On getting me to wear a coat...

Knitting in or with a group is a totally new thing for me, and I'm not sure if I would've been willing to just walk right into any group and sit down amongst people I didn't already know. That's the main reason I got so excited when my Librarian called to tell me that there was going to be a start-up at the library -- I've known her for a while, so it would be less like walking into a room full of strangers. I was also thankful to have my very own friend there with me for that first day, and we had a lovely time. I had fun with the girls from the library, and I met a few new people too.

I love the knitting... I just love it, it's everything I'd hoped it would be a few years back when I got the bug to want to learn how to do it. I get a big kick out of the "I made that!" phenomenon, and handing a hand-knitted gift to someone is a warm-fuzzy feeling that's hard to beat. I'm as proud as I can be every time I see My Mom wear either one of her scarves, the loom-knitted one or the hand-knitted one, and she wears 'em with or without a coat; something I've never really felt like I could pull off.

The Boobie Scarf came from an auction for Breast Cancer Awareness, and it is the first hand-knit item I have ever owned; which means I'll always think of Robin as my mentor in the world of knitting. That scarf is one factor that convinces me to wear my coat, because I'm not a real big fan of wearing my heavier coats and it just doesn't seem like a scarf goes with a nylon joggin' jacket or polar fleece pullover. My orange Boobie Scarf usually stays laced under the hood or tucked into the sleeve of my Tulsa Speedway top ten coat from 2004, which is almost always in the back seat of whatever I'm driving. I don't like to drive with it on because I feel all bound-up like my arms don't move like they should; if I'm in the shotgun seat, I'll still take it off and just cover up with it. It's that amazing scarf that makes me put the coat back on to get out of the car -- possibly partly due to the fact that it's got shocking little Boobies all over it, and mostly because it's a real, hand-knitted, fuzzy, real-wool scarf.

I learned what I know about knitting from books and the internet. I've never really had another person sit down with me and show me anything about knitting, but I've learned a LOT from videos on the 'net. It took me several re-readings of the pattern to finally decide I could do it, but I've knit three of those scarves now. A white one just to prove to myself that I could, a raisin-y purple-ish one that went to a Physical Therapist who works in a Cancer Center, and a deep red variegated one that was a special request. I actually got to watch the deep red go from the gift bag to the new owner's neck, and if that don't make ya wanna go knit some more, I don't know what will!

I finished that last Boobie Scarf just a little while before this little Knitting Group got started.

This past Saturday, it was cold, so I pulled that coat out of the back seat and put it on before I made my way across the parking lot and into the library.

What better place to show off the lovely hand-knitted item that made me oh-so-desperately want to learn to knit?

Eh, what better place to watch a little more of how some people work...

Our awesome Librarian was out of town, so there were only three of us there.

It was the same one who asked me what a lightsaber was. The same one who told me that tying knots was uncouth under any circumstances. The one who really, really reminds me of a guy I used to spend a little time with but just had to get away from.

She says it's Obscene.

I'm not about to try and argue about it with her, it'd be too strange -- so just like I did with that guy she reminds me so much of, I'll just listen politely and hold my own ground and that'll be that. I stood my ground with him until he threatened to get out of the truck and take off walkin'. I'm not hiding my scarf for anyone.

Obscene? My already raging fire appreciates her gift of a lit match.

I just might have to abandon flannel and wear sleeveless shirts in the cold just so I can keep wearing that coat every chance I get.

My oldest brother says he wants a sweater with Boobies all over it. He's a fireman, and he participates in the Relay For Life every year with a whole group of firemen who all wear Kilts.

I need to track down some bright red yarn so maybe I can get started on a Boobie Sweater next weekend. Heh.

More later... _\,,/

Good Monday Morning!

Holy crap... It really does feel so good feelin' good again. Geah, lemme check the calendar and see just how long this long strange week has been. Okay, it was longer than a week.

The day before Christmas Eve was a Tuesday, I drove into Tulsa and Clay and I went across the highway to that chain restaurant named after a pepper. We're cheese-eaters, so we had that lovely melty skillet of Chorizo-con-Queso with chips. Right about that time I started feelin' like I wasn't at my best, and nothing really sounded good, so I decided I'd better eat light -- a bowl of soup that they called "Chicken Enchilada" with a side of mashed potatoes because I figured I'd better get something besides just soup.

