Saturday, May 1, 2010, 9:40 a.m.
Irvine Ranch Conservancy
Orange, California
Mouth of Fremont Canyon
This morning we are gifted by the tracks a mountain lion has left on the trail--fresh enough to leave an impression in the soft dirt but not so shiny as to arouse fear. The cat strolled towards the trailhead in the early morning hours, the tracks as silent now as when they were freshly made.
Further down the trail we cross the river Fremont on fast, flat feet. The busy river hurries to smooth our boot marks from its bed. We step up and wade into a sea of rip gut grass nearly as high as my thigh. Thea, our guide, goes before us, parting the sea with her staff, on guard for any serpents lurking in the garden. We walk on the thick litter of fallen leaves so soft underfoot that I’m reminded of walking on my childhood bed.
We come to rest under a canopy of oaks whose interlocking branches trap the coolness of a nearby stream. We’re sheltered from the heat of the day by nature’s own air conditioner. The dappled lighting and tender murmuring of the stream is so comforting that I could sit here forever.
Saturday, May 01, 2010
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Tuesday, April 27, 2010 7:40 a.m.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
7:40 a.m.
Business Park on UCI Campus near California & Academy Way
10 Minutes in Nature
Over the past few weeks I’ve discovered that a quick walk through the corporate parking lot resets my brain when I need to switch from one project to another. At 7:40 a.m. today, I'd already been at work for 90 minutes, finished writing a three-page document and wasn’t quite alert enough to move on to the next thing.
I stepped into the 55 degree morning air so cloudy and thick that not a single strand of sunlight penetrated the fog. My head was filled with work concerns, chewing around and around until I spotted him—our resident road runner. My thoughts of work vanished and my heart was filled with the delight of encountering an actual wild creature. I was surprised to see him sitting on top of a hedge. Given that he's a road runner, I would have never thought of him as given to flight. Yet there he was, peering intently into the leaves, searching for that one delicious opportunity.
I gave him a wide berth because I wanted to observe his wildness for as many seconds as possible before returning to my corporate cage. I loved his Mohawk and long floppy tail. I know that lizards sleep in late so I wondered what he could be hunting for breakfast. But, at last, I rounded the corner and lost sight of him.
And yet…
I was rewarded with the sight of a small rabbit, hunched against the chill air, quietly cropping at the grass. Again, my heart thrilled at the sight of a wild thing. I turned my front-facing predator eyes away and swung a wide circle around him knowing that I was the intruder on his morning meal. How much I wanted to put just one fingertip on its fur to know if its pelt is as soft as I imagine. How much I regret the divide of fear that separates us.
I turned the final corner and climbed the stairs to my office, reluctant at leaving the wild things but with renewed energy to dig into my project. Still, before I return to my corporate cage, I wrote these few lines so I can remember that, even for just a few moments today, I walked where the wild things are.
7:40 a.m.
Business Park on UCI Campus near California & Academy Way
10 Minutes in Nature
Over the past few weeks I’ve discovered that a quick walk through the corporate parking lot resets my brain when I need to switch from one project to another. At 7:40 a.m. today, I'd already been at work for 90 minutes, finished writing a three-page document and wasn’t quite alert enough to move on to the next thing.
I stepped into the 55 degree morning air so cloudy and thick that not a single strand of sunlight penetrated the fog. My head was filled with work concerns, chewing around and around until I spotted him—our resident road runner. My thoughts of work vanished and my heart was filled with the delight of encountering an actual wild creature. I was surprised to see him sitting on top of a hedge. Given that he's a road runner, I would have never thought of him as given to flight. Yet there he was, peering intently into the leaves, searching for that one delicious opportunity.
I gave him a wide berth because I wanted to observe his wildness for as many seconds as possible before returning to my corporate cage. I loved his Mohawk and long floppy tail. I know that lizards sleep in late so I wondered what he could be hunting for breakfast. But, at last, I rounded the corner and lost sight of him.
And yet…
I was rewarded with the sight of a small rabbit, hunched against the chill air, quietly cropping at the grass. Again, my heart thrilled at the sight of a wild thing. I turned my front-facing predator eyes away and swung a wide circle around him knowing that I was the intruder on his morning meal. How much I wanted to put just one fingertip on its fur to know if its pelt is as soft as I imagine. How much I regret the divide of fear that separates us.
