Making A List, Checking It...

The time is 3:20 pm. Eight and a half hours are left before 2018 fades away, to be consigned to memory. Or not. I think I'd just as soon forget about most of it.

I did complete an afghan for an annual Chinese auction next spring. That gives me two and I hope to make one more. The poor quilt is still waiting to be finished. The problem? A couple months ago I experienced what's called "Trigger finger". I did some research on it and found out it's an extension of carpal tunnel syndrome. The affected fingers have a tendency to lock, like you're pretending to have a gun. I've been waking up with it every morning and it takes about an hour or so for it to go away. At least, so far, there's no arthritis involved and I'm hoping it stays that way. I can deal with a little inconvenience.

The "electronics from hell" (see previous blog) are fighting a losing battle. The new laptop has been set up. A couple weeks ago, a new printer was set up as well. I didn't have much choice. It seems you always need a certain thing when you don't have it. The previous printers were hardly used and ended up a mess. Six months without a printer and I had need of one several times. "Of course," she said with a twinge of sarcasm. "Isn't that always the way?" The only battle left at this point is the TV.

It's been a little over three months since I've had a working TV and it's been VERY quiet around here. Sometimes it feels like there's no one else in the building. No sounds from other apartments, no one in the hall. It's easy to lose track of the days. At least with the working TV, I just had to think back on what programs I watched the night before and I knew what day it was. The bummer is, I was looking forward to the new fall season and said flat screen died four days before the season started. With the cable gone, CBS all access, Hulu, Vudu and other 'systems' are looking better and better. There has been one advantage for not having a TV at this point.

Since 1998, I've been keeping a journal of sorts for books. It's one of the few things I've actually kept up over the last twenty years. With no TV to watch I've been doing a lot more reading. For this year, the grand total is 188. Added on to the previous 19 years (drum roll, please) an over all grand total of 3073 books. That's an average of 153.65 annually. That's a lot of books. Some were short stories, others were 400+ pages. Over that time, I've included some of Mom's books that are still sitting here, waiting to be shipped out. One of her favorite authors was C.J. Box. The whole Joe Pickett series was really hard to put down. There were a couple books that were published at least ten years ago and had plots that closely mirrored today's political scene. I was amazed at how close it was.

One other good thing about reading is how something in the story can trigger an idea for another story. You just have to be careful that you don't get so involved in your ideas that what you're reading is nothing but words, with no meaning behind them.  Lately, I've had this soup kettle sitting by the hearth, doing a slow simmer. Every time an idea pops up, it gets tossed into the pot, to be checked out later on. At lease that's how I imagine it. When I finally take a break, I can poke around inside the kettle to see what I've got there. Some bits might be ready to work on while others have to be tossed back for a bit more simmering. Sooner or later they form the basis for some main dish, as long as they don't sit in the pot too long and end up sticking to the bottom. By that time, you pretty well know the particular idea wasn't such a good one, for whatever reason.

I don't know if I'll bother making a list of goals for the new year since the last couple years have been disappointing. For right now, I'm going to add a few more pieces to the jigsaw puzzle sitting on the dining table and figure out what's for supper. The rest of the evening will be focused on watching a couple new DVDs.

Here's to 2019. May it be all you hope it to be.

Looking Back Before Moving Forward

This annual rollercoaster ride is just reaching its highest point before it goes into the last downward trek. Before it hits bottom, I thought it might be a good time to assess the highlights--and lowlights--of this year.

 

Earlier in the summer, I got back to working on that quilt that doesn't want to get finished. The month of August was so hot and humid, it stopped progress. Again. We'd have an official 3-day heat wave, then a day or two of relief followed by another heat wave. And that was pretty much the pattern for the month. You know you're not going to get much of anything done when your needle squeaks when you push it through three layers of fabric and batting. So far, the month of November has proven to be more productive and every stitch brings me closer to finishing the project.

 

I've dubbed the year of 2018  as belonging to the Electronics From Hell.  In May, I purchased a 50" flat screen TV and got to enjoy it for 4 months. It died leaving me to wonder what the red flashing light was for. My son informed me it was an error code, (which no one could figure out) So I called the manufacturer who agreed to send a replacement, and I was to ship mine back to them. The replacement lasted all of 10 minutes and has refused to work again. I'll have to ship this one back as well, but for a refund this time. It's no fun shipping TVs cross country.  In the meantime, I was looking forward to using the new portable DVD player, I'd purchased. Got the battery fully charged, installed a DVD and waited. Yay, the "Loading" window appeared... only to be replaced by a second window stating... No Disc. My laptop's battery is now fully drained, for the second time. Despite being plugged in, the battery never charged.

 

Electronics and craft work aside, my path has been obscured for months now, with no destination in sight. That's a hard thing to accept since everyone should have somewhere to go, something to accomplish. I can blame a feeling of being lost to lack of ambition, (or frustration) or just not knowing if I want to continue on this road or try another one. Sometimes you get to a point in your life where you want to make a change but to what, is the question.

 

One good thing that happened recently was eavesdropping on a conversation in the wee hours of one morning. That hasn't happened in almost three years. Maybe it's a sign that things are starting to look up. I certainly hope so. I think I'm about due for something good.

 

Elsa carefully approached the stranger on the hilltop. The first thing she noticed about him was his strange clothing It was all of one piece and an odd shade of green. The second thing she noticed was the way he stared up at the sky, as if he were looking for something.

 

"Where are the jets?" he asked, not so much as noting her presence. "There should be jets."

 

She contemplated his question for a moment then asked one of her own.  "What are jets?" 

What's In A Language?

A few days ago, I came across a short video narrated by comedian Tudor Owen. He was explaining the choices of keeping the Welsh name of a lake, or giving said lake an English name. He said Lake Australia had been suggested. Apparently an island on the lake is shaped like the continent. The reason for the change? The Welsh name is difficult to pronounce by folks not familiar with the Welsh language. That got me to thinking.

 

Just for a minute or two, let's go back in time to the days of one of Noah's (yes, THAT Noah) grandsons. Nimrod was considered to be a great hunter and leader. His goal was to keep the people close together, in direct violation of a previous mandate given to humans. As a result, his attempt to build a great tower was thwarted by the sudden introduction of many languages, and the people scattered to the ends of the earth.

