When I first met Mary, we were taking a patternmaking class at BYU. She has an infectious smile, bright eyes, and she always has something kind or encouraging to say. She and I (and about 4 other people) shared a table, and it was so crowded that, after a few weeks, I went to a different table with the theater people who didn't talk so much.
Mary has a gift for memory: She remembers everyone's name, and she can tell you the storyline of a film with such careful detail that you feel as though you are watching the movie. After our patternmaking class, I forgot her name but remembered her face -- and I'd see her on campus in various places and she'd call out my name, and I'd be so embarrassed I'd have forgotten her name! I don't have the memory gift like she does, and even when I tell a story, it's hard for me to remember a complete sentence sometimes. So, when she'd visit with me, I'd try to remember her name while she chatted, and I'd be frustrated for a few hours afterwards that I couldn't remember. I think she could tell, but she's so kind and she must have forgiven me.
About a year after our patternmaking class, I took three sewing classes in one semester. Mary was the T.A. for one, and my classmate for another. She'd gotten married just months before that semester, to a theater student -- so she and I saw each other more often, too, and we would visit. Amongst all this familiarity with each other, I'm sure she thought she could trust me with a question: "How do you forgive?" I was confounded. There were areas of life I thought I would be able to give advice, such as how to keep cut flowers fresh for longer, or how to make a loaf of bread, or maybe, how to put a tuck in a bodice . . . I don't know, I just didn't think I really had any level of expertise on the subject of forgiveness.
When I asked for a little more information -- ". . . but not too much, mind you" -- she told me that she has a couple of sisters who haven't forgiven her. Apparently, she did something dreadful (and, if you know Mary, it must have been pretty benign, whatever it was) and worked it out with her bishop, and he gave her a temple recommend and she got married in the temple. When she told me this, I was very happy for her and I congratulated her on repenting and being forgiven. But she went on to tell me that her sisters talked to her bishop to prevent him from giving Mary a temple recommend, and when that didn't work, they both turned against her, severing all contact with her and snubbing her at church. They didn't attend her wedding, and when she's asked for their forgiveness, they have been cruel to her. In fact, when their father came around to reestablish bonds with Mary, the sisters cut him off, too.
I was sure when she told me this that there was just a misunderstanding or a misinterpretation, but when she told me examples of things her sisters did to her, and the way they talked to her, I was perplexed. First of all, whatever she'd done was worked out with the bishop. Second of all, if she'd sinned against her sisters, she'd clearly done all she could to work things out with them. And if the sin wasn't committed against them, why are they trying to ruin her life, anyway?
It broke Mary's heart (and mine) that her very own sisters would have so much hate for her. Her sisters, it seemed, got together to talk about her and perhaps made something out of it that wasn't there, really -- or just made what Mary'd done seem worse, until her name just wasn't safe with them anymore. That's perhaps one of the strongest powers of gossip.
I admire Mary for her faithful persistence amid expected rejection. I know people with whom my name is not safe, and I don't try to repair the broken bridges like Mary does. I have wondered why Mary would want to reestablish a relationship with these girls, and she says, "They are my family." I guess that should be enough.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Reason
I realize now why I named this blog "Creative Musings": I was going to do a bunch of fabulous knitting and sewing projects and document them here. I forgot a long time ago about this blog I started a few years back, and hadn't even cared enough to post a single entry. It may be a coincidence that I also never take pictures, and since I don't, I haven't figured out how to put pictures from the camera to the computer.
So "Creative Musings" is kindof a dorky name -- and it's even dorkier since that's not really what it is -- but I'm not really thinking of a better name for it.
At least it's pink.
So "Creative Musings" is kindof a dorky name -- and it's even dorkier since that's not really what it is -- but I'm not really thinking of a better name for it.
At least it's pink.
He Loves Me!
Last Friday I had about the worst day EVAH!! I got off work at Crumb Brothers and we had some Indian food that the boss had bought, which was incredible. I get off at 2:00 and have work at 4:00 at Angie's, so usually that's a break to go home and change clothes and do all my errands. But this time, the other baker (Gaby) and I had been asked to attend a meeting with the owner and managers at Angie's. I knew nothing about the meeting; I wasn't sure if we were in trouble or if it was just with one of the managers or where it even took place. Gaby and I agreed to meet there at 3:15 or so.
Well, I got done eating Indian food at around 2:50, and I debated the entire ride to Angie's whether or not I'd deposit my paycheck, because I wasn't sure I was going to have time. Also, did I have everything with me, what was I going to do in the evening after work, why the hey do I have to make pies that night?? Lots of stuff was going through my head. I got there and, since I didn't know what the meeting really WAS, or WHERE was going to be, or WHO to ask for, I just sat in the lobby. I sat there for a good half-hour, kindof impatient, because that was a half-hour that I was supposed to be at the "Mysterious Meeting," and if I wasn't there, I could have at least done some of my errands. Finally Gaby showed up, and we went to the meeting. The managers and owner were talking about "stuff," and I didn't really know why we'd been invited. But whatever. They asked for us to give them "imput," but I wasn't sure what they wanted to hear, since I hadn't been involved in the meeting for the last hour or so. Then they mentioned that Gaby and I were both single, and they teased us, and that made me uncomfortable. Technically, I do have a boyfriend -- but I didn't want to mention that right then because I don't think it's anyone's business to discuss at a work meeting, no matter how nice these men all are.
Enter the freakshow: I had to make about 11 pies. Now, for one thing, I confess that I've had a really hard time with piecrusts. I learned how to make piecrusts in culinary school. The first one I made was marvelous. Second one, too. I didn't know I could NOT make a perfect pie crust! Then I got this job at Angie's. I told the guy who interviewed me that I knew how to make pies. I DID! I learned, and I made awesome pies, and everyone lived happily ever after -- UNTIL I got this job! Sometimes they shrink down into the pie plate, which really bothers me. Gaby says that's normal, with our recipe, with our flour, with our pie plates, with our convection oven. The crust tastes awesome, but it looks so strange, and that's really bothered me -- to the point where I'll fill and decorate the cream pies, but I don't like to build the pie crusts. But this day, she forced me to.