I turned the final corner and climbed the stairs to my office, reluctant at leaving the wild things but with renewed energy to dig into my project. Still, before I return to my corporate cage, I wrote these few lines so I can remember that, even for just a few moments today, I walked where the wild things are.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
April 17, 2010 2:20 p.m.
April 17, 2010 2:20 p.m.
James Dilley Preserve – Laguna Beach
Working our way to the top
parking lot
canyon trail
200 years of oak
bird songs
insect hum
sharing
poison oak
monkey faced flowers
a heart-shaped cactus warning of dangerous love
the further we go, the more challenges appear
We stop short of the summit. We’re stopped by the persistence of time and the steepness of the road ahead. It’s not an impossible path; we’re just out of time. But, it’s okay—this path not taken because we get the chance to retrace our steps, do over, and see what we missed before.
For a scant few hours we are a chain on a trail, sharing words, thoughts, ideas and impressions in an eternal landscape that stretches forwards and backwards in time. Although we leave no trace on the trail, we are humans sharing the same experience, temporarily united. Together we’ll carry the unique impressions of this day always, having chosen to spend and not waste the afternoon of this day.
Even though we left no trace on the trail, we’ll leave a fingerprint on each other’s lives. And from the bottom to the top, we are forever changed.
James Dilley Preserve – Laguna Beach
Working our way to the top
parking lot
canyon trail
200 years of oak
bird songs
insect hum
sharing
poison oak
monkey faced flowers
a heart-shaped cactus warning of dangerous love
the further we go, the more challenges appear
We stop short of the summit. We’re stopped by the persistence of time and the steepness of the road ahead. It’s not an impossible path; we’re just out of time. But, it’s okay—this path not taken because we get the chance to retrace our steps, do over, and see what we missed before.
For a scant few hours we are a chain on a trail, sharing words, thoughts, ideas and impressions in an eternal landscape that stretches forwards and backwards in time. Although we leave no trace on the trail, we are humans sharing the same experience, temporarily united. Together we’ll carry the unique impressions of this day always, having chosen to spend and not waste the afternoon of this day.
Even though we left no trace on the trail, we’ll leave a fingerprint on each other’s lives. And from the bottom to the top, we are forever changed.
Monday, December 28, 2009
What is Contentment?
1Timothy
6:6-10
But godliness
with contentment is great gain. For we
brought nothing into the world and we can take nothing out of it. But if we have food and clothing, we will be
content with that. People who want to
get rich fall into temptation and a trap and into many foolish and harmful
desires that plunge men into ruin and destruction. For the love of money is a root of all kinds
of evil. Some people, eager for money,
have wandered from the faith and pierced themselves with many griefs.
What do I
complain about?
Our
society is geared to make me feel a need when there really isn’t one. When things aren’t the way I want them to be,
my satisfaction with life destroyed. To
determine what represents contentment to me, examine what I complain
about. What do I think is
unsatisfactory? What do I think needs to
change in order for me to be content?
What do I think I don’t have enough of?
Godliness with
contentment is great gain.
Godliness
is being satisfied with God. The word
for contentment has the connotative meaning of raising a barrier, setting a
limit. It refers to raising both hands
in a “stop” gesture to one’s servants to indicate that you’ve eaten enough
food, that you’ve had enough. Setting limits is difficult, but if I keep setting the
bar higher and higher, I’ll never be content.
But,
when I’m satisfied with what I have, I can focus on
growing in the Lord; then, when I get more, it’s a blessing and
I can be thankful and praise God.
For we brought
nothing into the world and we can take nothing out of it. But if we have food and clothing, we will be
content with that.
I
start my life naked and without food. I
end my life the same way. Therefore,
anything beyond food and clothing is a blessing.
People who
want to get rich fall into temptation and a trap and into many foolish and
harmful desires that plunge men into ruin and destruction. For the love of money is a root of all kinds
of evil. Some people, eager for money,
have wandered from the faith and pierced themselves with many griefs.
