Yule project list 2023

 Well, I have two seasons that I do work in. The spinning and fiber prep for spinning happens during the light half of the year where I can see better what I'm doing and can actually take a walk while spinning. (My preferred method of spinning is medieval style with a distaff and drop spindle. One of these days I will acquire a medieval stick spindle and some whorls. Then it'll be glorious to confuse the neighbors as I draw out thread and make it look like the spindle is levitating.) The dark half of the year, I make things like gifts for Yule and such.

Here is my project list so far:

Cuddle Bear's very late sweater (I'm finally past the halfway mark on this project and may actually get it done in time.)

Snuggle Bug's yellow bear stuffie patterned after a FNAF character

K. 's tea service set (I'm testing the pattern now to make sure if there's any errors I can fix them. This is a crochet set.)

T. 's fabric dice to go in his restored Pontiac Chieftain wagon

K. & R.'s Diabetic Recipe book (This will be written out by hand in an A5 notebook. Some of the recipes are my own and others I've collected off the internet, which will be cited in endnotes.)

T.'s tea service set (Based off of the pattern I'm testing, it looks like it can be done not just in single crochet but also in Tunisian crochet.)

More preemie hats to be donated by December. (I am hoping a solid deadline means I can get that box filled up.)

More things will be added to the list as I go on and finish projects in the works.

Some rambling thoughts on parenting teenagers.

 Hi, All!

So, my eldest son keeps insisting that his one desire when he finishes high school is to leave the country. He's been saying that a lot over the last few months. Every time he says it, my heart breaks a little bit. I sit there and say to myself is this because I walked away from my side of the family (with the exception of a few people).  Is this how he thinks things are supposed to work? You grow up and just walk away.

We've done our best to explain to him how a large number of people on my side of the family are toxic if not dangerous for them to be around. He launches into rants about how this country is turning into a facist state. (This is what we get for making sure he was well educated about WWII and the consequences of such types of governments.) He talks about how much he hates this country on the basis of all the past injustices against everyone you can think of and the ongoing bigotry and policy making based in hate. I don't blame him or begrudge his feelings. He just wants to leave before the country collapses. I don't know if it is going to collapse, but he's insisting it will and it will be like Nazi Germany when it happens.

This kid is no dummy. His arguments are well thought out and fairly sound. He gets ticked off with counter arguments that tell him that staying in the country is a better option than risking being off in another country with no idea what it's like there or how to speak the language.

Still, he's breaking my heart.

My youngest son keeps insisting his one desire is to be a roboticist. He understands that means college. He wants to get there as fast as possible so he can start building animatronic robots. He's been fascinated with them for years. His response to his brother's desire to flee the country is "You'll come back and see us, right?" He gets upset at the idea of his big brother just disappearing out of his life. They're real close. They think a lot a like, which means there's a fair amount of bickering. (Thank you Beloved for the noise cancelling headphones.) But my youngest son at 14 years old has a huge heart and worries for his brother. And I can't console him.

This is the rough part of being a parent.

Prompts No. 1

 Because I have so much difficulty writing of late, I have turned to my prompt box and I'm going to try to write daily posts on the basis of prompts. I can't promise success, but I am going to try.

Today's prompt: How much of yourself do you keep hidden?

Well, this one is a gut punch. I keep a large amount of myself hidden. I have lots of emotional scars, my personality is fracture (to put it lightly), and a great many things that I'm terrified of that I force my way through just because it needs to be done. I have this attitude that I must push through whatever hardship I am dealing with (like walking pneumonia right now) and make things happen. It was instilled into me by parents who didn't believe me when I was sick and repeatedly accused me of being lazy when I was trying to rest and get over being sick. I remember very clearly them telling our family doctor that I was a hypochondriac before I could even begin describing my symptoms. Cue a different doctor thirty years later saying I have textbook arthritis in my knees and have had it all my life.