So I was already in a bad mood. The bad mood was perhaps enhanced by some chemical fluctuations that occur about every four weeks for most girls, and happened to occur during the time period I was mentioning (last week, to be more precise). I'd also had a few difficult experiences in the previous days, which don't need mentioning -- but they have to do with the story here in that they were emotionally traumatizing: Suffice it to say, I was at the end of my rope. As I was minding my own business, this punk server came in and got really belligerent and nasty with me, and as he was attempting to forcefully take away the equipment I was actively using, I made my decision to immediately shoot death crystals out my eyes. That may not have been what I was thinking, but it describes the frustration I was having to deal with at that moment. I left to solve his problem so that he wouldn't encroach upon my tiny little space, and I came back and turned off the loud, repetitive Hispanic music and wend to work on the MILLION PIES I had to work on! Well, I made 11 pies that looked like barf. I was so discouraged and frustrated and I just wanted to get in bed with my blankie, plus I had to work at 6:00 the next morning, and the prospect of that wasn't something I looked forward to, either.
Gaby was understanding, and she encouraged me to go home and get some sleep, for she could take care of the bakery alone that night (especially since she wasn't coming the next day). I clocked out and made a break for the door, and I walked over to my bike to unlock it. Something was wrong: When I removed it from the bike rack, I noted that the front tire was 100% completely flat. "Someone SLASHED my TIRE!! It was that PUNK'S BUDDY!!! Or maybe one of the Hispanics who was mad I turned off his music. Or maybe it was SATAN!!!" Miraculously, I didn't sob hysterically. I just walked home and called my sweetheart to ask if he'd pick it up in his truck the next day. He came over with it a little while later.
Next morning, I got up at 4:00 so I could be ready to walk to work just after 5:00, because I had to work at 6:00, and I didn't know how long it would take to walk those 9 or 10 blocks. I got there in plenty of time. My supervisor was the one who was nearly 45 minutes late.
We had a whirlwind busy day on Saturday. Most the bread was gone by around 11:00, so we had a pastry worker there until around 12:45, making sure we would have something to sell for the next hour or so. Crazy busy, crazy busy. I even saw one of my former supervisors from BYU come in and get some treats . . . but we were so busy, I couldn't chat.
During a brief lull, my sweetheart (Joel) came in with his motorbiking gear on, and I was jealous. I wanted to be out riding in the gorgeous weather, too! He bought a cookie and left. And I washed more dishes and brewed more coffee and cleaned up more messes and . . . What a long day!
Joel came to get me after work, and he talked about cars and about what sorts of features I like to have in a car, and what features are available . . . We passed the turnoff for my house, and he talked . . . We passed the turnoff for my other work, and he talked . . . He said something about test-driving a car. We drove to a car dealership, and he took me on a test-drive. Very nice car. We drove to his friend's house, and spoke to the friend's wife, and I mentioned to her that my bike is broken, and Joel said it wasn't! I was a little confused; of course he had to know that it had gotten a flat tire. When I'd seen it the night before, it was so flat that it couldn't have just pumped itself up. It was pretty severe; I was sure it was a goner. So I asked him if he'd fixed it, and he admitted that he had. I thought, "Oh, well then, I need to just keep a tire pump with me."
On Sunday, Joel and I took a motorcycle ride and then we rode in his black car to his friend's house and we had a lovely time. Then last night I rode my bike to his house and he drove me back in his beater truck -- the first time we'd ridden in it for several days. I got in, and there was a bike tire on the seat -- he told me it was my old bike tire, and that I'd ridden over a pretty big thorn, which is typical to do this time of year. I was astounded! I thought he'd just pumped the tire up, and I thought I was the luckiest girl alive, that my sweet boyfriend would come over to my house and pump up my tire so I could get around! But he'd actually taken his Saturday to replace it and not even tell me about what it took to have that done!
My goodness, he really loves me!
Well, I got done eating Indian food at around 2:50, and I debated the entire ride to Angie's whether or not I'd deposit my paycheck, because I wasn't sure I was going to have time. Also, did I have everything with me, what was I going to do in the evening after work, why the hey do I have to make pies that night?? Lots of stuff was going through my head. I got there and, since I didn't know what the meeting really WAS, or WHERE was going to be, or WHO to ask for, I just sat in the lobby. I sat there for a good half-hour, kindof impatient, because that was a half-hour that I was supposed to be at the "Mysterious Meeting," and if I wasn't there, I could have at least done some of my errands. Finally Gaby showed up, and we went to the meeting. The managers and owner were talking about "stuff," and I didn't really know why we'd been invited. But whatever. They asked for us to give them "imput," but I wasn't sure what they wanted to hear, since I hadn't been involved in the meeting for the last hour or so. Then they mentioned that Gaby and I were both single, and they teased us, and that made me uncomfortable. Technically, I do have a boyfriend -- but I didn't want to mention that right then because I don't think it's anyone's business to discuss at a work meeting, no matter how nice these men all are.
Enter the freakshow: I had to make about 11 pies. Now, for one thing, I confess that I've had a really hard time with piecrusts. I learned how to make piecrusts in culinary school. The first one I made was marvelous. Second one, too. I didn't know I could NOT make a perfect pie crust! Then I got this job at Angie's. I told the guy who interviewed me that I knew how to make pies. I DID! I learned, and I made awesome pies, and everyone lived happily ever after -- UNTIL I got this job! Sometimes they shrink down into the pie plate, which really bothers me. Gaby says that's normal, with our recipe, with our flour, with our pie plates, with our convection oven. The crust tastes awesome, but it looks so strange, and that's really bothered me -- to the point where I'll fill and decorate the cream pies, but I don't like to build the pie crusts. But this day, she forced me to.
