Hungry Anyone?

I met up with the afternoon and midnight shift cadre of full time, part time and contingent hospice nurses for breakfast today.  We went to the Original Pancake House where I always order The Dutch Baby.  Whenever I order, I really want The Big German which is the large version of the dish.  I have to remind myself that by itself, the Dutch Baby is plenty and more than that is digestive folly.  One day though, I'm going to get what I really want-even if it could feed a family of four for 2 days.

I'm feeling as though I've bitten off more than I can chew with the shawl.  As the submission deadline for the Michigan State Fair approaches, I find myself wondering if it's doable.  There are a mere 16 rows remaining with only 5 of them having lace stitches and then I have to do the border.  I know that doesn't sound like much, but if you take into consideration how many stitches are on the needles, there are 23, 346 stitches to go before I even start the border and then there will be only 9500 stitches remaining.  Only then do I get to give this a bath and then find a big enough place to pin this out.  Oh.  And I need to buy a gajillion pins for that job.

Me and my big mouth.  What have I gotten myself into?  I should have knit the smaller shawl.  You know, I can't take the blame for this all by myself.  There were plenty of you who helped lead me astray.  Enablers.  Every last one of you.  If I have to eat crow, well then, so do you.

Next year, remind me that for a summer project, I can only knit socks.  No shawls allowed.  And absolutely no enabling when I get delusions of grandeur.  

Happy Endings

I like a good happy ending and I think Paris does as well.  My husband found her owner and we heard the tale of the dog's getaway.  Shortly after she was let out on Friday night to do her business, someone let off fireworks in the neighborhood that spooked the dog.  She took off and was lost for close to an hour before I found her being dumped by someone who'd found her before me.  Maybe they thought she'd find her own way home.  Duh.

She was reunited with her owner today and there were tears and much tail wagging.  Paris didn't so much as say goodbye.  Her owner offered me a reward.  I told her getting the dog a new tag and a microchip would be reward enough.  I hope she does this.

Once again I'm dog-less, but that little thing wasn't really a D.O.G. now, was she?

(Seren)Dipity Doo Dog

                       
Myspace Glitter Graphics

 

The mystery of the found dog continues.  What are the odds that I'd find an ad for a lost Shih Tzu with the name of Paris and it would be a completely different dog?  What are the odds that a carjacking was committed in the city that matches the dog's tags and a Shih Tzu was in the stolen car that matched the description of my rescue?  It wasn't her.

The woman  who runs the local Shih Tzu rescue came by with a multi-chip scanner today and as I thought, the dog doesn't have a chip.  She twisted my arm into fostering the dog for the next 7 days by saying her males don't like girl dogs around.   She brought kibble to seal the deal.  Thank you, Cathi.   Oh, and Paris is the real deal-a full blooded pooch-hence the beautiful hat.  Actually, it was Pyzahn and Kathleen who turned me on to the photo bling.  The dog has had a rough go of things; it's the least I could do for her and you have to admit that the hat adds to her appeal.  I think it takes away from the eyeballs and underbite.

Dipity-Doo has stellar manners around people and she's had no accidents in the house.  Our dance card was rather full today.  We started with breakfast at an outdoor cafe and then she went to spinning circle where 8 women fawned over her for 3 hours.  She was such a lady.  

I could get used to this dog stuff again.  In fact, I'm beginning to feel downright criminal in terms of breaking contracts.   Exactly how much damage can a 5 pound dog create?  Who would even know she's here? 

I Must Be a Shitzu Magnet

I went to a home to see a patient Friday night that's 25 miles from my home.  As I was stopped at a light, the passenger in the car in front of me threw this dog out of their car and took off.  I didn't even get the make of the car-I wasn't paying attention.  It was 11:30 at night, so I scooped up this little pooch and took her home.  She was shivering, starving and thirsty.

She has a tag that says she lives in a town that's 20 miles south of where I rescued her, but the phone number on the tag was disconnected.  I don't know if she was dumped by her owner, or stolen and dumped.  She's not spayed and her teeth look very white-she looks young and seems well mannered and calm. She has a glamorous name even though she's pigeon-toed, has a wicked underbite and bulging eyeballs:  Paris.

I'll take her to a shelter tomorrow to see if she has a microchip since I couldn't feel one.  Since she's not spayed, I'm not too hopeful.  For tonight, she'll sleep with me.  I hope she doesn't snore.