Bad idea.

Faced with soup named after one of my favorite things from most any Mexican restaurant, I really went downhill. It just didn't taste good, didn't look good, and I ended up asking for a container to take the rest with me; which may have been a bad idea, because the smell wasn't exactly doin' me any favors either. I really felt like I might speeyack, and I ended up askin' Clay to drive back to the house even though it was probably less than a mile.

Christmas Eve, I coughed. I didn't bake cookies, I didn't make Green Bean Casserole, I didn't go to dinner with the folks, I just stayed home and coughed. Christmas Day I loaded up and went to Mom's house, where I coughed my way through a very lovely Christmas Dinner that would've been a dream come true had it not been for all the coughing and hacking. I'm not kiddin', Christmas Dinner was freakin' awesome, everything Christmas Dinner ought to be and I enjoyed every second of sittin' at the table with Clay and My Mom and My Dad, it was great. Except for all the damn coughing.

The day after Christmas I coughed and sneezed. When the sneezing stopped, I was still coughing, and My Mom was coughing too. She ended up in the hospital with it that Monday, and none of us could go up there 'cause my brother and My Dad and I were all still coughing too. I coughed through all sorts of stuff, including a nice dinner get-together with several other coughing victims, and an interesting learning experience with plumbing, which I already wrote about here.

Shortly before New Year's Eve, my brother went to his doctor and ended up with prescriptions for antibiotics and cough medicine. My Dad went to his doctor and ended up with prescriptions for antibiotics and an inhaler. I coughed and coughed through New Year's Eve, which we really didn't observe except that I was up getting a drink of water and while I was coughing, I noticed that it was 11:57 so I said "Happy New Year" as I dragged my ass back into bed.

The day after New Year's was a Friday, and since I'd suffered through the Holiday, I really didn't want to suffer through the weekend, so I called my doctor.

Currently (soon to change), my doctor is a clinic associated with a university, which means it's often easy to get an appointment the same day; I called around 8:45, they got me in at 3:15. Since it's a clinic run by a university, there are many, many doctors there, and it's about like drawing a name out of a hat.

I got Chris Rock.



My whole family caught the same cold, My Mom was in the hospital getting IV antibiotics, My Dad and my brother were both on antibiotics. Dr. Chris Rock listened to me cough, did not seem overly concerned, and told me to go get some Dextromethorphan. Robitussin. Yes, seriously.

At first it almost helped, but it didn't make the whole weekend. By Monday Morning, my ass was really draggin' my tracks out, but I struggled outta bed and into the shower and headed out to work anyway. As I backed the car out of the driveway, I wondered if maybe I was sicker than I thought. The coughing hadn't subsided and the Robitussin wasn't helping. By the time I got to the first stop sign, I wondered if I was really at my best to be driving; out on the highway, I really wondered if I ought to be driving.

I made it to work okay, thankfully, but before lunch time, I'd already nodded off twice in a grubby ol' chair that I ordinarily wouldn't want to touch, let alone sit in.

When I called to check on My Mom, she told me to just take a damn credit card and go to Urgent Care.

If you're Go0gling for that, for Urgent Care in Owasso, over there just off 169 just East of 129th, I'll tell ya this: Dr. Nielson, Judy Nielson is an angel, she's just the best and I was very, very impressed. Like that joke about the tombstone, "I told you I was sick," I was just glad to hear somebody acknowledge that yes, I really was sick, and I really did need some pharmaceutical help to get over it and get better. Finally, I got some prescriptions -- with a genuine diagnosis of Pneumonia, I left with antibiotics, steroids, high-octane cough medicine, and an inhaler. Robitussin, my ass.

Just as soon as I could get those prescriptions filled and grab some snacks, I went straight to the house and did not come out again 'til Thursday evening. Once I'd taken a couple pills out of each pack and got a couple really good streaks of sleep out of that lovely narcotic cough medicine, I was in a whole different world. I got a *lot* of laundry done, accomplished a notable bit of knitting, and read most of a book as well, and things were good. Thursday evening I stopped by the shop to pick up the mail and get some chicken for dinner and that was the first time I came outside all week.

Today, I was ever so thankful to just feel good when I got up to come to work!

Aaaahhhhh...