So I was already in a bad mood. The bad mood was perhaps enhanced by some chemical fluctuations that occur about every four weeks for most girls, and happened to occur during the time period I was mentioning (last week, to be more precise). I'd also had a few difficult experiences in the previous days, which don't need mentioning -- but they have to do with the story here in that they were emotionally traumatizing: Suffice it to say, I was at the end of my rope. As I was minding my own business, this punk server came in and got really belligerent and nasty with me, and as he was attempting to forcefully take away the equipment I was actively using, I made my decision to immediately shoot death crystals out my eyes. That may not have been what I was thinking, but it describes the frustration I was having to deal with at that moment. I left to solve his problem so that he wouldn't encroach upon my tiny little space, and I came back and turned off the loud, repetitive Hispanic music and wend to work on the MILLION PIES I had to work on! Well, I made 11 pies that looked like barf. I was so discouraged and frustrated and I just wanted to get in bed with my blankie, plus I had to work at 6:00 the next morning, and the prospect of that wasn't something I looked forward to, either.
Gaby was understanding, and she encouraged me to go home and get some sleep, for she could take care of the bakery alone that night (especially since she wasn't coming the next day). I clocked out and made a break for the door, and I walked over to my bike to unlock it. Something was wrong: When I removed it from the bike rack, I noted that the front tire was 100% completely flat. "Someone SLASHED my TIRE!! It was that PUNK'S BUDDY!!! Or maybe one of the Hispanics who was mad I turned off his music. Or maybe it was SATAN!!!" Miraculously, I didn't sob hysterically. I just walked home and called my sweetheart to ask if he'd pick it up in his truck the next day. He came over with it a little while later.
Next morning, I got up at 4:00 so I could be ready to walk to work just after 5:00, because I had to work at 6:00, and I didn't know how long it would take to walk those 9 or 10 blocks. I got there in plenty of time. My supervisor was the one who was nearly 45 minutes late.
We had a whirlwind busy day on Saturday. Most the bread was gone by around 11:00, so we had a pastry worker there until around 12:45, making sure we would have something to sell for the next hour or so. Crazy busy, crazy busy. I even saw one of my former supervisors from BYU come in and get some treats . . . but we were so busy, I couldn't chat.
During a brief lull, my sweetheart (Joel) came in with his motorbiking gear on, and I was jealous. I wanted to be out riding in the gorgeous weather, too! He bought a cookie and left. And I washed more dishes and brewed more coffee and cleaned up more messes and . . . What a long day!
Joel came to get me after work, and he talked about cars and about what sorts of features I like to have in a car, and what features are available . . . We passed the turnoff for my house, and he talked . . . We passed the turnoff for my other work, and he talked . . . He said something about test-driving a car. We drove to a car dealership, and he took me on a test-drive. Very nice car. We drove to his friend's house, and spoke to the friend's wife, and I mentioned to her that my bike is broken, and Joel said it wasn't! I was a little confused; of course he had to know that it had gotten a flat tire. When I'd seen it the night before, it was so flat that it couldn't have just pumped itself up. It was pretty severe; I was sure it was a goner. So I asked him if he'd fixed it, and he admitted that he had. I thought, "Oh, well then, I need to just keep a tire pump with me."
On Sunday, Joel and I took a motorcycle ride and then we rode in his black car to his friend's house and we had a lovely time. Then last night I rode my bike to his house and he drove me back in his beater truck -- the first time we'd ridden in it for several days. I got in, and there was a bike tire on the seat -- he told me it was my old bike tire, and that I'd ridden over a pretty big thorn, which is typical to do this time of year. I was astounded! I thought he'd just pumped the tire up, and I thought I was the luckiest girl alive, that my sweet boyfriend would come over to my house and pump up my tire so I could get around! But he'd actually taken his Saturday to replace it and not even tell me about what it took to have that done!
My goodness, he really loves me!
Monday, September 15, 2008
Marmalade
I love marmalade. They have it at my work, and I like to eat it on bread. I think they home-make their own marmalade at Crumb Brothers, which is why it's different and GOOD. The marmalade of my past hasn't been so delightful.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Vroom! Vroom!
"Oh, so THAT'S why guys like motorcycles!"
We don't have much of a summer left here in good ole Cache Valley. Yesterday I was working at Crumb Brothers, and we were super busy -- I can't even think of a good way to describe the insane busyness! Well, the weather was just absolutely gorgeous. I hadn't taken much notice of it, however, until my sweetheart (Joel) came walking through the door in his motorbiking gear. He'd driven down to see me and to get a treat, and as I looked at him and looked around at how much work I had to do, my heart was torn. Our days of good motorbiking weather were not to last much longer, and I work every Saturday from 6:00 a.m. to 9:00 p.m., with only a 2-hour layover.
Today Joel came over for lunch, with provisions (such as chicken and pasta and sauce) in his backpack. Of course, I provide the bread from Crumb Brothers! (We get a loaf every day we work, provided we didn't sell out of it.) Joel suggested we take a ride on his motorbike. We've only taken a few rides together, so I'm still a little inexperienced. However, he did tell me it's getting easier for him to drive around with me, because I don't wobble around quite as much. I think maybe the leg muscles that keep me on, know what to do now. Yay! (So I don't have to tumble around tomorrow with sore legs!) We went up Smithfield Canyon and he showed me his high school (we were both bobcats! Just a coincidence? Impossible!). It gets a little bit difficult to speak to one another when we're driving, because of the wind that goes past our faces, plus our ears are covered -- and I have kindof a fear of bugs flying into my mouth when I make the "ah" sound as I talk. Or shout, as I would have to when we're on a bike together.
And I don't know why I don't tuck my hair in my jacket! It whips around and gets knotty. It's not like I don't know it will happen! I'm probably just insane.
Anyway, up the canyon, the trees are all changing colors. I love the bigtooth maples! They turn a deep pink/orange/red color as if to say, "I'm going to look beautiful for one last shot before I lose my leaves and don't make shade or beauty for the entire winter!" I just love those trees. I take their message maybe a little too personally, and it makes me love those trees like they're my friends. Plus, their leaves have such a cute shape!