The
alternative to being content is to seek money (and stuff); however, people who
do so face temptation and harmful desires.
In this verse “evil” has the connotative meaning of “worthless
things”—that is, when I love money, worthless things will come into my life.
The
idea here is when I’m not content with what I have and my focus is on making
money, I’ll be robbed of valuable things: time with my family, time with
nature, and time with God. Setting limits allows room and time for godliness.
When
I have a sense of lack, it actually comes from wanting more of God, of wanting
the feeling of being blessed (like Psalm 23).
Action Items
§ Don’t buy any
more food until I’ve eaten all of the food in my cupboards and fridge.
§ Don’t buy any
more yarn until I’ve knitted everything I have.
§ Take note of
what I complain about.
§ When I feel a
lack, spend time with God.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Penny Rug and Laptop Bag
I'm halfway through the Penny Rug Purse. Now that I'm into it, it's a bit dull. Even with the frequent color changes, it's just hundreds of rows of stockinette (knit a row, purl a row). A nice little perk is that a lot of the people in my knitting group admire it and find it to be really eye-poppingly colorful.
Today I launched into another project: the Aguona Laptop Bag kit from Knit Picks. It's a challenging project in several ways. The first, is that it's knitted in the round with a fairly large stitch count (230 stitches). The second, is that the front and back of the bag are different Fair Isle patterns: one chart for the front and a different chart from the back. Finally, the bag has a very dense gauge so I'm knitting it on size 2 needles.
On Ravelry, I looked at the comment other knitters had in making this project. A lot of people griped about the gauge, so I was very careful to make a swatch (and another and another) before starting. The pattern calls for size 4 needles but--no way! I ended up on size 2's. Also, when I made my gauge swatch, I was careful to knit the swatch in Fair Isle pattern--not just stockinette. I'm proud to see how this goes.
Today I launched into another project: the Aguona Laptop Bag kit from Knit Picks. It's a challenging project in several ways. The first, is that it's knitted in the round with a fairly large stitch count (230 stitches). The second, is that the front and back of the bag are different Fair Isle patterns: one chart for the front and a different chart from the back. Finally, the bag has a very dense gauge so I'm knitting it on size 2 needles.
On Ravelry, I looked at the comment other knitters had in making this project. A lot of people griped about the gauge, so I was very careful to make a swatch (and another and another) before starting. The pattern calls for size 4 needles but--no way! I ended up on size 2's. Also, when I made my gauge swatch, I was careful to knit the swatch in Fair Isle pattern--not just stockinette. I'm proud to see how this goes.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Dealing with Medical Billing Issues
Although Aetna paid my claim for last year, an Orange County hospital continued to chase me down. Last month, I sent a little letter with my payment that was ignored. When I got a new bill this month that didn't reflect the changes, I got really angry. I find I'm a little depressed today BUT I called them and calmly went over my EOB.
They said they would correct the bill today. So, I'm high fiving me for dealing with the issue and not avoiding, and for dealing with it calmly in spite of my depression.
They said they would correct the bill today. So, I'm high fiving me for dealing with the issue and not avoiding, and for dealing with it calmly in spite of my depression.
Penny Rugs
Today I started to knit the Penny Rug purse from Bag Style. It’s this amazing thing that uses 10 eye-popping colors of yarn. After I’ve finished knitting it, I’ll throw it into the washing machine with a hot wash, cold rinse cycle and wind up with a felted bag.
The purse’s design is based on a penny rug. Of course, I had no idea of what a penny rug was until I googled it and—wow! It turns out that women used to take worn out knitted wear, felt it, cut designs from the felt, and sew them onto a large piece of felt. Although the name is “penny rug,” they were typically used as decorative table runners. The “penny” in the name refers to the idea of using a penny as a template so that even the smallest scrap of yarn didn’t go to waste.
This has given me an idea of how to use all the little scraps of wool yarn I have left over from knitting projects. Yum-o-rama. I even surfed the web and found I can get large sheets of felt from here: http://woollymammothwoolens.ecrater.com/)
I'm amazed at all of the penny rugs on the web. It reminds me of what my friend said: there are all of these subcultures that exist around us every day. We never see them until we look directly at them--and then we're amazed that this whole subculture exists. (He was talking about the discoveries he made when he started to play blues harmonica.)