So very thankful!

But I could still enjoy a few days to just stay in the house.

More later. _\,,/

There was a time, and there is now.

There is a sameness, and there is a difference. As humans, we're all the same in some ways, and we're all different in some ways.

I have a few little secrets I keep; I have a few things I'm not afraid to talk about.

One thing I'm not afraid to talk about is that I know what $40K in credit card debt looks like, and I know what it feels like to mail off that last payment and feel free from it all. It was an amazing feeling, and when I opened the envelope the following month, I took a picture of the statement where it said "Due: $0.00."

Don't look at me like that, I also know without a doubt what it was like wading into that $40K, and I'll never do it again.

That know-it-all-guy just walked in here and asked me if I'd "already given up the monster truck."

I'll be honest, I was a teensy bit puzzled. When I think of "monster truck," I think of the big, serious, massive, six-foot-tires, jumpin' over cars Monster Trucks. Maybe something like that new commercial for washing machines where the guy drives one across the top of a row of machines. Maybe those shows they have alongside the car show every year. Maybe, possibly, something like that Suzuki Samurai with the big fat knobby tires. Maybe.

My first response was a no-brainer. "Do what?" I think "Do what?" may be the wordy replacement for "Huh?"

"Well, the white Lincoln's back out there, did ya already get rid of that silver truck?" Oh. The Excursion. Once I figured that out, I mentioned that the Mark 8 gets about twice the gas mileage so I've been switchin' off every once in a while.

His turn to make the puzzled face, he says "Oh, so you're going to have both?"

I just nodded and went back to the PC without saying anything else.

Yeah, actually, I'm gonna have all three; the SHO, the Mark 8, and the Big Silver Monster Truck, four or five if you count the Hearse and/or the ol' Outlaw Stock Camaro, and I don't really understand why people think that's so odd. It's always good to have a truck around, ain't it? Ask anybody who's ever had to try and borrow one from somebody else -- now, if I want to move something or haul something, I just pop that third-row seat out and cram whatever I want in there, whenever I want to. I don't have to wait for anybody else to make time for me, and I don't have to struggle with starting the ol' diesel Racin' Ambulance in the cold.

While I'm on that topic, that third-row seat is sooooooo much easier to deal with than the one in that Windstar that I had for a while. The third-row seat in the Excursion has wheels on it, so once it's un-latched and rocked forward, it just rolls right out -- get it to the ground and it'll roll right over into the corner of the garage. Handy. As. Can. Be.

The charge on my card for the Excursion would not even come close to a reasonable tip on that dollar amount that I mentioned earlier. It was such a cheap deal, seriously cheap, I'm talkin' cheaper than a new 17" MacBook Pro... I know my interest rates, I've planned my payments, everything'll be alright. Why'd I do it? Because I wanted to. Because I can. There was a time when I couldn't do that, but now, I can, so I did.

Don't get me wrong, it's still the first thing for sale, first for-profit offer can drive it home, I just wanna christen it with a road trip first. The SHO's been with me too long to let go, the $300 Mark 8 was a Birthday Present so selling it would be just tacky. For right now, yeah, I'm keepin' all three.

I'll talk cars with just about anybody, but that know-it-all-guy can just bite me.

Y'all wanna hear about that lady who tried to get me kicked outta the Monster Truck Rally??

;) More later... _\,,/

Fifth Grade.

That know-it-all guy was just here, and yes, he did ask me what I thought about the election.

I told him what I thought about a carhop gettin' pissy with me about it and I told him I wasn't discussing it.

Now, on to where I was going with the fifth graders...

What the hell did I just type there?? I am not going anywhere with fifth graders, but I did have a fascinating moment last night that made me smile. That's where I'm going, to the Northeast corner of the store.

Last night we went to Hobby Lobby in Owasso, and just as planned, I was checkin' out a basket of clearance sale yarn. I stumbled onto some that was labeled "stripes," as opposed to "variegated" like the yarn right next to it... It was a brand I've yet to knit with, but it fascinated me 'cause it was super-soft, burgundy with bits of green and smaller bits of white so it was Christmas-ish without being too red/white/green/garish. It wasn't glittery, but it had a hint of a shiny look to it. The coolest part: it was only a $1.67 a ball.