Did I not just bemoan the fact that I can't have a dog at this house in Friday's post?  Does a Shitzu count?  I mean since it's so small, is it really a DOG?  Is this serendipity, or what?  I found this dog only a couple of hours after I posted that item.  I didn't have to go out and see that patient as the family thought they could wait for a nurse to come out tomorrow-I did it because I felt someone needed me.  It must have been Paris.

The Porch

Since summer has finally descended upon the metro Detroit area, I've been filling up the porch with pretty things. I spend more time out here than anywhere else. While the back deck is nice, if a wind blows in, the trees shed sticks everywhere-including on top of my head. I much prefer sitting out front knitting, reading, blogging or spinning. It's a great neighborhood for people and dog watching. The squirrel watching is not bad either. There is one black squirrel who routinely runs into the middle of the street then falls over and plays dead. He may be nuts. He'll lie there for a few moments then get back up and skitter away.


The one thing I don't like about this house is that I don't own it. I don't feel comfortable making any permanent changes. If I could, I'd repaint the porch in something that doesn't always look dirty even after it's been washed. I'd paint the swing blue. After first telling us that we could have a dog in the house, the landlords changed their mind. Sniff. We'll go house hunting in the spring for our own place and then I'm getting 2 dogs to make up for the lack of even one.


Mr. Mocha Latte has been dropping by often. One night last week, he came to the door seeking shelter from a storm. Once in, he got lost. I found him asleep on the sofa burrowed under the throw pillows. His name is Alabaster and he does own a person that lives across the street. He could have gone home, but I guess any port in a storm will do. He created a ruckus this morning by sunbathing on my deck right below the Blue Jay's nest. They were dive bombing him, but he took it all in stride. What a cacophony of noise those birds made!


This is not my porch. I wish. It's my friend Jeanne's view of the world in Managua. Lucky girl. I'm just bringing it up because she hasn't written a post in awhile and this is my way of giving her a nudge. I can't believe she's not in the thick of something worth writing about down there.

In case you're interested, MLTL survived his hospitalization and came home today. It ought to get interesting now.

Have a great weekend.

A Swing With a View

I'd better keep my broom ready as an alternative mode of transportation today.  An hour ago it was sunny and stiflingly hot, now it's significantly cooler with blowing winds and ugly clouds.  Of course as I write this, I'm sitting on the front porch playing chicken with Mother Nature.

By Sunday, I should be able to show you how I'm knitting off my shawl while simultaneously knitting the border.  I have never done this before so I'm going to take it to the yarn shop on Saturday so someone can hold my hand while I take this leap of faith.  I just wound the second skein of Fino which means I've used around 900 yards of lace weight yarn to get this far.  On Ravelry, some have noted it's taken up to 500 yards alone to knit the border.  I'm hoping I have enough.

OK.  Now it's thundering.  Guess it's time to go in.  Just before posting, I snapped this picture of the storm coming in from the NORTH right over my shoulder.  I seem to always forget about photo booth on my Mac.  It came in handy today.

Silence is Golden

For three weeks now, a professional painting crew has been scraping, prepping and painting the house across the street.  You know, the same painters who must have given themselves whiplash from ogling my scantily clad neighbors.  Because of the rains, they've been coming intermittently and seem to be taking forever to get the job done.  They set up at 8 AM sharp and begin a conversation that breaks the morning silence.  One of them has a baritone voice that probably carries miles and he's the one I have it in for.  I can't figure out if I hate him because he has a loud voice and awakens me everyday, or if it's because he sounds exactly like my ex.  Probably both.  His partner doesn't bother me, either because he is respectfully quiet, or because he can't seem to get a word in edgewise.  

In desperation Monday, I looked up their company on line and lo and behold, the loud mouth has a website.  I emailed him and told him that some people work nights, and it would be nice if he'd pipe down.  So far, it's working.  He never emailed me back, but he doesn't start running his yap until 11 now.  If I could just get the garbage truck to come by at 11 instead of 8 on Wednesdays, life would be good.

I made a huge dent in the shawl yesterday.  There are only 16 pattern rows remaining before I start the border.  Thanks to the garbage men, I'll be getting a jump on those rows today.