 

From that day on, new cultures were established, with their customs and language. Over hundreds of years, changes came about, dialects appeared while some languages died off to be replaced by others. English has become the most prominent. Today, we get a sense of  history through the various communications, through food and art, architecture, as well as the spoken language.

 

In the mid 1940's, around the end of WWII, many Scottish parents refused to teach the younger generation their native language of Gaelic. The reason? They wanted their children to fit into British culture. Today, a group of Scots are doing everything they can to bring back the language. It's an important part of their heritage.

 

So what does all this have to do with Tudor Owen and his take on changing that lake's name? He gave a brief telling of the lake's Welsh name and the myth behind it. (The Welsh name means "grayhead".) Granted, the Welsh name is unpronounceable by English standards, (and the spelling is absolutely mind boggling) think of all that would be lost if that name were dropped in favor of "Australia" --no offense to our friends from down under. Once you start making little changes like that, you begin to chip away at the core of a culture. One chip at a time, one after another until you create irreparable damage to a way of living.

 

To my way of thinking, why not compromise?  Have a phonetic spelling below the name. Give visitors the opportunity to "taste" a language and the stories behind the words. Granted, it can't be done with all things, but it could go a long way in piquing a tourist's curiosity. Like water constantly dripping on a stone, frequent chipping away at our many cultures because someone doesn't understand something can seriously ruin our diversity.

 

Is compromise the answer or do we let it all fade to nothing? Something to think about.

 

 (The story of Nimrod can be found in the Bible book of Genesis 11:1-9)

Thinking About...

I apologize for having been away so long. The last few months have been inundated with things that couldn't be put off. There was also the recent loss of my youngest sister. She was a great punster and her quirky sense of humor will be missed.

 

Some time ago, I made a "promise" to someone very dear to me. I would make a quilt for a wedding gift. Since that time life has intruded far too many times and that project had to be put on hold. Now, four and a half years later, the project is progressing very nicely. I will try to post a picture of it when it's done. (after I figure out how to take said pic and get it on my laptop. What can I say? I'm still, and probably will always be, a computer dummy.)

 

With all the changes that have been going on, I've found myself to be sadly lacking in ambition for the things that have meant most to me. There are so many craft projects I want to try but I'm sure you know how that goes. If you get overwhelmed with ideas and plans you end up doing nothing.

 

 Thank goodness one thing that fell by the wayside, so to speak, has finally come back. After my mom passed, I felt as if my muse had abandoned me at the same time. I'm happy to say Lady Muse is back and we're updating and expanding a story I'd finished some time ago. So far, so good. I'm planning to make this story the first of my work to be self-published. I don't know how that will turn out but I figured it's time I sort of branched out.

 

To write, and write well, you should be a reader and that I've done a lot of. It's helped me to cope with everything else going on in my life. In the building where I live, there is a laundry room that most of the residents make use of. (Others have a service that picks up and delivers every week.) Sometimes people leave books on the table for whoever wants to read them. When you finish with them, you bring them back for someone else to read. Well the last time I did laundry, someone had left a bag of books on the table, and of course I looked through them. I picked up six of the books, left two behind. I felt a wee bit guilty about that until I was told there had been another bag of books left the day before. Good thing I didn't see that one.

 

I've read two of the books and enjoyed both of them. None of the books are recent releases, but that's okay. One was One Heart to Win by Johanna Lindsey. It's been quite a while since I've read any of her work and I'm just realizing how much I've missed her stories. The second book was by an author I'd never heard of and judging by a note someone left in the book, it's one of a series of 5. The author is Donna Birdsell and the book is titled Falcon's Mistress. I had a hard time putting that one down. The romance wasn't overwhelming as some romances are, and the twists and turns of the plot could get you lost if you're not really paying attention. Once I really got into it I had to finish it, which I did a short time ago. I'm ready to move on to the next book.  When I do laundry next week, at least half the books I took from the table with be returned for another reader to enjoy.

 

I'm finding that as I get older (and it might be just my imagination) life seems to go faster. At least in my younger years, if I didn't have time for something, I could be pretty well certain the opportunity would come along again at some point. If it didn't, then it wasn't meant to be. I'm trying to find a way to fit in all the things I want to do. Life is never a sure thing and you have to make the most of it while you have it. Maybe a "bucket list" isn't such a crazy idea.

 

The one thing I'd like to be able to say is "I had few regrets and did it my way."  

 

 (Thank you, Frank)

Definitely Not Glass Slippers

 

A few days ago I took a nasty tumble in the hallway. I felt my foot get "stuck" on the carpeting and tumbled along till I finally went down.  While I stumbled forward, trying to stop my momentum before my face met the floor, everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. Fortunately, I ended up with nothing worse than a couple rug burns on one hand and a thorough shaking up. (Like one of 007's drinks) It could have been a lot worse. I'm definitely NOT looking for sympathy, but over the next few days it did get me to wondering.

 

 Footwear.

 

We don't give much thought to what we put on our feet until we need a new pair of shoes or something for a special occasion. When we're young, we give first consideration to style. We want to make an impression. As we get a little older style is still a consideration but not so much. There's a lot more going on in our world and we give more consideration to comfort for chasing after or keeping up with our own kids. If we didn't, how would we survive all those other daily responsibilities we've taken on?

 

That still doesn't account for the shoe industry giving us what they THINK we want, Long ago, our Grand Creator gave us 26 bones in each foot so we could have a fairly wide range of motion. Why would we want to limit it?  The sole of a shoe is in one flat solid piece from back to front with no flexibility to bend. The natural human gait is to let the  foot "roll", heel to toe in a smooth motion. The sides of the shoe, around the ankle, are often just high enough to interfere in the ankle's ability to rotate. The toes are meant to bend with every step to help maintain balance.. Since the shoe's sole can't bend, neither can the box of most shoes. The toes can't do their job properly. 

.

Modest dress shoes, usually flats, are given leather soles. (Not such a great idea unless you plan to go "ice skating" sans ice). They're dangerous on any surface until their worn enough to grip whatever you walk on. We've been advised to wear slippers with a half-inch heel to help prevent falling backward. Try finding them. They're almost as hard to find as hen's teeth. I know. I've been looking.