Everything seems more beautiful in a motorcycle. I love riding my bicycle around, going slowly, with the wind in my hair and my feet going in circle after circle. For some reason, I just really like riding my bike! I don't like to drive that much, but I love my bike! The motorcycle seems like it's just a hybrid. You get the freedom of riding on a bicycle, but with the speed of a car! (We hit over 70 mph on that thing. I think I MIGHT have hit 19 mph on my bicycle.)
I like motorcycles.
We don't have much of a summer left here in good ole Cache Valley. Yesterday I was working at Crumb Brothers, and we were super busy -- I can't even think of a good way to describe the insane busyness! Well, the weather was just absolutely gorgeous. I hadn't taken much notice of it, however, until my sweetheart (Joel) came walking through the door in his motorbiking gear. He'd driven down to see me and to get a treat, and as I looked at him and looked around at how much work I had to do, my heart was torn. Our days of good motorbiking weather were not to last much longer, and I work every Saturday from 6:00 a.m. to 9:00 p.m., with only a 2-hour layover.
Today Joel came over for lunch, with provisions (such as chicken and pasta and sauce) in his backpack. Of course, I provide the bread from Crumb Brothers! (We get a loaf every day we work, provided we didn't sell out of it.) Joel suggested we take a ride on his motorbike. We've only taken a few rides together, so I'm still a little inexperienced. However, he did tell me it's getting easier for him to drive around with me, because I don't wobble around quite as much. I think maybe the leg muscles that keep me on, know what to do now. Yay! (So I don't have to tumble around tomorrow with sore legs!) We went up Smithfield Canyon and he showed me his high school (we were both bobcats! Just a coincidence? Impossible!). It gets a little bit difficult to speak to one another when we're driving, because of the wind that goes past our faces, plus our ears are covered -- and I have kindof a fear of bugs flying into my mouth when I make the "ah" sound as I talk. Or shout, as I would have to when we're on a bike together.
And I don't know why I don't tuck my hair in my jacket! It whips around and gets knotty. It's not like I don't know it will happen! I'm probably just insane.
Anyway, up the canyon, the trees are all changing colors. I love the bigtooth maples! They turn a deep pink/orange/red color as if to say, "I'm going to look beautiful for one last shot before I lose my leaves and don't make shade or beauty for the entire winter!" I just love those trees. I take their message maybe a little too personally, and it makes me love those trees like they're my friends. Plus, their leaves have such a cute shape!
Everything seems more beautiful in a motorcycle. I love riding my bicycle around, going slowly, with the wind in my hair and my feet going in circle after circle. For some reason, I just really like riding my bike! I don't like to drive that much, but I love my bike! The motorcycle seems like it's just a hybrid. You get the freedom of riding on a bicycle, but with the speed of a car! (We hit over 70 mph on that thing. I think I MIGHT have hit 19 mph on my bicycle.)
I like motorcycles.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Socks for Christmas
Good grief. I can't believe how difficult it is to find a decent Christmas stocking pattern these days. You know, years ago, if you wanted to wear socks, you had to make them out of bias-cut woven fabric (which, I am told, are not comfortable) or you had to knit them yourself. (Or get a friend or close family member to do it for you -- or live in Hawaii and just wear sandals.) I bet everyone had a sock pattern sitting around SOMEplace.
Nowadays, knitting is an elitist activity. Nice yarn costs a fortune. The needles alone can cost as much as a new pair of jeans, sometimes. For sure, you can go to the craft store and find aluminum needles and acrylic yarn -- but having stitches fall off your needles (and enjoying the accompanying blisters on your fingers) is frustrating. And then you have a project finished with acrylic yarn, which catches on my fingers and snags. Plus, it pills and has an oily feeling. Acrylic is great for afghans, but little else I like to do.
I don't mind paying for nice bamboo needles I'll use again. Or for wool yarn in delightful muted shades. And I don't mind paying $20 for a pattern book, if it will have a few patterns I'll use. All these purchases combined cause me to eliminate other "frivolities," like groceries and doing laundry with the expensive coin-operated washers and dryers (and washing clothes in the bathtub is virtually free! Blowdrying them with a hair dryer and risking burning a hole in them is a concern, though). But sacrificing these money-wasters is worth it -- IF I can get tools and supplies that work for me.
I've searched so many pattern books, though, for the perfect sock pattern. I have a Christmas stocking pattern book I bought a couple years ago (and used a pattern from to make stockings for my parents' family they have home for Christmas). It was a good book. Still available, too. Problem is, my copy is in storage (in Oregon). "Storage" means that you paid for it once but don't really HAVE it, but someday will . . . when you own a house or something. Also, I wanted a different pattern to try, if I'm going to make a set for one of my sisters and each of her kids.
She gave me permission to make judgement calls on how they are going to look, in regards to colors and patterns. One of the cool things about this sister, is that she appreciates the thought, AND the gift! And when yarn costs what it does, and when knitting takes so long to do, she's the kind of recipient I like to make things for. She's not the kind of person to say, "Oh, what a nice thought," and then you never see it displayed in her house because she gave it to D.I. or some pet to eat up "accidentally," saying to herself, "It's the thought that counts." But knitting is a very labor-intensive activity, and takes a lot of time -- not only in the actual knitting of the project, but also in the 42 times you have to unravel parts that didn't "look right" and shopping for the nice yarn and looking for the "perfect pattern."
Well, finding the "perfect pattern" has proven to be a lost cause, so far. All I want to do is a stripey sock with a cute wedge-shaped heel and toe to use as the main color. You can find socks like that to WEAR. Machines know how to make those socks. Hand-knitted socks almost ALWAYS have this strange triangle-shaped gusset and a heel flap -- not a cute little wedge-shaped heel. Every dang book on the market has a pattern for a knitted bikini! Are ya CRAZY?? Who would wear one of those?? Put a drop of water on them, and they get saggy! It's got to be more embarrassing for the people who are trying to divert their eyes than for the wearer. But I digress. Why don't these pattern books have a decent sock pattern?