Photo: Google Images

Twisted Mister

Mr. Larger Than Life is on the mend, but he's beside himself that he's being imprisoned in a hospital room until Friday.  This means that he's upped his litany of complaints significantly.  He is no longer thankful that I helped save him from himself.  He isn't grateful he still has two hands with which to point blame, in fact, he wants me to know that there wasn't anything wrong with him in the first place.  To hear him tell, he was never in pain and nothing was ever, ever wrong.  This is how his kids and I always disappoint him-by being wrong.  I hold out hope that one day we will get it right.

Enough about him.  He'll just have to deal with getting over easy eggs from the cafeteria located miles below his hospital room, when what he ordered was over medium.  Suck it up and stop ordering the eggs.  It's a hospital, not a hotel.  It's best to order the oatmeal rather than fight with the chef.

I've been making slow progress on the shawl.  There are 9 sections with 68 stitches in each section which means every round is 612 stitches long.  When there are 738 stitches on the needles, it'll be done.  More than two-thirds of the main chart is complete and I'm beginning to imagine the beast all sprawled out and off my needles.  It's exciting to know I'm so close, but still, it's such a slow knit.  It would probably go much faster if I'd put the new pair of socks I'm knitting down and make myself focus.  Easier said than done.  One day, I'll get help for my knitting A.D.D.

The sock yarn is Colinette Jitterbug in the colourway Raphael.  It's a plain sock pattern because with yarn as pretty as this, no fancy stitches are required.

Letting Off Steam

When it comes to a hospitalized family member, I can be a nurse's nightmare. I'm that big mouthed family member who won't stop nagging until my loved one's needs are met. I start out pretty gently, but I don't make it a secret that I'm fairly bright and a damn good nurse. If a nurse does not step up to the plate, I let my displeasure be known. I'm fierce like that. I'm not rude, but I'm not a pushover. If you're ever sick, it's me you want in your corner. I was a pain in the ass like this with my patient's too-I'd always fight for their needs and rights. Rights? That's correct, patients have rights. At the core of these rights is the expectation that a patient will be treated with dignity.

What is dignified about making a fresh post operative patient wait an hour and twenty minutes for pain medication? Waiting until an 82 year old man is near tears with agony and begging for pain medication is unacceptable. Offering that same man one darvocet tablet after he's been begging for an hour and twenty minutes is just bullshit. It's going to take another hour for the patient to get any sort of relief from oral medication and frankly, what good is one darvocet going to do for someone in extreme pain? I'm not going to completely blame the nurse here because it all started with the physician who prescribed M&Ms for a vascular post op patient.

Gad, I need a drink.

Around 4 Pm today, I went to see Mr. Larger Than Life for a cookout at his house. My sister in law had told me earlier that his arm had been hurting and his finger tips were numb, but he'd adamantly refused to go to the hospital. He sat in his chair all day with a heating pad on his arm; he was convinced he'd pulled a muscle. When I got there, his arm was scarlet red from the first degree burn he gave himself from the heating pad and his fingertips were like ice. I told him if he didn't go to the emergency room, he was going to lose his arm. I've never seen him put his shoes on so fast. MLTL had a brachial artery embolus-a clot in the artery that feeds the lower arm. He had no pulses in the radial or ulnar arteries.

The ER staff was wonderful. The surgeon and OR staff who were called in were wonderful. The floor nurse was something else entirely. Another hour after ingesting the M&M pain medication, this man's arm was still throbbing. For 2 hours, I'd been been telling his nurse that the swelling, weak pulse and extreme pain were really not normal in her fresh post-op patient. She kept telling me that she didn't see anything wrong with the way it looked or felt. I finally looked at her and told her to call the doctor. It turns out that his vascular dressing was so tight it was cutting off circulation to his forearm and hand. Once the doctor released the dressing, his pulse became bounding and his hand immediately warmed. MLTL fell asleep.

As much as this man can be a thorn in my side, I abhor unnecessary human suffering. It's so cruel to know that relief is just around the corner, but because the secretary did not get the patient into the computer, he had to suffer. Ain't right.

He did make me laugh a bit though in his fresh post op and versed clouded state of mind. How his penis came up as a topic of discussion is beyond me. It could be that this was his way of telling us he needed to pee. Out of the blue he said "it used to be my pride and joy, but now it's just a watering tube." With the next breath, he asked if he could have a hot nurse. Ha. Not tonight, MLTL. Not tonight.

Not a good night

to be a hospice nurse...

Mother Nature is putting on a spectacular light show so frightening that I had to sit in my car in the lot for 15 minutes before even braving the brief lull to run into the hospital.  