 

The shoe industry will continue to make what they want us to wear, and, for the most part, they will ignore what is practical, safe and comfortable. That's the way it's been and will always be. Now that I've had my say, I should take another short walk to ease the still slight trembling I feel when I get to that particular spot in the hallway. That's my glass slipper to find.

 

"I Go To Pieces"

Patsy Cline's interpretation was a lot different than mine. She was singing about lost love while my idea is that of being a cut-up. Those of you who are hobbyists and deal with projects that contain a gazillion pieces will know what I mean. You have to go where the pieces are to build anything.

I dabble in a lot of things and currently it just happens to be quilting. I never go for the easy stuff just dive right in when I see a design I like. My very first quilt was a double wedding ring pattern. Not the easiest to start out with, but it came out pretty decent and was a gift to someone close. Or... I'll take the basic idea of a standard design, make some major changes and call it my own creation. Like the cat quilt I made some years ago. I created  twelve or fifteen counted cross-stitch cats on aida cloth, trimmed it with paw prints to set off each block and ended up with an unusual twin size quilt. After moving a few times in the last few years, I lost track of that quilt. You know how that goes. Every time you move, you lose something.

Since Murphy has seemed to become a permanent fixture around here, enough has happened to set me way back in getting things done. (Not just the quilt.) I've tried many times to give Murphy the boot, but he never could take a hint. Who knows, maybe I'll find a way where we can compromise. Hahaha.

There is nothing small about this latest project. 594 blocks make up the quilt top (or will when it's fully assembled.) Three pieces to each block and you have 1,782 pieces, not counting the odd ones I'll need to add around the edge to keep it straight. I've got my own version of the tumbling blocks design and it's gonna be a meteor storm. One print in four different colors, with deeper shades to compliment it. I had changed my mind about the block arrangement and discovered I had insufficient solid color blocks for the background and couldn't find any more fabric to match. Silly me. I wasn't sure what to do about the problem then that little cartoon lightbulb began to glow with a brilliant idea. Using the fabric I got for the back of the quilt, I'll have more than enough to cut for the background of the pieced top. I found a lovely print in a pale color that will look great for the backing. In fact, it just might make the quilt reversible. That would be an added bonus. If I really get cracking, (I'm hand stitching the whole thing since I don't have the space anywhere to spread it out to work on it) this project, originally intended to be a wedding gift may just make it for the couple's fifth anniversary later this year.

Now that I think about it, this was probably how I got to be a "patchwork" writer. I rarely do anything in any logical order. Create enough sections so eventually they can be put together properly to tell a story. I've got enough of those segments sitting around, to make several somethings of them. I just need sufficient time to get it all done...like a couple hundred years.  Then I wonder why/how I go to pieces? 

Now you know.

Chilling Out...Literally

With the stroke of a minute hand, one year has ended and  a new one has begun. Do I feel any different? Not really. It's mainly remembering to change the year on any checks I write. It's also knowing winter is only a couple weeks old and the worst is yet to come.

After a gorgeous extended autumn, winter cold has struck early. For the last few days, the temperature has been in the teens or lower. The night wind chills have been in the single digits and it's supposed to continue for at least the next week or two. As much as I hate the extreme cold, I feel bad for Erie, PA. They ended up with fifty inches of snow in thirty-six hours. It's a good reason to hibernate, and an easy goal to keep while Old Man Winter and Jack Frost have their fun.

Mom used to watch the Patriot games with me. She didn't understand anything about the game but she loved to watch them play in the mud and snow. To her, literally getting down and dirty was more fun to watch. She would have loved the game played earlier last month. I don't recall what teams were playing but it snowed during the game and they ended up playing in a snowstorm. The snow was piling up fast and every time someone made a tackle or a player went to ground, the light, fluffy stuff was tossed around. It was like watching a bunch of kids diving into the accumulation.

I have to say, those players were mighty brave yesterday during their final game of the regular season. The temperature was fifteen degrees early on. By the time the game was over, it was a "cool" twelve degrees. Why were they brave? At least a third of the players didn't have long sleeves. They made me cold just watching them.

Since I have no intention of going anywhere for the next couple months, you'd think it would be a good time to set up a few goals for the rest of the year. The last couple years, my goals have pretty much fallen by the wayside.  Only one goal is being met now and even that one is four years overdue. What is it they say? Better later late than never? This queen-size quilt was supposed to be a wedding gift but I ran into problems before I could get it going. Since I started on it a month ago, (I'm stitching blocks by hand) I've been making good progress with half the blocks made. When I get the rest stitched, I can lay them out to decide on the order they'll be put together. If I keep it up, the intended couple just might get their wedding present before their fifth anniversary.

I've decided not to set any other goals since I've done such a poor job of late to keep previous ones. I figure by not setting more, then I won't be disappointed when I don't complete them. The possibilities are simmering on the mental back burner. If I do get any of them done then I'll be pleasantly surprised. So I guess THE goal would be to try to get some things done that have been waiting forever for attention.

In the meantime, I'll do my best not to become a popsicle while rooting for the Patriots as they go for an unprecedented #6.  

Here's hoping you achieve whatever goals you set for yourself in 2018.

Do What You Love

For the last three months I was determined to get some things done that had been put off for too long. Unfortunately I didn't accomplish all I'd hoped. In the meantime I racked my poor brain for some topics to write about. I'm always looking for something different, something entertaining, amusing or maybe subtly instructional. With politics being the hot topic for months, it can be hard to come up with something that would interest others and avoid verbal war.

I like to watch the nightly news. They usually end their broadcast with a "feel good" story that lets you forget about the bad things going on in the world, even if it is just a few minutes. Earlier this week, something did catch my attention. It had to do with football and a running back for the Baltimore Ravens. Alex Collins has found for himself an interesting and challenging "hobby" if you will.

Everybody has a hobby in mind, or two or three, they would love to indulge in. Sometimes circumstances won't allow you to follow it because of time constraints, or maybe a budget that can't handle another dent. Other times you can just dive right in. Somewhere along the line, it's very likely that hobby might very well be tied to a career, sometimes in the oddest ways.

