Ingalls Wilder had, no milking, hay tossing, bridge construction or apple picking. . . more like laundry, dishes and sweeping), I settled in last night, watched television, knitted on Glee and my Online socks. Most of what was on the tellie were reruns, so I simply relaxed on the bed, knitting and cats spread out around me, laundry turning in the dryer.

I must admit that my definition of heaven changes as I get older. It used to involve much, much more than a comfy bed, good companions and a lull in my busy week.

However, the latter is much closer to heaven than I ever expected.

Overwhelmed

Remember when I talked about life being made up of the little moments, not necessarily the colossal happenings? Well, it seems that all of my tiny moments have collided to make for one big lump of overwhelming pressure.

And I am not sure where to start explaining, so I'll start with what is pressing most on my heart. Cynical's grandmother is nearing the end of her life and even though this has been a slow and painful process for her and all of those that love her, it's still very difficult; and it's so very sad to watch that family lose someone they cherish so dearly. We'll visit her this weekend and hopefully those moments will be something to hold onto.

Suffice to say that work is probably the most stressful it has been since a day long ago (at a previous position) when I seriously considered the merits of living on the streets.

Next week our bathroom will be torn apart and rendered unrecognizable, which is a good thing in the long run, but in the short term, let's not forget it's our only bathroom. That will make life more complicated and next week I need life to be simple and easy.

You see, next week not only marks Cynical's 34th birthday (fun all around), but also a scheduled date with stress: a meeting that promises to be harrowing at the least.

Mix in several social engagements* that I agreed to long before I knew we'd be sponging off in the living room (only kidding), experiencing what are sure to be the intestinal after effects of said meeting, and preparing for a very, very long working weekend.

Top that off with two very sticky and frustrating family situations and you get what I suspect will be probably a week we'd rather not relive (save the social stuff.)

Whining won't do me any good, but venting did relieve some of the internal pressure. However, I'd advise staying as far away from Chez Ragged and its inhabitants as possible until mid-March, enter at your own risk.

*Including a baby christening with friends living far, far away; the viewing of a play performance by a friend's kids; dinner plans and something else I have already forgotten.

I'm sick and I don't like it one bit

I'm sick. Sick enough, in fact, that I actually stayed home from work. It's not fair. . . this being sick and I don't like it one bit.

My head hurts, my legs ache and my tummy is feeling poorly.

I am sick and I don't like it one bit.

Rainy Mondays don't necessarily make for good knitting and other lessons learned

Last night was supposed to be knit night at my local yarn shoppe, but since most of my fellow group members don't like to get out when it's rainy, snowy or very cold, it was kinda cancelled. I had decided that even though it wasn't an official gathering or even a gathering at all, as that implies more than one person, that I'd stage my own knit night at home. Maybe that wasn't such a good idea.

I don't know if I admitted this or not, but it's time for true confessions here at Write On. I have completed one Jaywalker sock and even though I have mighty calves and it's a bit snug, I still like it.

And not wanting to suffer from Second Sock Syndrome, I decided to start to work on the second one immediately. It went charmingly until I started the gusset decreases. For some reason I could not remember (even though I had jotted down notes) how I interpreted the patterns version of decreasing, slipping and such. I had worried that this might happen, hence the notes, but I thought I was moving along swimmingly and when I compared, they just didn't look the same. After much consideration and some calculating, I decided just to rip back a bit. Problem with ripping back: I sometimes get a little lost in where I am and whether or not I got everything back on the needles as intended. So, I got frustrated and just ripped the whole thing out. It actually felt pretty good.

Like a good little knitter, I started again and was so proud of myself. That was until I saw that I had split the yarn in a very noticeable spot and I decided to try to correct it. Ugh, that failed. I had gotten pretty good about being able to fix mistakes, but this was another story. Following my pattern of illogical behavior, I ripped it out again, vowing to at least cast-on and get the ribbing started before bed. And that I did.

Lessons learned from my Monday evening:

-Take better notes, pay attention to the notes.

-Never knit while tired or already frustrated or on the day before the contractor is coming to your house and you are distracted.

-Sometimes it's better just to start anew; let go of the mistakes.

-Frozen pot pies are not the same as you remember them as a kid: they are gross, no matter how much you thought you loved the crust.

-When you call to try to make amends with someone and they aren't receptive, don't beat yourself up over it, you really did try.