Come on midnight!

A Little Humor Please

I looked and looked for the following commercials on YouTube. Alas, they were not to be found, but that's not going to stop me. Am I alone in thinking the newest Aricept commercial is a bit odd? It's the one where the daughter is talking about how they showed up for weekly lasagna at her mother's and mom had forgotten to cook for them. All concerned now, she took mom to the doctor and had her put on Aricept so she'd never forget to slave over that stove for them again. If my kids think I'm cooking Sunday dinner when I'm a hundred years old, they better think again.

The second commercial was for Remax. It showed a woman who saw her dream house online at the Remax website. All excited, she takes her husband to see the house. When they get to the house, she rings the bell while caressing the door. She then tells the door, "you have such a nice ding dong." For crying out loud! I laughed myself stupid over that one.

I've been watching a lot of TV lately while I knit. I finished the purplish socks with the picot cuff but I'm in a slump with the shawl. With over 500 stitches per round, I'm feeling overwhelmed by the whole thing. I'll get back on it this weekend though. Promise.

Here are two clips from the Colbert Report the other night. I adore that man and these two clips were pretty funny. I have a need to try to find humor right now. Maybe you do too. Since the two stories go together, watch the top clip first.

The Colbert Report	Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c
Stephen's Positive Obama Coverage
www.colbertnation.com
Colbert Report Full Episodes Political Humor Stephen Colbert in Iraq

The Colbert Report	Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c
Murder in the White House - Fly Widow Interview
www.colbertnation.com
Colbert Report Full Episodes Political Humor Stephen Colbert in Iraq

For FTM

You're all in my thoughts and prayers. I'm so sorry...

Man, it's a hot one!

Monday I went on a fiber diet and lost almost 2 pounds. I had to do the math there because all I really know is that I donated several hundred grams of fiber. It's all for a good cause, well in this case, multiple causes:

1. It was just sitting there neglected. It's not like I'll ever be able to knit it all in my lifetime.
2. It will be auctioned off this Friday and will benefit the local animal shelter.
3. The space vacated by the old yarn will soon find new yarns moving in.

See? Win-win. I'm looking very svelte these days, or at least my stash is.

So on my way to donate the yarn, I left the house and walked past my next door neighbors. They were out in the front yard in the skimpiest bikinis I've seen since I used to wear one. Music was blasting and they appeared to be having a good time. I overcame my urge to knit them cover-ups right on the spot and kept walking. On my way home, I noticed the painting contractors across the street hanging from their ladders and ogling the almost naked sunbathers. I can't help wondering how that job is going to turn out. Smooth.

Needless to say, it's a sunny 85 degrees in the Motor City. Judging by the looks on the painters' faces, I think it may be a little hotter next to my house.

Discourse on Leaves, Part 2

Backing out of the drive the last week, Mr. Larger Than Life noticed that his neighbor's tree had sprouted a new branch which just about caused World War III.  You see, this tender offshoot was loaded with leaves and seemed to be maliciously heading straight for MLTL's driveway.  Not one to take this lying down, MLTL jumped out of the car, ran up to the neighbor's door and pounded with all of the wrath he could muster.  It would never do to allow this branch of the tree to reach his drive to drip sap and dead leaves all over his nice, clean cement.  

Never mind that the branch is probably 2 to 3 years from being able to straddle the 8 feet between the tree and the drive, the fact that it's heading his way is all my father in law needed to spring into action.  He was enraged by the tree's audacity to grow a new shoot and by the fact that the neighbor didn't answer his door.  I don't think it occurred to him that the neighbor may have been out, however, if someone was assaulting my door in such a manner, I wouldn't open it either.

Days passed with nobody paying attention to the source of MLTL's anger.  The men in the family huddled together in an effort to come up with a plan that didn't involve trespassing with a chain saw and ladder in tow.  None of them wanted to listen to MLTL, nor did they want to trim the neighbor's tree without permission.  There was a lot of whispering, avoidance strategy planning and plenty of discussion that perhaps, MLTL had finally lost his last marble.

To date, part of the offensive branch has lost its life.  The other part, the one that couldn't be reached without a ladder, is still a threatening menace.  

And you thought I lead a boring life...

Saturday Love

Do you have nine minutes to spare? I have something here that many of us have watched before, but maybe those among us who are younger have missed, or those who've seen it may be in need of a refresher course-like I was.  I want to spark your memories a bit and maybe make you think.  Or feel.  Knowing I was feeling quite down these past few days, my husband sent me this link to remind me of what is important in life. Before I knew it, nine minutes turned into sixty and I had watched the entire lecture (again).