Getting back to Alex... He took an interest in Irish dancing and it's paid off for him on the football field. He can run faster and is more agile at avoiding members of the other team. This type of dancing takes up a lot of energy and you need good balance and posture since most of the dancing is done on the front part of your feet. When he was first learning, Alex says the kids teased him but now they dance with him and have fun.

It reminds me of a series that was on TV some years ago, called Fame. It focused on a group of high school kids attending a school similar to Julliard. One particular episode dealt with a football team from another school, touring the Fame high school. After watching a dance class, a couple athletes sneered and said anyone could do what the dancers did. With support from the teacher and the team's coach, a time and date was set and the challenge was on. By the end of the series of competitions, the football players were exhausted, and amazed that the dancers could keep up and in some cases surpass them. Lesson learned.

 Dancing isn't as easy as it looks. But there's something to be said about the rigid moves of Irish dance and the sound of taps (not to be confused with tap dancing) keeping the rhythm even when there's no musical accompaniment. I've always found it mesmerizing

If I were a few years younger and not such a klutz... (Klutz is the wrong word here. Some people lack a certain grace when they move about and I'm definitely one of them.) I might have given it a try. The point is, life is fleeting and we should make the most of whatever time we have. Find what makes you happy, whether it burns a lot of energy or provides quiet distractions. Then run with it. Or if you're like me, you have a bunch of things you love to do and not enough time to do them all. Now, I'll just sit back with needle and thread and finish my embroidery project.

Battle of the Buttons

I get a lot of emails every day, while some days generate more than others. Some companies send out a bunch on a daily basis. They have instructive newsletters and send out several different ones, new products, frequent sales. If something doesn't catch my interest, it either gets sent to the circular file or I might leave it for further perusal when I have more time. Sometimes the spam gets through (although once in a great while a spam email proves to be useful.) Sometimes something I've been expecting gets sent to the spam folder. Apparently, the system can't always tell the difference. No problem -- most of the time.

Then there are the emails that, for whatever reason, no longer interest you. Maybe the information they were offering turned out to not be what you were looking for. Or maybe they're an affiliate of someone from whom you get regular email. That's the equivalent of snail-mail companies selling their mailing lists.

Owners of email lists have certain rules they're required to follow. And as far as I know they follow them diligently. About the most important, as far as I'm concerned, is the ability to unsubscribe. They may have the button present, but it seems there's nothing in the rules that says the button has to work. Guess what? Eight out of ten don't work. I haven't the foggiest idea what the reasoning behind that action could be. I've tried sending email to them. Sometimes that works, other times, not so much. So the battle begins.

I might often go back and try again, but when the cursor passes over a link and nothing changes, it's a good bet the link is dead. If it worked, it should change from blue to purple. If anything, it's more likely to fade a bit. That's not going to stop me since I have my own weapon.

 It's called a delete button.

Every day I go through my email list a couple times to keep it from getting out of hand. A list of a hundred emails, for various reasons, may end up being whittled down to ten. It's worse when my laptop decides to take a mini-vacation. I've had as many as four hundred emails waiting for three days, and I'll end up keeping, maybe twenty-five to read. The delete button gets quite a workout. There's a line in one of the Marvel Comic movies where Captain America says, "I can do this all day."  Same goes for using delete button.

Sooner or later the emails I can't unsubscribe from will have to disappear. The owners will have to purge their lists of non-active clients/customers/followers or the list will get too big to handle. Until that happens, it's just a matter of which is more determined: a non-functioning unsubscribe button or a working delete with a happy 'trigger finger.' .

Up A Tree

A tree stands sentinel outside my living room windows. It's a type of oak and has a lot of gall(s). I thought they might be some kind of seed pods but according to my Word Finder, a gall is described as "a growth produced by insects or fungus on plants and trees, esp. on oak." What made me think they might be seed pods was seeing birds peck on them. Maybe they aren't seeds. Maybe they're little insect condos and the birds attack on a fairly regular basis.

 There's a sidewalk's width between the tree and this building. Apparently, some years ago the residents living closest to the tree complained about branches hitting the building. So the city had the offending growth chopped off. From my view, it sort of reminds me of a doll house, where one outside wall is non-existent and allows you to watch the goings on. Believe me, every once in a while there is something going on that elicits a chuckle. Birds can be just as crazy as humans when it comes to behavior. I sometimes wonder who learned it from whom. There have been sparrows, chickadees, blue jays, robins and a couple cardinals. There was even a downy woodpecker earlier in the spring. I haven't seen any mourning doves this year but when they do come around, they seem to prefer the courtyard on the other side of the building.

Near the base of the trunk, the oak can't be much more than twelve inches in diameter, although I admit it's hard to judge when you're looking down at it from a third floor apartment. The distance can skew your perspective. Because it's so slender it sways a lot. (think of those balloon-like thingies that you sometimes see at gas stations, or in from of businesses that might have something special going on. they get shots of air that make them bend, wiggle and sway as if they were alive.) While this tree can't wiggle, it certainly is more 'limber' than I am in the way it can move. The higher the wind, the more it bends. This past winter we had wind gusts that got pretty high and I thought for sure the trunk was either going to snap or the whole tree was going to go over. Fortunately, neither scenario occurred. One afternoon in early spring, a couple blue jays were sitting on one of the branches. They  were hanging on to that branch as the wind picked up. Their feathers were getting slightly ruffled but their balance became a bit precarious. Needless to say, they didn't stay on that branch very long.

When there are no birds around (which is rare since there are nests beneath the edge of the roof of this building. Even when the nests are empty the birds appreciate the shelter from bad weather, no matter the season) I like to just watch the tree, watch the thin branches and the leaves ripple in the slightest breeze and the sunlight.  I can let my mind wander, consider new writing plots or figure out how to fix a scene to make it better. There are no dull moments where the tree is concerned. Who knows, it could end up in one of those scenes. As long as I'm living here, I'll watch it grow and dance with the winds.

So Knot Easy Choices

Hi...  My name is Marissa and I'm a craft-aholic.  I was about ten years old when I used to watch a friend's mother making doilies. She had no visible pattern and her crochet hook was always moving a mile a minute, or so it seemed. Her attention was more on the conversations she carried on with friends while she didn't seem to be paying any attention to what her hands were doing. I told myself then that some day I'd learn how to crochet.