I'm sure it's a conspiracy. I'm taking it personally, too. I'm trying to think of something to do about it. I don't need a hundred patterns. I don't even need 1 1/2 patterns -- I just need ONE pattern! I've got a pattern someone found on the Internet, but I'll have to make all manner of adjustments to it (part of the time-consuming factor I mentioned above), by following the pattern once and then figuring out what was done and what to do, and then unraveling it and making the "real" one and writing a new pattern out. Not that I mind doing that -- I was happy to have even found a pattern with a cute wedge-shaped heel at all! But you know, just about every illustration of a Christmas scene with the fireplace in childrens' books have the cute stocking with a perfect wedge-shaped heel and toe in a contrasting color. I don't think I've ever seen a scene like that with knitted bikinis.
Nowadays, knitting is an elitist activity. Nice yarn costs a fortune. The needles alone can cost as much as a new pair of jeans, sometimes. For sure, you can go to the craft store and find aluminum needles and acrylic yarn -- but having stitches fall off your needles (and enjoying the accompanying blisters on your fingers) is frustrating. And then you have a project finished with acrylic yarn, which catches on my fingers and snags. Plus, it pills and has an oily feeling. Acrylic is great for afghans, but little else I like to do.
I don't mind paying for nice bamboo needles I'll use again. Or for wool yarn in delightful muted shades. And I don't mind paying $20 for a pattern book, if it will have a few patterns I'll use. All these purchases combined cause me to eliminate other "frivolities," like groceries and doing laundry with the expensive coin-operated washers and dryers (and washing clothes in the bathtub is virtually free! Blowdrying them with a hair dryer and risking burning a hole in them is a concern, though). But sacrificing these money-wasters is worth it -- IF I can get tools and supplies that work for me.
I've searched so many pattern books, though, for the perfect sock pattern. I have a Christmas stocking pattern book I bought a couple years ago (and used a pattern from to make stockings for my parents' family they have home for Christmas). It was a good book. Still available, too. Problem is, my copy is in storage (in Oregon). "Storage" means that you paid for it once but don't really HAVE it, but someday will . . . when you own a house or something. Also, I wanted a different pattern to try, if I'm going to make a set for one of my sisters and each of her kids.
She gave me permission to make judgement calls on how they are going to look, in regards to colors and patterns. One of the cool things about this sister, is that she appreciates the thought, AND the gift! And when yarn costs what it does, and when knitting takes so long to do, she's the kind of recipient I like to make things for. She's not the kind of person to say, "Oh, what a nice thought," and then you never see it displayed in her house because she gave it to D.I. or some pet to eat up "accidentally," saying to herself, "It's the thought that counts." But knitting is a very labor-intensive activity, and takes a lot of time -- not only in the actual knitting of the project, but also in the 42 times you have to unravel parts that didn't "look right" and shopping for the nice yarn and looking for the "perfect pattern."
Well, finding the "perfect pattern" has proven to be a lost cause, so far. All I want to do is a stripey sock with a cute wedge-shaped heel and toe to use as the main color. You can find socks like that to WEAR. Machines know how to make those socks. Hand-knitted socks almost ALWAYS have this strange triangle-shaped gusset and a heel flap -- not a cute little wedge-shaped heel. Every dang book on the market has a pattern for a knitted bikini! Are ya CRAZY?? Who would wear one of those?? Put a drop of water on them, and they get saggy! It's got to be more embarrassing for the people who are trying to divert their eyes than for the wearer. But I digress. Why don't these pattern books have a decent sock pattern?
I'm sure it's a conspiracy. I'm taking it personally, too. I'm trying to think of something to do about it. I don't need a hundred patterns. I don't even need 1 1/2 patterns -- I just need ONE pattern! I've got a pattern someone found on the Internet, but I'll have to make all manner of adjustments to it (part of the time-consuming factor I mentioned above), by following the pattern once and then figuring out what was done and what to do, and then unraveling it and making the "real" one and writing a new pattern out. Not that I mind doing that -- I was happy to have even found a pattern with a cute wedge-shaped heel at all! But you know, just about every illustration of a Christmas scene with the fireplace in childrens' books have the cute stocking with a perfect wedge-shaped heel and toe in a contrasting color. I don't think I've ever seen a scene like that with knitted bikinis.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Girls' Night Out
Wednesday is chicken cordon bleu soup at Angie's. I told Sharalen that, and she said she'd be by on Wednesday to have a taste. She invited Sharlee (our cousin) to have a Girls' Night Out, and we agreed on a time.
It was fun. I think we solved the problems of the universe. Actually, girls don't solve problems. Guys do that. It's best if guys solve problems amongst themselves. Girls just need someone to say, "Oh, I can understand how you feel. Gosh, that must be horrible," or "I've been through that before; jee, that's hard." Why is that so hard to grasp?
I notice I get a little more uptight when I am talking to my boyfriend about a problem, and he says, "Have you thought about such-and-thus?" or "What you need to do is . . . " and the translation to me is, "Here's more responsibility," or "If you were smart, you would have already solved your problem elsewise." I don't want to hear that. Something CORRECT would be, "Wow, I can tell you're really worried about that. Let me give you a hug," or "Let's solve that problem a little later when we can both think through it. Right now, let's go for a walk or play a quick game of Uno." Really, the message I want to hear is, "You are validated. You are smart but a little frustrated. And you are beautiful and sweet." I don't need someone to tell me how to think. At least, not when I'm emotional and frustrated about something. I don't think I'm all that weird.
Really, if some guy wants to solve my problems, he can go right ahead on and solve them. Guys just want to tell you what to do. Not that THEY would do the same thing in the situation. It's funny. It makes me laugh.
Even my little brothers do that. They're 7.
Jacob doesn't try to solve my problems. He's a good listener.
Sharalen also shared a secret long forgotten: my first Barbie name. The name was "Sliver." Like the thing that gets stuck under your skin when you rub your hand on a raw piece of wood. Sharalen said I thought it was a pretty name. Actually, I never thought it was a pretty name. I remember naming my Barbie "Sliver," and wanting to change it. I'm pretty sure Melodie said, "Well, if you pick that name, you have to stick with it." I was encouraged to think it was a lovely name, anyway. I remember feeling confused as we played Barbies with a cardboard box being the house. We had little Barbie accessories, like a platter for a roast, and some candle sticks, and an ice tray. We also had dinner plates. All were real metal. Over the years they've gotten lost. But they were really cute. Anyway, Sharalen said that Mom told her that I chose "Sliver" as my Barbie's name, and not to make fun of me about it. Actually, that might have been BETTER, cause then I'd have known FOR SURE that it wasn't even a name!! Children are so gullible.