Today is a very, very good day

Know what makes today a very, very good day? Let me count the ways. . .

-I had a lunch meeting at a very, very cool local restaurant; the only restaurant in town that serves a truly "green" salad without Romaine or Iceburg lettuce (I can't eat either). And, they put this incredible melt-in-your-mouth goat cheese and balsalmic vinagrette dressing on it.

-While at lunch I spied my mom's retired ladies group and stopped to say hello. One of the ladies pulled me to the side to discuss the fact that she has begun knitting socks. We were both so excited that I think we squealed and talked for over 15 minutes before I had to rejoin my group.

-I have been curious about the arrival of my federal tax refund. I tend to mail mine early as it's pretty simple and since I was getting a nice return, I was a little anxious for its arrival. I checked online (www.irs.gov) and learned that it was expected to be directly desposited tomorrow. I literally danced.

-I originally had plans for tonight with a friend. I love spending time with said friend, but I am a little tired after a late night. She rescheduled, so I got the best of both worlds: a night at home and a promise of quality time next week.

I am certain that all of this good luck has befallen me due to good cleaning living and you can't convince me otherwise.

Today is a good day

I can't pin down exactly why I think that today is a good day, but there are several little factors that are making for a good mood including:

-Little snow flurries dancing outside my window.

-The impending release of Children Running Through, the newest CD by Patty Griffin.

-The completion of my first Jaywalker Sock and a third in a series of gift scarves made out of Misti Alpaca Chunky. (The trio reminds me of neopolitan icecream: Pretty in Pink, Natural Brown, Natural Cream.)

-Warm vanilla latte on my desk.

-A good night's sleep.

Changing sheets and changing moods

Every single Sunday night at about this time, it hits me, "My weekend is over." It's over. Come tomorrow morning I have to get up at a sensible time, put on sensible clothes, pack a sensible lunch and act, well, sensible. I am never ready for sensibility.

Hold onto your seats, at Chez Ragged our weekends are one happening party after another, filled with intrigue and excitement.. Our weekend began with us nabbing dinner out, spending a portion of my Target card, stumbling around Sam's, downing some coffee at Starbucks and making a grocery run. Yes, we went to the grocery and Sam's on Friday night. I don't know what got into us.

On Saturday I drove to our old college town and met up with, of course, a friend from my higher education days. Scientist E is one of those people I rarely see and each time I do, I wish I could somehow borrow one of those transporters from Star Trek (and not be required to wear one of those unforgiving uniforms) and visit her daily. E is one of those people that sees through all of the crap to the real meaning of things and prioritizes accordingly. She knows what's important in life: people. She is fiercely dedicated to those she loves and I admire that in her.

After a multiple cups of coffee, a quick trip to the yarn store, (which I sorta added to our list of "things to do" during a frantic e-mailing session) a lingering lunch and some shopping, I headed home.

I love road trips. And in all honesty, I never seem to mind if I am making said trips alone. Some good music, a big old fountain diet coke or Snapple Asian Pear Tea and I am ready to go. I tend to leave early so I can make some stops along the way. I tend to underestimate the time it will take me to get home, as I follow the same pattern. I do my best thinking driving alone, music lulling me into a quiet zone.

I got home, of course much later than I had intended, where I found lasagna prepared by dear Cynical. And for some reason unbeknownst to me, I was in a horrible mood. It wasn't the lasagna, it wasn't because we weren't getting any snow. I am not certain what was nagging at me.

I was sad, inside and out. Maybe it's the impending work week. Maybe I miss all of my friends that seem so far away. Maybe I just needed a down day, time to wallow a bit and feel sorry for myself.

Today I should have joined Cynical in his visit with his family, but I stayed at home, took a very long shower, watched a movie I've seen 100 times, knitted on my Jaywalker sock, did laundry and admired our new sheets. I didn't want to spill my mood over onto anyone else.

And now it's over. Our weekend has come to an end.

I don't recall when I shot the photograph above, but certainly it could have been taken any day of the week at any hour, as Ike never seems to tire of napping. Pun intended.

Grumble, grumble

I had a great day and even though I should be writing about how awesome it was, I wanna moan and complain. I am in a rotten mood. I am grumpy. I am not a happy camper.

Excuse me while I grumble.

Ever just want to go to bed, cover up your head and hide out until tomorrow?