I attended a vocational high school where some of the teachers taught two entirely different subjects. Mrs. Rodericks taught quantity cooking to junior girls. We got to make lunch every day (two of four alternating semesters) for the rest of the students. When she wasn't teaching cooking, she taught embroidery. That was my introduction to needle arts. We made samplers of all the stitches we learned, as we learned them, in the same way mothers taught their daughters for hundreds of years.

After I married, I taught myself how to crochet. Checking out diagrams to see how more complicated stitches were done wasn't easy. It was like following one long strand of spaghetti with several twists. After tracing the diagram with a crochet I finally figured out how the stitch was done and got to work. Eventually I was brave enough to make a crocheted tablecloth. All those pineapples weren't so hard to make.

The next thing was learning to knit and eventually I made a cable sweater with pockets for my husband. Some years after we went our separate ways, he told me he still had the sweater.

Every once in a while I get the urge to expand my horizons, challenge myself to learn a new craft, which has led me to one great truth that all crafters share... We are "hoarders".

Hoarding isn't quite the right word. That insinuates we purchase things and just sock them away, never to be seen again. Crafters aren't quite like that, although it may be considered pretty close. We love to lay in large supplies we refer to as "stashes." I don't deny it can get out of hand. If you're not careful, it can become something of an obsession to have whatever we might need available at any time we get a bright idea. Of those bright ideas, I'd say most, if not all the projects, are made for family, friends, or charities. Personally, I make small blankets that go to an animal shelter.  When the cats or dogs are adopted, a blanket they've been using goes home with them. Having something familiar offers a sense of security and makes it easier for them to adjust to their new home.

What used to be bookshelves are now set up in closets and filled with craft supplies. Stashes of fabric in not so organized piles for quilting, tote bags filled with yarn and neatly stacked, embroidery floss and beads in sectioned storage containers, and lots of craft books and patterns. One of the things I want to learn is tatting, with all those lovely little, delicate knots. That should be fun.

Like all good crafters, if I'm not reorganizing, I'm trying to whittle down my stash a bit. Get control of it? No so likely. It just means making room again for something else that'll catch my eye. Ask any crafter what it's like to enter a fabric store or yarn shop and try to ignore those subtle whispers. (My sisters and I refer to those places as Danger Zones. Lead us not into temptation.) When fabric, yarn and beads stop begging me to bring them home, then I know I'm in real trouble. It might knot always be sew fine but as long as it doesn't leave me in a bind, it can be a ton of fun.

If you're a crafter, won't you briefly share your current project?

Dump the Cook(ing)

For most of my adult life, my philosophy regarding cooking has been: If it takes more than ten minutes to prepare, it takes too long.  Where the attitude came from, I'm not sure, but I could probably blame it on a young family. Like the day I made shepherd's pie and took the time to put it neatly in layers then stick it in the oven for a few minutes to brown the top. I carefully served it up for my boys only to have them stir everything together until it looked like three bowls of gray slop. That was the first time they'd ever done that. Needless to say, I never went through all that trouble again. Just cooked everything, mixed it all together then put it in smaller bowls for them. It seemed the messier the meal looked, the better they liked it.  Go figure.

As time marched on, I graduated to casserole dishes with their nice heavy glass covers. They were still kind of messy, what with the water evaporating and clinging to the inside of the cover until you removed it and the moisture condensed. I don't recall making an actual casserole but whatever I did make in those dishes (had, and still have two of them) it usually came out decent but it was still too easy to end up with it slightly burned.

Along came the slow cookers. I love a slow cooker. Plug it into an outlet on the kitchen counter, put it on simmer and leave it for a few hours. What I don't like about it is trying to clean the earthenware pot that goes inside. Those things are heavy. Add to that the fact I'm short and the kitchen counter is thirty-six inches high. Makes it hard to remove the pot from the cooker but I did find a solution. There are cook-in bags you can stick into that pot but the best part is when I store the left-overs. I let everything cool a bit, then twist the top of the bag, fold it over and put the whole thing into a large storage bowl and into the fridge. No fuss, no muss.

All this has gone one step further and I'd say it's my all-time favorite.  The pros have taken dumping to include side dishes, soup for one, and desserts. You can even collect ingredients, place them in a coffee mug with instructions and give them as gifts. I like the idea of making desserts in a coffee mug. The single serving eliminates the temptation of wanting more without doing the work, as opposed to just cutting another slice of cake, for example.

Cooking shortcuts have come a long way. Chefs have gone so far as to endorse sets of pans that do just about everything and have minimal clean-up. (I've got a couple and they're everything they claim.) There's hope for us yet, whether we lack the knack for food prep or just don't have the patience for it. This "part-time" cook may not get dumped after all, but she's going to be doing a lot more dumping in the future.
 

Green Or Black?

Two choices in thumb color present a challenge every year and this year's challenge is just getting started. No matter how the season turns out, I look to the next season to try again. The last few months have been a learning time and it isn't over yet. My apartment faces north which means no direct sunlight, (but it can be bright on sunny days) and downright cold winters. The windows might have double-pane glass but they're set in met frames which means there are some terrific drafts.

By early winter I moved the small plants to a table in the living room where they wouldn't catch cold, (especially when their little roots were watered). The ceiling light isn't the best idea but it's better than nothing on those cloudy days where little light came from the windows. I'd say 90% of the winter days were overcast. The spider plant and devil's ivy were too big to put on the table with the others. That didn't leave me much choice but to keep them in the windows and hope they made it through the winter.  They not only survived, but thrived.

The spider plant produced three runners but keeping it on the window sill isn't exactly idea because those runners can't dangle naturally. Hopefully they can hang in there until I can get them settled into a bigger pot and set it on a barstool near the window. Have you ever seen pictures of large pots with spider plants in them, in a Victorian setting? The leaves seem to go every which way and the 'babies' like to 'hang around.' That's one of my goals this year, to see that plant get huge and have all her little ones clustered around her. Like the old woman who lived in a shoe with all those kids around.