Sonnet named her pink stuffed cat "Morbo Daunted." Where she came up with that, I think I will never know. She thought it up, though. It's different when you're duped into thinking someone else's creation is fab. Melodie did that stuff to me all the time. I wasn't the kind of kid to catch on.
Sharalen and Sharlee and I had some pie I made that Sharalen bought. Mmm. It was nice and fresh, and CHOCOLATEY! Yes, the other baker and I decided it needed more of a chocolate flavor. We are awesome, pretty much.
I don't remember right off what all other things we talked about. There are a few, but not that I can really expound upon. My head is tired, besides. We chatted for about three hours.
Girls' Night Out is a great treat. I recommend it.
It was fun. I think we solved the problems of the universe. Actually, girls don't solve problems. Guys do that. It's best if guys solve problems amongst themselves. Girls just need someone to say, "Oh, I can understand how you feel. Gosh, that must be horrible," or "I've been through that before; jee, that's hard." Why is that so hard to grasp?
I notice I get a little more uptight when I am talking to my boyfriend about a problem, and he says, "Have you thought about such-and-thus?" or "What you need to do is . . . " and the translation to me is, "Here's more responsibility," or "If you were smart, you would have already solved your problem elsewise." I don't want to hear that. Something CORRECT would be, "Wow, I can tell you're really worried about that. Let me give you a hug," or "Let's solve that problem a little later when we can both think through it. Right now, let's go for a walk or play a quick game of Uno." Really, the message I want to hear is, "You are validated. You are smart but a little frustrated. And you are beautiful and sweet." I don't need someone to tell me how to think. At least, not when I'm emotional and frustrated about something. I don't think I'm all that weird.
Really, if some guy wants to solve my problems, he can go right ahead on and solve them. Guys just want to tell you what to do. Not that THEY would do the same thing in the situation. It's funny. It makes me laugh.
Even my little brothers do that. They're 7.
Jacob doesn't try to solve my problems. He's a good listener.
Sharalen also shared a secret long forgotten: my first Barbie name. The name was "Sliver." Like the thing that gets stuck under your skin when you rub your hand on a raw piece of wood. Sharalen said I thought it was a pretty name. Actually, I never thought it was a pretty name. I remember naming my Barbie "Sliver," and wanting to change it. I'm pretty sure Melodie said, "Well, if you pick that name, you have to stick with it." I was encouraged to think it was a lovely name, anyway. I remember feeling confused as we played Barbies with a cardboard box being the house. We had little Barbie accessories, like a platter for a roast, and some candle sticks, and an ice tray. We also had dinner plates. All were real metal. Over the years they've gotten lost. But they were really cute. Anyway, Sharalen said that Mom told her that I chose "Sliver" as my Barbie's name, and not to make fun of me about it. Actually, that might have been BETTER, cause then I'd have known FOR SURE that it wasn't even a name!! Children are so gullible.
Sonnet named her pink stuffed cat "Morbo Daunted." Where she came up with that, I think I will never know. She thought it up, though. It's different when you're duped into thinking someone else's creation is fab. Melodie did that stuff to me all the time. I wasn't the kind of kid to catch on.
Sharalen and Sharlee and I had some pie I made that Sharalen bought. Mmm. It was nice and fresh, and CHOCOLATEY! Yes, the other baker and I decided it needed more of a chocolate flavor. We are awesome, pretty much.
I don't remember right off what all other things we talked about. There are a few, but not that I can really expound upon. My head is tired, besides. We chatted for about three hours.
Girls' Night Out is a great treat. I recommend it.
Works for Me!
Welluh . . .
I didn't expect anyone would READ my blog. I sortof started it up because Rachel was writing on hers, and no one read it, and I thought, "Hey, score!!" So I thought I could write ANYTHING I WANTED, mwah hah haaaaaaaaa, but it sounds like I'm all whiny in that last blog. I could have been a lot whinier (I have whine talents that I try not to exercise too much), and I'm glad I wasn't. But I was still whiny. Many apologies!
Fact is, I had two interviews yesterday and they both went well. I interviewed first at the dry cleaning shop down about two blocks from my house. Great location. Full-time. Work that's not too difficult (by the way, the presses they use are NOT prissy little domestic irons -- they are some sort of INCREDIBLE!! The entire ironing BOARD is an iron, that opens and closes like a sandwich, and each has little gadgets you engage to vacuum, close, steam, open, blah blah blah . . . and you have to do it all in the right order. Pretty intense). Anyway, they paid pretty well, too. I spent an hour ironing polo shirts. Yes, polo shirts. I told the owner (the only man in the place) that I'd be leaving now, for I had an interview elsewhere. Then the guilt, "What do I do?" he asked me. Uh, well guess what: I've been applying other places, too. I'd be an idiot if I applied one place and sat around until I heard back from them . . . or not. (Some places don't call you to tell you that they chose someone else, guesswhat. But I'm not blogging about THEM.) I was sortof relieved to leave.