The nurses who visit here know intimately how fleeting life can be. We should make the most of it while we are here and enjoy it-if for no other reason than to say that yes, we were here and we used our time well.  If we love and share that which makes us special and unique, perhaps our time will be perceived as having been spent wisely.  I hope so.  It's the reason I'm a hospice nurse.

So please, set aside a few minutes, grab a cup of coffee and pull up a chair. Leo has something important to say:

Have a lovely Saturday everyone.

Letting Go

Like a wolf with a juicy femur, it's going to take me awhile to get done with this topic. In the meantime, won't you join me in listening to a song that reflects my mood?



It's no big deal right? It's just forgiveness.

The Runaway Train Saga

Sitting here today, I find myself pondering whether I've been like Pollyanna in respect to Rachel's Place. Here I am, an obvious simpleton, thinking we've done such a wonderful thing, and what could possibly go wrong. It's our time to live a little and enjoy whatever years we have left on this planet without having to be 24/7 caregivers, while simultaneously preparing our Rachel for a life when mom and dad are no longer around. We gave our daughter and 3 other women a safe place to live and turned that home into a haven for them. What was I thinking when I thought this act of love could only bring good karma my way? Although on some level, I was prepared for a cosmic smackdown (I'm used to it), it still took me by complete surprise. I am completely taken aback by how serious and complicated these anonymous, unsubstantiated allegations of inappropriate sexual behavior have become. Today I find myself completely powerless to stop this snowball.

Why do people lash out in such extraordinary ways? The accuser wanted only to stick her colleague with a barb. The sexual nature of her complaint mandates investigation. Others are calling it a nuisance complaint, but when I hear second hand that the investigators are asking the school, roommates and other staff if Rachel is acting out in a sexual manner, I find myself royally pissed off. It's more than a nuisance, it's deeply personal. Although protective services has called me and signed off on this deceitful claim, another agency within the county won't. They won't call me and they won't sign off. They tell me that as the guardian, I have no rights. And all of this time, I thought I was my daughter's voice that she doesn't have. I'm a foolish, foolish woman to have put my trust in others. I've no choice now, but to watch while this colossal waste of time, energy and money continues unabated.

Lord, I'm helpless in this matter, so I'm giving it to you.

Comments are closed.  I just needed to vent before my head exploded.  What better place than my own haven?

I'm Smitten With Knittin'

It used to be fairly easy to plan my knitting: Go to the store, find the pattern, find the yarn and get the needles. Not so hard, right? Then I started to buy yarn to make things down the road. Keeping track of it all got complicated, especially when my yarn acquisition began to grow out of proportion to the speed of my knitting. I acquired so much yarn for so many projects, and forgot just what I owned. Now I've added the step of spinning so that I can make the yarn for the projects I dream about. The Creamsicle yarn is almost all spun up, but not completely. That hasn't kept me from dreaming about what it wants to be once it's done. I'm hoping to be less of a fiber stasher when it comes to the spinning, but I won't hold my breath. You shouldn't, either.

I made a swatch of Creamsicle with 3 different needle sizes just to see what it knit up like. Instead of individual swatches, I use one and just graduate my needle size, separating them with a purl row. At the bottom of the swatch in the picture below, I used a US size 8 = too dense. The middle was a US size 10 = meh. The top was a US size 9 and looks just right. About 4.5 stitches to the inch. Perfect for any one of these patterns. I think I'll have enough handspun for whichever I decide to make. I may be a tad bit lace fatigued right now, so the bolero is striking my fancy. I do love that tank pictured at the top and the vest right below.

I'm also going to start my Christmas project planning. I know exactly what I want to make from Nicky Epstein's book, but I won't show the pictures in case any recipients may be looking. Let's just say the pattern will involve felting Kidsilk Haze with nuts and rubber bands. In case the pattern doesn't turn out as intended, I can always eat the nuts.

I'm working hard to finish the shawl in time to submit it for judging at the Michigan State Fair, but I have had some stitch count issues that are slowing me down a bit. It must have been from knitting this complicated work of art and simultaneously watching the Wings lose. Damn them. It's their fault. When I'm mostly done with that, I need to knit the squares for the afghan and then my calendar will be free to knit and spin whatever strikes my fancy.