Over my shoulder, at a distance, I heard someone ask, "Do you knit?" As I looked that direction, I saw a lady on her cell phone walking through the fabric department headed toward the yarn. "Oh, so you don't knit, you crochet, okay, well, she's gotta have knitting stuff, I'll call ya later."

When she was close enough, she asked me if I knit. I was so proud to say yes, but I still worry if I'm good enough to be an "ambassador."

She told me her daughter was in fifth grade and needed to take needles and yarn to school the next day because they were all going to learn to knit!

I think she may have been a little surprised by my squeal of glee...

I hope I did okay; I told her what I knew about beginning knitters -- what I'd found as a beginner myself, anyway. Smooth, non-bumpy yarn is easiest to work with, and needles that are a little bigger than you might expect are great for learning how it all needs to go.

She picked some soft pale pink yarn and a pair of translucent needles from right there by the clearance basket, patted my shoulder, thanked me oh-so-sweetly, and hurried away.

Somewhere today, probably Owasso, there's a whole classroom full of fifth grade kids who are learning to knit!

A whole bunch of brand-new knitters!!

I'm so proud I could play a tiny part in that!!!

One Out Of The Ditch...

Back in May, I wrote a little piece involving a car that looked just like mine off in the ditch up North of here.

Since I go by there almost every day, I saw the car in the water several times. It was fairly deep, nasty lookin' water, and I watched it recede a bit and come back up a bit a couple times. While the water was still there, the car disappeared. Not deep enough to completely cover the car; but still deep enough most wrecker services would say "just wait,"

At the end of that piece, I said I hoped they'd call us about it...

Two guys pulled it out with a pickup before the water went down at all, and today, they called, and we bought it!




Not the SHO like I'd figured and it looks to have been pretty rough before the water came, but still, a bit of a parts car nonetheless.

More later... _\,,/

Why I Love My Little Hometown...

I heard a little bit on NPR about the Storms that hit Kansas recently, and the reporter mentioned how the aid organizations (Red Cross and other folks who work along those lines) aren't having to do as much in the small towns as the do in the big cities because Small Town Folks tend to take care of each other.

Five years ago today, when David died, I think that was when I started to realize just how nice that "Sense of Community" was around here. I didn't work for about three weeks, but as soon as I was back in town on a daily basis, there was always somebody around to give me a little hug and ask how I was doin'. People I'd talked to before, or people I'd just seen around now and then, it didn't matter -- everybody seemed to care; these folks are a warm, friendly bunch.

Sperry is a tiny little town, we don't even have a stoplight here -- but the people are friendly as they can be, it's usually pretty quiet, we've got a real nice Library (with a Librarian who's a real sweetheart), and our Shell Station makes a damn good corndog.

When somebody mentions "flood water," we get a little nervous around here. Even though it doesn't get clear up into the houses all that often, it'll get deep enough that it's hard to find a road that's high enough get into or out of town. There's been a lot of rain around here lately, and it's been up over the road in a place or two.

Since Monday Morning, we've had several phone calls come in askin' about me, if I'm okay, and what I'm gonna do about my car... Well, I'm fine, I drove my car to work today, and uhm, what's goin' on?

I know my "regular readers" have probably already heard me talk about how I love my ol' car, probably more than I should -- kinda like how I love the cat even though she puked on my bed... I love that car, even though it's gettin' old, even though I worry a bit about second gear, I still love it. This here's My Thirteen-Year-Old Ford:



The rest of these shots are not My Thirteen-Year-Old Ford -- they're of someone else's Twelve-to-Fifteen-Year-Old Ford, washed off of US11 up between here and Skiatook:






Whoever it belongs to, I hope they got out alright and I hope they're okay. The water was starting to recede, that's why there's mud visible on the hood and the bumper -- but it's raining again right now.

I also kinda hope they call us when it's time to get it out of there... We can always use a parts-car.

I'll go to the park when I leave work today, even if it's raining too hard to get out of my car. I may write, or I may not; and the more I think about it, the more I think that if I do write, it probably won't be something I publish. I'll go and spend a little time in that same spot I usually go to, even though nobody ever told me exactly where David was when he died...

It doesn't matter where though; because he's everywhere, especially in the hearts of people like him, people who are friendly as though they never meet a stranger.

More later. _\,,/