I arrived at Crumb Brothers shortly thereafter. The girl at the front desk greeted me. She had a pink hat on. I knew we could be friends or enemies, but definitely not acquaintances. However, I was escorted to the manager's office. We spoke briefly, and she told me what goes on around there. The bright rays of the afternoon sun flooded the entire facility in such a way as to say, "I love you!" Outside the office, about 4 guys and a girl shaped bread to be baked the next morning. Some of the bread loaves were wrapped in cloth, rather than sitting on an aluminum full-sheet pan over parchment. Every other bakery I've ever worked at used the pan and parchment, except the bakery at Angie's, who is too cheap to use parchment! The manager later explained to me that they use linen (say "linen" to me, and I sigh -- I LOVE linen!) because it has natural oil in it from the flax used to make it. I just about raised my hand with an "Ooh, ooh! I know! I know how they make it!" and described with full detail how reeds are collected and soaked and pounded and soaked and blah blah blah, linen comes out! But I didn't. I just glowed. Almost as bright as the sun coming through the huge windows, but not quite. I'm smaller than the windows. The manager (her name is Jan, and I think I'll call her that from now on) told me that she was sorry she couldn't offer me more money, but there were perks. For example, each employee gets to take home a loaf of bread every day! *sigh* AND, she told me that they don't use ANY commercial yeast in their breads; they make a starter a couple days before, so a loaf of bread will take two days to make. They only have ONE ingredient that's not from scratch, and that's an apricot glaze. That's the only thing they don't MAKE there. They also don't use hydrogenated fats; they only use olive oil and butter. That's why the breads taste so friggin' good!!! And they have a GREAT melt-in-your-mouth pleasurable feel to them. Gosh. I asked her how many people she was going to interview, and she said that she'd interviewed a couple of people, and that if I wanted the job, it's mine. Some sort of squeal of delight I'm sure was heard in some other realm, and I think my spirit jumped out of my body and did a "celebration dance," which the other spirits probably saw and either laughed hysterically or watched with horrific realization that I just don't dance very well. As I left the shop, the girl at the front (her name is Krista) brought me a loaf of ciabatta bread, and a lemon scone and a cinnamon puff. When I'd gone to pick up an application last week, I bought a lemon scone and a cinnamon puff to take with me!! And she REMEMBERED!! I know, that girl in the pink hat is AWESOME!!
I prayed about which job to take. It was hard. Only an idiot would choose the lower-paying, lower-hours, farther-away job (I ride a bike, not a car). But when I reflected on the feelings I had about each interview, the feeling of terror flowed through my sinews as I thought of working full-time at the hot, dark, crowded, dusty dry cleaners for eight hours every day with 5 gossipy women and one male owner. And I thought of working at the front desk for much less money, many fewer hours, 7 blocks away, where the angels were hanging out and singing happy songs, like Earth, Wind, & Fire songs that just make you feel all positive and cheery. I love Earth, Wind, & Fire.
I gave the guy at the cleaners a call and said I'd chosen the other job, and he said, "Okay, that works out just great, then." I thought, "Hm, I guess it's going to work out just fine, then. I don't want to be there, anyway." I called Jan at Crumb Brothers to tell her I'd decided to accept that job, and she said, "Oh, I'm so excited that you'll be working with us!! Can you start tomorrow at 10:00?"
We'll see how it turns out. I'll still be keeping my job at Angie's. She must be the "Dinna Sista." (Like, Crumb Brothers, Dinna Sista . . . Well, I just made it up. I think it's way creative and hilarious.)
Yay!
I didn't expect anyone would READ my blog. I sortof started it up because Rachel was writing on hers, and no one read it, and I thought, "Hey, score!!" So I thought I could write ANYTHING I WANTED, mwah hah haaaaaaaaa, but it sounds like I'm all whiny in that last blog. I could have been a lot whinier (I have whine talents that I try not to exercise too much), and I'm glad I wasn't. But I was still whiny. Many apologies!
Fact is, I had two interviews yesterday and they both went well. I interviewed first at the dry cleaning shop down about two blocks from my house. Great location. Full-time. Work that's not too difficult (by the way, the presses they use are NOT prissy little domestic irons -- they are some sort of INCREDIBLE!! The entire ironing BOARD is an iron, that opens and closes like a sandwich, and each has little gadgets you engage to vacuum, close, steam, open, blah blah blah . . . and you have to do it all in the right order. Pretty intense). Anyway, they paid pretty well, too. I spent an hour ironing polo shirts. Yes, polo shirts. I told the owner (the only man in the place) that I'd be leaving now, for I had an interview elsewhere. Then the guilt, "What do I do?" he asked me. Uh, well guess what: I've been applying other places, too. I'd be an idiot if I applied one place and sat around until I heard back from them . . . or not. (Some places don't call you to tell you that they chose someone else, guesswhat. But I'm not blogging about THEM.) I was sortof relieved to leave.
I arrived at Crumb Brothers shortly thereafter. The girl at the front desk greeted me. She had a pink hat on. I knew we could be friends or enemies, but definitely not acquaintances. However, I was escorted to the manager's office. We spoke briefly, and she told me what goes on around there. The bright rays of the afternoon sun flooded the entire facility in such a way as to say, "I love you!" Outside the office, about 4 guys and a girl shaped bread to be baked the next morning. Some of the bread loaves were wrapped in cloth, rather than sitting on an aluminum full-sheet pan over parchment. Every other bakery I've ever worked at used the pan and parchment, except the bakery at Angie's, who is too cheap to use parchment! The manager later explained to me that they use linen (say "linen" to me, and I sigh -- I LOVE linen!) because it has natural oil in it from the flax used to make it. I just about raised my hand with an "Ooh, ooh! I know! I know how they make it!" and described with full detail how reeds are collected and soaked and pounded and soaked and blah blah blah, linen comes out! But I didn't. I just glowed. Almost as bright as the sun coming through the huge windows, but not quite. I'm smaller than the windows. The manager (her name is Jan, and I think I'll call her that from now on) told me that she was sorry she couldn't offer me more money, but there were perks. For example, each employee gets to take home a loaf of bread every day! *sigh* AND, she told me that they don't use ANY commercial yeast in their breads; they make a starter a couple days before, so a loaf of bread will take two days to make. They only have ONE ingredient that's not from scratch, and that's an apricot glaze. That's the only thing they don't MAKE there. They also don't use hydrogenated fats; they only use olive oil and butter. That's why the breads taste so friggin' good!!! And they have a GREAT melt-in-your-mouth pleasurable feel to them. Gosh. I asked her how many people she was going to interview, and she said that she'd interviewed a couple of people, and that if I wanted the job, it's mine. Some sort of squeal of delight I'm sure was heard in some other realm, and I think my spirit jumped out of my body and did a "celebration dance," which the other spirits probably saw and either laughed hysterically or watched with horrific realization that I just don't dance very well. As I left the shop, the girl at the front (her name is Krista) brought me a loaf of ciabatta bread, and a lemon scone and a cinnamon puff. When I'd gone to pick up an application last week, I bought a lemon scone and a cinnamon puff to take with me!! And she REMEMBERED!! I know, that girl in the pink hat is AWESOME!!