An Answer to an Age Old Dilemma

Why did it take me years to learn the secret to keeping things happy under my roof? For the past hundred years All of this time, I've been of the opinion that if I could just learn to shut my trap, stop challenging every little thing, and never, ever say no, things would be just peachy. But no, that's not the answer.

And it's not this either. Thank goodness, because if I had to live in an austere, sour manner, well, I'd be one insane, menopausal witch miserable.

Having peace and harmony within the confines of the home doesn't mean I should have to do everything myself, and while doing so, complete tasks without complaint while wearing only a smile and a French maid's costume (although I'm sure he'd swear fealty to me for life if I did). Nope. Fear not the filled in Honey Do list. It's OK to ask for a little help and it's OK to expect to get some.  

None of those things is the answer though.  This is. This  little package contains the secret to wedded bliss. Within the contents, lies a good night's sleep and that my friends, is the secret. Although he swears I do, I maintain I don't snore. And though he knows he probably does, he has no idea to what extent he snores. I swear, he's as loud as the train that passes by our house every night, or even a jackhammer.

Sometimes, as I lie awake contemplating Farrah Fawcett's role in The Burning Bed telling myself that, "it's ok, I can sleep when I'm dead," I'll gently nudge my honey to give the small space  some snoring interuptus. He'll get miffed and swear that I nearly broke something when I gave him the mandible claw touched him. This starts a little spat that will only end when one of us gets up to sleep on the sofa.

Last night though, my husband bought me gifts.  Thinking I'd be miffed by the gift of earplugs, he tried to soften the blow with the gift of flowers first.  The flowers were pretty, but the earplugs?  Best gift.  Ever.   I tried the little wax plugs out last night, and I didn't hear a thing. I am thrilled with this most thoughtful gift, but please don't tell the neighborhood burglars that when I wear these, I'd sleep through a robbery.

Why don't we give these little relationship savers out as gifts at bridal showers? This little item is the key to saving closeness in a marriage and for $6, I call that a bargain.

Make Way for the Russian

Annual War Chant

May my favorite Swedes bring it on home tonight!!

Almost Speechless Monday

I'm down to the last forty rows...

Sweet!

Road Trip

I love a good road trip-especially when my honey does most of the driving and I do the naviguessing and knitting.  Since I have my Tom-Tom to take with us, I shouldn't get too many questions about where we are that I'll be fielding.  If you surmise this leaves me free to knit more, you're pretty astute.  I love that GPS thingymabob.

Neither one of us is taking much time off this summer.  No, this will be an autumn road trip to the east.  So far, we've considered travel through Toronto to Montreal where we'll spend a couple of days as tourists before we cross the border into the states again.  We like Montreal.  Maybe we'll spend a couple of days in the Adirondack region of New York, but we haven't decided yet.  We do have a destination in mind:  Rhinebeck, NY, in the Hudson River Valley.  My driver is a saint to accommodate my desire to go to this gargantuan fiber festival, don't you think? 

It should be beautiful in New York in the autumn and I'm looking forward to planning this journey.  Any suggestions for what we shouldn't miss on a trip like this?

Photo:  Les adirondacks  by Jessica Dubé

Keeping Score?

In case you've haven't been watching, or in case you haven't been able to get The Stanley Cup Finals on the telly (thanks Versus & the NHL), the match is now down to a best of 3.  We are even going into tonight's game.  Kind of trying on the nerves.  It would have been nice to win at least one of those away games-maybe the one Pittsburgh played with too many men on the ice.  I hope tonight's refs passed at least first grade math.

If you've been wondering how the ordeal is going at Rachel's Place, the score is Flakey 0, Rudee 1 in a TKO.  The Flake has left the building, never to darken that doorstep again.  One of the hospice spiritual care providers will be coming by to do a exorcism blessing on the home soon.  We plan to start anew on better ground.  As far as the APS investigation, it's still in progress.  I can't turn back what this person put into motion.  What a shame.

A Hard Rain is Gonna Fall

Why is it that for some people, it is hard to imagine what another person may be going through?  For instance, I have lost loved ones and while I may not know what it feels like for any other person, I certainly knows what it feels like to lose someone I love.  Given that, I can express my condolences and know that I mean what I say, and the recipient knows that my expression of compassion is heart felt.  I am always a bit befuddled by people who lack empathy for others and under no circumstances can imagine themselves in another's shoes.