Mom was something of a frustrated gardener. She spent years studying houseplants, reading up on everything she could find about specific ones, their care and feeding. Plant food was organic, fish emulsion, which was supposed to be good for plants. I don't know about that. I only knew when she fed them. The house smelled like fish on those days. (Even cooked fish smelled better.) She got plants that were supposed to be easy to care for. Iron plants were dubbed as being almost impossible to kill, but Mom found a way. Three of them.

She told me several times, "My thumbs are black. I read all I can about plant care and my plants die. You don't do anything besides water your plants and they thrive." I never told her I liked Miracle Grow plant food. She hated that stuff. I felt kind of bad for her and often thought she tried too hard to be successful. After she passed away I was able to keep her last two plants. One, a Z-Z plant, began growing like crazy when I switched it's menu to Miracle Grow, and so did her geranium. Unfortunately, the geranium died recently, as did my two geraniums. I think the apartment had a lot to do with it since it's quite different from the one we had for ten years.

Having gained some plant experience over the last few months, I'm ready to start again for this summer. I have to wait a month longer before doing anything but that's okay. The wait is worth it. To me, a house (or apartment) isn't a home without at least one plant around.

We Interrupt The Commercials...

We were introduced to a new form of entertainment when television came into our homes. There was the Wonderful World of Disney, Tom & Jerry cartoons; adventure shows like Robin Hood, William Tell, Sky King, The Lone Ranger and live comedy shows. Along with the shows, there were sponsors. Of course.

When you had all this transmitted into your home somebody had to pay the bills, so commercials were invented. It was big companies like Texaco, General Electric, Johnson & Johnson that stepped up to help pay those bills. At the same time they got to boost their sales pitches, promote their tried and true products as well as introduce new ones. As television took hold and gained in popularity, so did the number of companies willing to sponsor new shows. It was a money-making idea that couldn't fail.

In the last seventy years or so, commercials (as well as regular programing) have become more sophisticated along with advancing technology. That's all well and good but there comes a point where the whole concept can be overdone. Don't get me wrong. In the last few years there have been some really great/cute commercials. They hold your attention without hammering at you to buy their products. There's the boy dressed as Darth Vader who tries unsuccessfully to use the Force then is startled when the family car starts up. Then there's the Clydesdales. Who doesn't love those magnificent horses? (Have you ever stood near one of those animals? I have and it made me feel small, like a child. They are so huge!)  But when does it get to be a bit much?

A few years ago, viewers complained about the volume of the commercials being louder than the programs they were paying for. I know they want to be seen and heard but when it's startling it kind of defeats the purpose. We don't like being yelled at by some barker intent on making sales. And when a commercial pops up in a bad spot, like in the middle of dialogue, it takes a few seconds to realize the programing has taken a break. Some commercials are good at cutting in seamlessly so you don't realize the switcheroo. After a ton of complaints hit the FCC, something was finally done about the problem. Programs were required to lower the volume on commercials. It sort of worked but it seems to me the advertisers found a way around the problem. The programs were taped/filmed with their own volume turned up a bit so the commercials, in contrast seemed quieter. I don't know about anybody else but that's how it seems to me.

There's another way the advertisers get to you. Have you ever stopped to count how many ads are  run in a single break? I have. In the last month, two of my favorite films have been running on a movie channel. Now, one of those films, I know for a fact, is three hours long. When it was shown, the time slot was four hours, and this wasn't even the Director's Cut.  What I learned was, for every ten minutes of movie and you get five minutes of commercials. Since those commercials are only thirty seconds long, you end up with five commercials at every break. So five minutes of every fifteen means twenty minutes of every hour is devoted to selling some products. At the end of the broadcast, you've seen one hour of advertising. That's sixty commercial messages.

 I know these programs have to be paid for and there are people who love commercials so where do we draw the line? Some years ago, the British had a solution. Commercials didn't run until the end of the broadcasting day. I don't know if they still do it that way, but it might be something to consider.

In the meantime, I suppose all we can do is "interrupt the commercials to return to the regularly scheduled programming."

                                                                           ~~~~~~~~~~

Dodie stopped and gave her a questioning look. "Tessa, has no one told you? Your groom arrives with the prince."

"My...groom?" Tessa paled.

                                                                    - from Diamond In the Rough

Finding Unexpected Nuggets

Before Mom passed away a year ago, she told me what she wanted done with her personal library. She  didn't get to finish high school, but she was well read and her library showed that. Nine good sized bookcases were packed with science fiction, European history, thrillers, mysteries and many odd titles. She was fascinated by where dust came from, with the hundreds of years the Thames River was polluted and how it got cleaned up. The fire in the 1600s that nearly wiped out the town of London. There are books on animal stories, one about a family that adopted a donkey, a couple others about beloved pets that traveled with their owners. There are three books that are over seventy years old, given to her as gifts when she was a child.

After I moved to a smaller apartment, I got as many books as I could onto the bookshelves but there's still some eight banana boxes stuffed with all sorts of genres. I didn't pay much attention to Mom's interests since our tastes in reading were as different as night and day. There was also the fact that I have a small library of my own, most of which I have yet to read but I'm getting there, slow but sure. In the process of putting books on shelves I spent a bit more time paying attention to genres, reading blurbs. Authors like Frederick Forsythe, Tom Clancy and Clive Cussler have to wait their turn because another author caught my attention. C. J. Box.

Mr. Box has written a series called the Joe Pickett novels. Joe is married and has three daughters. He's a fish and game warden in the state of Wyoming and has 1500 miles to oversee. And he never fails to find himself in trouble, trying to do the right thing. After reading one of the Pickett novels in Mom's library, I was hooked. (pun intended.) Joe is my current hero. He's more true-to-life than a lot of heroes I've read about over the years. His supervisors don't like him because he refuses to turn a blind eye to some of the goings on in his district, and he also has a reputation for being really hard vehicles and equipment. In his defense, it's rarely his fault.  Joe's friend, Nate Romanowski, might be wanted by the FBI but Joe trusts Nate with his life, and the lives of his family. The two of them often create a formidable team to solve the current mystery.