(I am praying for snow.)

Lately I have been thinking

Lately I have been thinking about what I used to look like. I'm not sure if it's age or the impending holidays or maybe just the fact that I recently found my circa 1995 Hootie and the Blowfish concert shirt.

But, for whatever reason, I have decided that I miss her. Her being that tan, size 6 friend of mine from long ago. I think I took for granted that I'd never gain wait, never be pasty white and never need to color my hair (and never lose faith in who I am.) Yep, it was all a dream, all a fog of my youth. It's not that old me was any more attractive than the current me. Neither is enviable, but she was, well, different than me. Somehow I remember her as being better, stronger, more laid back, more focussed, more self-assured and it's true: thinner. (It occurs to me that eating Snow-Caps while typing this isn't doing the situation any good.)

I just remember that my life was simpler somehow, and that was apparent in how I looked, how I talked, the music I listened to, the car I drove and even my sparse apartment. It wasn't that I used to be hip or cool. It's just that I used to be ok with that. For some reason, now I am not and instead of really wanting to be hip and cool, I want to be the girl that was ok with being neither.

After college I lived at home a bit and then got a roomie and ventured out into an apartment. Soon thereafter said roomie became "with child" and got married. That left me in need of housing. (It just wouldn't have worked: me, my roomie, her husband and their newborn child. It barely worked with just my roomie and me. How many ways can you split a Lean Cuisine.)

So I found an apartment just one-step up from an efficiency, meaning there was a wall between the bedroom and the kitchen/living room. I didn't have a couch. I didn't have a television of my own. What I did have was a director's chair, a bed and lots and lots of self help books. What sold me was not the fact that there was a drug dealer living below me or a huge Magnolia tree full of disease carrying blackbirds outside my back window, but the large picture window at the front and the rough looking hardwood floors. I chose to ignore the large, questionable conditioner teetering in the window as well.

I got a couch from a friend's grandmother, covered it with a huge bedspread found in the depths of the sale bin at Pier 1 and for a while I lived with a television that had once obviously belonged in a hotel room. Eventually I stepped up and bought a huge tv and parked it on top of my mother's college foot locker. It was home. (In said apartment was one of the old fridges with the handles that you actually pull down onto to open. It had one of those tiny freezers that sort of hung miraculously in the top, and froze over twice a year.)

My obligations in life included work and paying the rent. It was a good mix. I worked, that gave me money for rent. And I was content with that. Life was good in my perspective. I had a place to sit while watching television. Eventually the drug dealer was arrested and the building sold to someone who cared that the blackbirds were killing us and also saw fit to install a communal washer and dryer. I was living in the lap of luxury.

I had lots of good friends in similar situations to hang out with on a regular basis. I had coffee talk once a week where I cranked up my cappucino maker and gabbed about everything from politics to what exactly was I growing in that pot beside the window (it was aloe, people, aloe). (I didn't have a toaster, but I did have a very nice cappucino maker. Priorities.)

I made weekend trips to college towns with my trusty cassette player sitting in the seat next to me. I stayed up late reading. I got up late on Saturdays and ate cereal in my pajamas while looking out that large picture window.

And I was happy. I was happy with my life. I was happy with my surroundings. I was happy to listen to the hum of my unmentionables tossing in the dryer and one of the three channels I actually could get playing in the background while I ate popcicles out of my very own freezer.

I miss her.

Get over it

Today hasn't been a good day. Then I got to thinking, it seems I have lots of bad days and maybe I need to take a big long look at why the bad days out-number the good ones lately.

I have always been an optimistic person. Not one of those rosy, annoying souls that promises that the sun will come out tomorrow, you can bet your bottom dollar; but typically I did see the silver lining and my glass was half full.

So, excuse me a bit as I work to tip the scales. Problem is that digging yourself out of a hole is a lot of work.

This time it's just no fun

I am leaving tomorrow for an overnight work-related trip. This time it's not so fun. . . Cynical won't be joining me and there won't be any Tex-Mex food, margaritas or Alamos.

It's not that hard to be nice, is it?

I had lots to write about, several things I wanted to tell you. However, someone said something that hurt my feelings and for some reason, all of those things I had planned to say have gone out the window, because I am too busy obsessing over the comment that kicked me in the gut. I gotta grow a thicker skin.

Shot in Reptile Park in San Antonio.