Mr. Larger Than Life is one of those people.  He hasn't a clue how others may be feeling, because he couldn't possibly care less that they are feeling or experiencing anything.  When his friend's sister died recently, his major concern was that his friend jump right back into life, and more importantly, get busy entertaining him.  Lord knows the narcissist hates to be alone.

I find myself in a peculiar situation today.  Awakened by the ringing phone this morning, I found myself shocked to be talking to Adult Protective Services about a complaint that someone had kissed Rachel on the lips.  Knowing Rachel, she was the one who invaded the space and initiated the kiss.  Knowing Rachel, she was not playing tonsil hockey, and this was just a smooch; an expression of affection.  Being kissed, and giving kisses is something I had to teach her as an expression of love and affection and let me tell you, it wasn't easy to teach an autistic child to give and allow such a social demonstration of feelings.

Listening to my inner voice, I knew immediately who the coward was that initiated the anonymous complaint against her colleague and brought sorrow and anger down upon this sunny day.  Yes, it had to be the one person employed in that house who I don't like, and she's lodged a complaint to get under her colleague's skin in a manner that will be hurtful and damaging.  This person, let's just call her Flaky for lack of a better term (it's what I've called her since April), has lodged the complaint against Rachel's primary provider.  In doing so, she has brought a boat load of misery upon all of us, but most especially, Rachel's caregiver.  Although her complaint doesn't state that Rachel is being sexually abused, I'm sure she found herself thinking that the rest of us would be as homophobic as she and would be perfectly willing to think that all homosexuals are automatically sexual predators.  I can connect the dots alright, but not in the way she thinks.

This person is about to get a lesson she surely never saw coming.  My husband laughed at me when I said aloud to no one in particular, "I'm about to teach her the real definition of a bitch."

To be continued...

What?

What is it about this face that's calling me?  Is it a face so ugly only a mother could love it?  Personally, I think she is beautiful.  Maybe I should go meet her in person.  Maybe.

Here is what the website says about her:

Lady Godiva is a 8 month old, 46 lbs. Catahoula Leopard Female dog. She is a super sweet dog that has a ton of love to give. A mad, mad kisser! Very active, loves to run and play fetch.

Perfect.  She's a herding dog...

It's What's Not For Dinner

For years, my husband would call me at home to ask me what I made for dinner. Last year, after about 3 months with both of us working afternoon shifts, he stopped asking. Now I only cook on weekends, but that doesn't mean my expensive collection of pots and pans are going to waste. I've found a different weekday use for them, and what's for dinner tonight, is leftovers from Sunday.

I finished spinning one bag of Golden Hibiscus Creamsicle wool. On impulse, I bought a second bag so that I could knit something more substantial than a hat. Or a scarf. The first bag has given me about 250 yards of two ply yarn, which means I spun about 500 yards with a fairly thin consistency. I don't know how many wraps per inch I've achieved, but dry, this looks like a worsted weight yarn. I can't wait to swatch it out to see how it drapes, but with the sheen that the silk is giving this, I'm thinking it'll make a stunning tank top.

Tonight, I'll start spinning the second bag of Creamsicle wool so I can make way for my next spinning project. I have about two weeks or so to prepare it and plan on spending a lot of time at the yarn store so I can use the drum carder. This very slippery, short stapled fur belonged to a very special dog who passed away a couple of years ago. Way back then, I convinced my friend to groom her ailing Newfie and save his fur for spinning. I promised her that once I learned how, I'd spin him up into something worth keeping.


On June 19th, I'll start that project during an outdoor spinning and knitting benefit for a local animal shelter.

Stay Thirsty

Yesterday, Stephanie did a post on kitsch and today, I'm stealing her theme. Here is more over the top entertainment from yet another Canadian.



The Red Wings take their show on the road Tuesday and are up by two in this best of seven series. Because NBC seems to be having a love fest for Sidney Crosby (captain on the Pittsburgh team), I'm thankful that we get the Canadian Broadcasting Co. station. In fact on NBC, it's not the Stanley Cup Finals, it's the Sidney Crosby show. All Sidney, all the time. Though CBC broadcasts in high def, we don't get it in high definition here. I wish I could figure out a way to listen to the audio from CBC and match it to the picture streaming in on NBC.

I received one text last night about which orifice Sidney may look to find the elusive puck the Wings kept from him. Good one, FTM!