While Joe and Nate have become an enjoyable part of my reading time, I've been ignoring those other eight cartons of books that sit stacked in a corner of my living room, still needing to be sorted. I believe Anne Perry is hiding in at least one of those cartons. I'm not sure who else might be hiding with her. I do know that about half my own library is sitting in neat little stacks on the floor in my room, waiting patiently for shelf space that also doesn't exist yet. Eventually they'll all be gone through, sorted and some finding new homes. I have a feeling the process is going to take longer than I'd like. After all, who would want to miss out on whatever gems might be waiting to be rediscovered?

When Time Flies...Faster

Do you recall, when you were growing up, the days that seemed to drag on, that didn't want to end? They rarely happen anymore. Life still has a way of coming before the things you'd like to do. Even setting priorities doesn't always help. Still somewhere along the line you seem to manage to find time to do the things you really want, the things that give you pleasure. Like stopping to smell the roses. At those moments, we have the opportunity to take a breather from responsibilities and no matter how briefly, take some time for ourselves. All work and no play…

Have you noticed how time seems to get away from us, even more so as we age? We get to thinking, was it only yesterday... Case in point... A few weeks ago, was my 50^th class reunion. I wasn’t able to attend, but that didn’t stop me from wondering who was still around, what they’d been doing these past years, and I remember the boy I had a bit of a crush on. Then there was the visit from a friend and her youngest daughter. Now the last time I recalled seeing her, she wasn't very tall, still wore her hair in two braids and was rather shy. Now, my friend mentioned her daughter’s all grown up and happily married. That's what makes me feel older...seeing friends' children growing up, marrying... Even my own adult sons never made me feel like time was getting away from me. The fact I have an adult grandson as well, doesn’t really phase me.

As I get older, I begin to think about how much time might be left and how best to use it. It creates an incentive to get more done, to figure out what's really important, and what dreams are waiting to be fulfilled. The problem is the physical me doesn’t care to cooperate. I seem to be at constant war with what my sister calls a joint conspiracy. They work when they feel like it. If they don’t feel like working, tough luck.

 Retirement? I don't think we ever really retire. It's just a matter of changing priorities. I thought I could spend more time with hobbies, to create the things I didn’t have time to do when I was working. It seems like there still isn’t the time for those things. Until a year or so ago I was an avid reader. That time has, un-fortunately, been greatly diminished. It’s not so easy to find the time to do some of the things you’ve always wanted to do.

Some responsibilities have run their course, like caring for elderly parents, leaving me to face the scary thought of my own mortality. When my dad was having a particularly trying day with his health he used to tell us, “Don’t get old.” After he passed, Mom took over telling us the same thing. Now that she’s gone as well, my siblings and I have taken up that mantra. The difference is we look at each other and laugh and say, “Too late.”  

This is our time, to do what we’ve always loved but couldn’t. Not only do we have more time, but we also have more experience to draw from, as well as memories, many fond, others not so much. We want to put more of ourselves into our creative efforts, to give our children something to remember us by. Then we watch time zip past us even faster giving more meaning to "Time Flies When You're Having Fun."

 

One More Time

There are few of us who can settle into one place and stay there for a lifetime. (That doesn't include buying a home.) If I've learned anything over the years, it's the fact that no time is good for moving, at least not in my book. For almost eleven years, Mom and I had a nice apartment but with her passing a few months ago, I was expected to move into a smaller apartment. No problem with that. According to the in-house grapevine, (and it's quite reliable around here) there were several other people waiting to downsize, so I knew it would be a while. In the meantime I was going to turn Mom's room into a sewing room for the duration.

 

You know Murphy. He's the guy who moves in when you least need him around, but you never see him. He has his own law he follows and his favorite moments are when he can make things go wrong for you: Murphy's Law...whatever can go wrong, will. The day he decided to move in was the day I got the call. Management had an apartment for me. There went the sewing room. When I saw the place, I realized it was perfect for me and I couldn't wait to move in. I still intended to set up a sewing corner and I had the perfect spot.

 

Never move during a heat wave, even if you are staying in the same building. After every trip my son and daughter-in-law made to bring up a large or heavy piece of furniture, they made a mad dash for the Solarium to cool off. Murphy must have taken pity on them because it wasn't until two days later that the Solarium was closed for repairs. It's not so much the heat but the humidity that'll do you in.

 

The bathroom was the first to be sorted out and settled, followed by my room. The sewing machine table, still in its carton, was leaning against the wall beneath a window. That was next to be attended to, or so I thought. Murphy had his own plans to disrupt mine. Two weeks later and that poor table is still waiting. Maybe it'll be set up by Christmas?

 

Murphy has even messed with my writing, the stinker.  In the process of moving, the printer cable has gone missing and my laptop's start menu has nothing in it. Blessings on my computer tech son who suggested a way around that problem till he can actually figure out what went wrong. There has to be a plot in all this. Not that I want to give Murphy any more notoriety because he certainly doesn't deserve it. But maybe there can be found some humor in the situation that could translate to a challenge for a story character. It's worth thinking about.

 

After the last three weeks of hauling cartons to the third floor, stacking them in whatever out of the way spots I can find, deciding what goes and what stays, dealing with the hot weather and a houseguest who was never invited, I can say without a doubt...  This building can grow old and fall down around my ears  I am NEVER moving again.

Lead Me ( Not) Into Temptation: Confession Of A Booklover

If you're anything like me, when you walk into a book store and forget about everything else. Those shelves of books are a siren song, luring you in, tempting you with a myriad of row after row of books in every genre you can think of. (Well, maybe not so much in a brick and mortar store since space would be limited.) Once you start perusing titles and covers, you've been caught up in the siren's snare. But hey, it's not such a bad trap to get caught in. The only problem is losing track of time and later discovering you've been wandering around for the last few hours.

I have several online sources I like to visit on occasion when I hear about a release from one of my favorite authors. When I find a title I like, I start with a price comparison, see where I can get the best deal...and end up getting lost. Researching one title leads to other interesting recommendations and on to others until you've forgotten about what got you started in the first place. (It's like doing research for one of your own plots. You get carried away.) When that happens, I start a list of whatever titles pique my interest. I can sort it all out later.