I prayed about which job to take. It was hard. Only an idiot would choose the lower-paying, lower-hours, farther-away job (I ride a bike, not a car). But when I reflected on the feelings I had about each interview, the feeling of terror flowed through my sinews as I thought of working full-time at the hot, dark, crowded, dusty dry cleaners for eight hours every day with 5 gossipy women and one male owner. And I thought of working at the front desk for much less money, many fewer hours, 7 blocks away, where the angels were hanging out and singing happy songs, like Earth, Wind, & Fire songs that just make you feel all positive and cheery. I love Earth, Wind, & Fire.
I gave the guy at the cleaners a call and said I'd chosen the other job, and he said, "Okay, that works out just great, then." I thought, "Hm, I guess it's going to work out just fine, then. I don't want to be there, anyway." I called Jan at Crumb Brothers to tell her I'd decided to accept that job, and she said, "Oh, I'm so excited that you'll be working with us!! Can you start tomorrow at 10:00?"
We'll see how it turns out. I'll still be keeping my job at Angie's. She must be the "Dinna Sista." (Like, Crumb Brothers, Dinna Sista . . . Well, I just made it up. I think it's way creative and hilarious.)
Yay!
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Job to Get a Job
It would be really cool to find a job. I do have a job right now. I work part-time as a baker, about 3 to 4 hours a day, except Sunday. Sometimes I work longer, sometimes shorter. It would be great to find a "real job," especially since I do have a bachelor's degree, and also an associate's. Maybe I should have moved to Montana or something. At the bakery, the other baker I work with is 17. I could have had the job I have now, without ANY education. A little disappointing.
I do have two job interviews today, which is nice. Although I do hate interviews. At least SOME of the jobs I've applied for, have shown fruit in interviews. I just need more job OFFERS. And GOOD ones, too. I'm getting pretty desperate. The thought of moving back into my parents' basement has some sort of appeal to me, and it's getting stronger. I'm here to "make something of my life." When I was living there, I did work at a quilt shop -- and that was nice. I was treated really well. Problem was, I didn't bring home a very big paycheck. I have lots of fabric instead. And I didn't really feel like I was making the world all that much better. I wasn't sharing my skills, working with the poor and needy, saving up to buy a house . . . I was just selling fabric and spa chemicals. And I was replaced there by a 17-year-old. Good grief.
What would I like to do in life to feel "fulfilled"? Maybe work in a hospital and save lives. Though I do have a problem with blood and other bodily fluids, and also pain. And the high stress, too. Maybe working at a school, teaching kids to read and do math. Or building homes for people who don't have homes. I don't know.
But right now, my lofty goals are to pay my rent and student loans, and some shelves or dressers to put my clothes & books (living out of boxes is really horrible). I don't think I'm asking for too much.
I do have two job interviews today, which is nice. Although I do hate interviews. At least SOME of the jobs I've applied for, have shown fruit in interviews. I just need more job OFFERS. And GOOD ones, too. I'm getting pretty desperate. The thought of moving back into my parents' basement has some sort of appeal to me, and it's getting stronger. I'm here to "make something of my life." When I was living there, I did work at a quilt shop -- and that was nice. I was treated really well. Problem was, I didn't bring home a very big paycheck. I have lots of fabric instead. And I didn't really feel like I was making the world all that much better. I wasn't sharing my skills, working with the poor and needy, saving up to buy a house . . . I was just selling fabric and spa chemicals. And I was replaced there by a 17-year-old. Good grief.
What would I like to do in life to feel "fulfilled"? Maybe work in a hospital and save lives. Though I do have a problem with blood and other bodily fluids, and also pain. And the high stress, too. Maybe working at a school, teaching kids to read and do math. Or building homes for people who don't have homes. I don't know.
But right now, my lofty goals are to pay my rent and student loans, and some shelves or dressers to put my clothes & books (living out of boxes is really horrible). I don't think I'm asking for too much.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Bloggy
I used to blog. I don't much anymore. I think there are good things about blogging.
Blogging got to be really "it" a few years ago. I even made myself a blog on yahoo. Only my cousins really looked at it. And the guy I was dating. But he didn't read it that much, I don't think. I didn't blog that much, either.
It was interesting about blogging, though. Putting thoughts out there, and people could respond or leave it alone. That was nice.
I'm not that good at communicating. Blogging was kindof a cool outlet for me. People couldn't interrupt me, and if they didn't want to listen, they just looked away, rather than blatantly ignoring me. That was cool about blogging.
Typing is better to me than talking on the phone. I don't like talking on the phone. I like being with people in person, but it's also a little different on the blogging page. I can't imagine that I seem more ingenious or ignernt than I am in real life. I don't really pretend to be smarter or duller in blogland.
At least I'll enjoy this blog, though. It's bright and pink. Gorgeous.
Blogging got to be really "it" a few years ago. I even made myself a blog on yahoo. Only my cousins really looked at it. And the guy I was dating. But he didn't read it that much, I don't think. I didn't blog that much, either.
It was interesting about blogging, though. Putting thoughts out there, and people could respond or leave it alone. That was nice.
I'm not that good at communicating. Blogging was kindof a cool outlet for me. People couldn't interrupt me, and if they didn't want to listen, they just looked away, rather than blatantly ignoring me. That was cool about blogging.
Typing is better to me than talking on the phone. I don't like talking on the phone. I like being with people in person, but it's also a little different on the blogging page. I can't imagine that I seem more ingenious or ignernt than I am in real life. I don't really pretend to be smarter or duller in blogland.
At least I'll enjoy this blog, though. It's bright and pink. Gorgeous.
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