I hide my pain with sardonic comments, redirecting things to other people and their needs, and excessive cheerfulness when it's really bad. When I had appendicitis, I was cracking jokes with tears in my eyes from the pain. The nursing staff was disturbed by this, partly because those jokes were really dark. Then I got the morphine (which I am now allergic to the whole family of pain medications, yay!) and the jokes got darker and twisted. Why, because I could make myself shut up. It was an experience and a half.

I also hide things that are precious and deserving to be shared with the world because of how scarred my metaphorical heart is from years of harassment and bullying. I'm scared to share my paintings because of how often people told me they were garbage. Once, a painting that I was really proud of that I gave my parents as an anniversary present, they gave back to me with a comment 'I believe this is yours.' also known as 'Take it or we're going to get rid of it.' It hurt. That painting now hangs in my kitchen. It's a view of the prettiest place on the family farm during autumn, up by the pond looking out over the valley.

I try to hide my pride and do my best to remain humble and genial. But when I get insulted, I have a rush of adrenalin and I'm ready to fight. Honestly, that's the hard one to keep under my hat. For too long have I born insults and snide comments over the last 44 years from people around me, often in the form of backhanded jokes or 'constructive criticism.' I try to just let it pass over me like water around a stone. It's really hard, though.

Now that I've word vomited my way through this post and overshared too many things, I am going to attempt to write something else on another blog. Fortunately, my prompt box covers a really wide range of topics. 

I feel like garbage but I'm getting stuff done.

I have conceded defeat on the hair front. I had always hoped that I was going to have the long, snow white, gorgeous hair that my great-grandmother Hazel had. Female pattern baldness is setting in and my hair is thinning and starting to come out in great chunks. My hair dresser said to me that stress can do it. She's been watching my hair go white real time over the last few months. I wanted to believe her and that if my stress levels went down, I could have my long hair again. Then I took a shower and noticed how much of my scalp I could see. I almost sat down and cried. I am not a vain person but my hair was a trait I took pride in. My philosophy was always I could do what ever I want with it and it would grow back. Now that's not so sure. So, this past weekend, Beloved helped me to shave my head. 

My argument was if Sinead O'Connor could pull it off, I could too. Here's the before picture, if you haven't seen it on FB or Instagram. If you look carefully you can see where one of the thin spots in the front is. And the lack of balance between the hair on both sides, because the other thin spot that shed enough hair to make a small mouse in the span of two days is across from the cowlick holding straight up on the left side.

I was a little nervous about this picture. I was disappointed I couldn't keep rocking the faux hawk that I loved to do over the last few years. It was fun confusing my father-in-law with it. The look was very agender and with how I carry myself, it tended toward a masc feeling. He blue screened the first time he saw it. I had someone mistakenly call me 'sir' and I laughed, at which point they blushed beautifully and stumbled over an apology.

It makes me wonder what the new look is going to get response wise. As of the moment, I am getting back into my scarves and figuring out how to work this with out a quarter mile of hair to twist into a bun to hold the looks into place. I will

probably be purchasing a few items to help me with my scarves. Wrapunzel has a velvet shaper, I may be lucky and find one that is small enough for my head and at a reasonable price.

The new look came with a new accessory. I confess, I love wearing a collar. The edgier the better. It's in stark contrast with what people who have known me most of my life expect and lets me play around with looks that I've always admired. I found this collar with the hearts and spikey studs on it as Spirit Halloween of all places for $12. It has nickel in the hearts, so I had to paint them with nail polish to protect my skin from it.

But it's totally worth it. Now I just have to figure out how to move forward on some other clothing transformations for my look. I have enough flexability that I can do Mom Goth to Laundry Day Goth. (The latter being when my outfit matches my colorful, floral print combat style boots.)

I'd be more excited about all of this if I wasn't sick and way behind on chores. As of the moment, I am blogging when I really should be watering plants and washing dishes. I spent my whole morning on getting the mass of papers on the desk sorted out. I found correspondence dating back to 2017. I should have done this a long time ago. Tomorrow I will be filing everything, including the huge pile of papers on the baker's rack in the kitchen. I would get some work done, sit down to rest and fall asleep for a half hour. Stupid pneumonia just is kicking my butt. At least I look kinda cool.