Mom got catalogs from a company that deals with bargain books. It wasn't unusual for her to order ten or more books at a time. One order consisted of seventeen books. Having that delivered was a special occasion. After she passed, I continued to order from this company until I ran into a slight problem. With my next order, I enclosed a short letter explaining about Mom and asked them to change her name for mine on their mailing list. No questions asked, problem solved.

If you can look at books on a store shelf or in a catalog and walk away empty-handed, you are a strong person. Looking leads to buying, leads to addiction. (Hi, my name is Marissa and I'm a bookaholic.) Let's face it, this is one addiction to which I've never heard of anyone wanting to be cured. Unfortunately, it does lead to another problem. Where do you put them all? 

In my home are no less than thirteen bookshelves, nine of which are stuffed to the gills with Mom's books. She never got to enjoy all of them but it didn't stop her from getting new releases that interested her. (I plead guilty to doing the same.) Every bookaholic knows what TBR stands for. And everyone knows the problems a TBR can create. (If you don't then maybe you shouldn't be reading this blog. You're too neat.)  Picture the following scenario...

TBR stashes begin showing up in odd places. There's a little one beside your favorite chair, within easy reach. Then it creeps into corners, taking up that little space, growing higher until it's a teetering pillar, taller than you. It covers every seat in the house, every flat surface it can find until the furniture is no longer visible. Little booklets are turning up where you never expected. (Where do booklets come from? If you don't know...) You're forced to tread narrow paths to get around, that is if you haven't already lost your way to the front door. Friends and family no longer visit, afraid they may get caught in the trap that's your addiction. They're so worried about you, they're considering intervention. Is there some place to go for help? Not that you've ever heard of and even if there were, you don't want their help. You're happy with your addiction. There's one thing left that might work for you.

BOOKAHOLICS, UNITE!

What Makes a Book Good?

The last three months have been really busy, getting things settled after Mom's passing. There wasn't time to do much else but I did try to make some time to read. Even with less reading time than I usually have, I did get to thinking about this topic.

It's strange how you can do something and never really give it much thought until something happens to draw your attention. On rare occasions I might pick up a book because I'm bored and have no idea what I want to do. Thank goodness that seldom happens. Now that I'm getting back to a normal routine (whatever normal is) I've been reading two books. The one I just finished was a historical romance, When a Scot Ties the Knot by Tessa Dare. It takes place in Scotland and starts out with a slightly unusual setting. I hated to put that one down before finishing it.

The second one is a Star Wars book. Over the years I've collected Star Wars books and only in the last year or so have I finally gotten around to reading any of them. I've read about six books so far. It's hard to read them in order when new books keep coming out that fill gaps between other books.

To get back to the original question: What makes a book good? Every reader has their own ideas on what they look for in a story. For some, if they don't find at least a hint of what they're looking for within the first few pages, or at least the first chapter, the book goes bye-bye. Some will stick it out, hoping the story gets better further into it.

I look for a few things, depending on the genre I'm into at the moment.  I enjoy a good romance, as long as it doesn't get "sticky" along the way. I don't generally read science fiction but I do enjoy time travel and like to see how the displaced character manages in their new surroundings. And if it's part of a time travel series, even better.

First off, the Star Wars books are written by several authors. That being the case, I figured somewhere down the line I'm going to run into a lemon. So far, not a single lemon to be seen. I'm familiar with the main characters from the first three films, and they help me get into the story in short order. (A couple books have plot lines taking place some three thousand years before Luke Skywalker's time.) I've also had the opportunity to delve more deeply into the characters' psyche and better understand what makes them tick. I don't stand on the fringes of the scenes watching and waiting for the characters to react to something. I'm involved.  I read one four-book series about several clone soldiers who were very close. (If you read a lot, usually you can pretty well guess how a story will conclude. Surprise!) In the fourth book about three chapters from the end, I ended up in tears when the climax was nothing like I expected. Good thing there was a box of tissues handy.

To sum up, what makes a book good for me: the setting, action and adventure, a romance that has the characters working together toward a common cause. Best of all, get me emotionally involved and I'll go looking for all your other books.

Won't you stop by the comments section and share with us what makes a book good for you?

When Critics Speak...

In my opinion, Wednesday night is a lousy night for television. Code Black is okay but they had their season finale the end of February. So last night I decided to watch a new DVD I purchased the day before.

Ron Howard has great instincts when it comes to choosing material for the movies he directs. He's willing to take chances on some of the more challenging topics, which is where In the Heart of the Sea falls. Beyond Moby Dick, I imagine there aren't a lot of people interested in whaling but this was based on the true story of the whaling ship Essex, out of Nantucket Island, MA and what became of her and her crew on their last voyage. It also gave Melville the idea for Moby Dick.

In the Heart of the Sea  didn't fare well at the box office. Financially, it bombed. Maybe it was the timing of the release. Sometimes you have to take what you can get and hope for the best. This movie had a November release which wasn't exactly in its favor. By this time of year, movie-goers are looking for feel good movies that promote the holiday season. This one was definitely not seasonal fare.

Not only that, the reviews weren't particularly kind. Then again, critics rarely are. This is where I part company with them. I may read the reviews but I tend to take them with a huge grain of salt. Critiques are often biased one way or the other, good or bad. They can make or break a movie before it's even been released. How can you claim 1) a movie is the best of the year when the year has barely started and you can't compare it to others; or 2) they give a movie low ratings, pick it to pieces because they don't like the genre. (There was one critic, quite a few years ago who hated science fiction movies but was always reviewing them.) If a critic can't keep an open mind, then they shouldn't be in the business of reviews.

I can give one other example of a movie that bombed. Around 1985 LadyHawke  was released in theaters. It starred Matthew Broderick, Rutger Hauer, and Michelle Pfeiffer and was a medieval tale with a paranormal catalyst. Critics hated it. I thought it was, and still is, the best romantic story I have ever seen. A lot of other people agreed. So much for critics' opinions.

The same can be said for us as writers. We put in a lot of time, effort and hard work to create a product we hope people will like and enjoy. We need reviews to help us promote and we hope those reviews are, for the most part, good. More than that, we can only hope the critics keep an open mind when writing reviews. 

This weekend I plan to watch another DVD. Here's an unsolicited review... If you're looking for a story with non-stop action from start to finish, San Andreas should fill the bill.