Dreaming future yarnish stuff is amazing for getting one through the day!
The purse’s design is based on a penny rug. Of course, I had no idea of what a penny rug was until I googled it and—wow! It turns out that women used to take worn out knitted wear, felt it, cut designs from the felt, and sew them onto a large piece of felt. Although the name is “penny rug,” they were typically used as decorative table runners. The “penny” in the name refers to the idea of using a penny as a template so that even the smallest scrap of yarn didn’t go to waste.
This has given me an idea of how to use all the little scraps of wool yarn I have left over from knitting projects. Yum-o-rama. I even surfed the web and found I can get large sheets of felt from here: http://woollymammothwoolens.ecrater.com/)
I'm amazed at all of the penny rugs on the web. It reminds me of what my friend said: there are all of these subcultures that exist around us every day. We never see them until we look directly at them--and then we're amazed that this whole subculture exists. (He was talking about the discoveries he made when he started to play blues harmonica.)
Dreaming future yarnish stuff is amazing for getting one through the day!
Friday, March 13, 2009
Grace of God
I'm learning so much about God's grace.
Because I had several years where…hm…I was living in God’s permissive will and struggling with mental illness, I racked up a bunch of problems for myself with the Franchise Tax Board and HOAs. I was so ashamed, I hid from the problems, so they got worse and worse.
God has graciously shown me that, because of the severity of my illness, I belong in the corporate world with structure, social interaction and benefits where I can exercise the talents He gave me.
As I’ve gotten on my feet, God has queued up each of these problems and given me the emotional stability and finances to conquer them. The more I agree with God on the things that fall short of his standards and the more I ask for help, the more grace falls and I can finally SEE and KNOW God is knitting together the dropped stitches of my life.
Because I had several years where…hm…I was living in God’s permissive will and struggling with mental illness, I racked up a bunch of problems for myself with the Franchise Tax Board and HOAs. I was so ashamed, I hid from the problems, so they got worse and worse.
God has graciously shown me that, because of the severity of my illness, I belong in the corporate world with structure, social interaction and benefits where I can exercise the talents He gave me.
As I’ve gotten on my feet, God has queued up each of these problems and given me the emotional stability and finances to conquer them. The more I agree with God on the things that fall short of his standards and the more I ask for help, the more grace falls and I can finally SEE and KNOW God is knitting together the dropped stitches of my life.
Monday, March 09, 2009
Adventures in Lent - Day 13
I’m happy to say I haven’t fallen off the soda wagon yet; however, I completely gave up on the T.V. fast. I probably could do it for a week or a weekend, but 40 days—oy!
On a happy note, I have been reading more. I finished “Violet Dawn” by Brandilyn Collins and “Grave Risk” by Hannah Alexander. I like them quite well as cozy Christian mysteries. I’m not sure how Christian it is to read about murder for entertainment, but I want to be more careful about feeding my mind too much dark stuff—both for the sake of depression and out of love for God.
I know it won’t make God love me any more or less if I read murder mysteries; however, he does tell us to think on things that are good, pure, true, and holy—not because he’s a killjoy, but because he knows that our minds and souls are more fragile than we know. Too much dark stuff numbs us out and damages our ability to be sensitive and compassionate to each other.
On a happy note, I have been reading more. I finished “Violet Dawn” by Brandilyn Collins and “Grave Risk” by Hannah Alexander. I like them quite well as cozy Christian mysteries. I’m not sure how Christian it is to read about murder for entertainment, but I want to be more careful about feeding my mind too much dark stuff—both for the sake of depression and out of love for God.
I know it won’t make God love me any more or less if I read murder mysteries; however, he does tell us to think on things that are good, pure, true, and holy—not because he’s a killjoy, but because he knows that our minds and souls are more fragile than we know. Too much dark stuff numbs us out and damages our ability to be sensitive and compassionate to each other.
Friday, March 06, 2009
Feeding the Ducks
I needed to unwind at lunch so I went to feed the ducks at the local park. Yes, it was a little weird last week with the international festival of coots, but I knew what to expect this time.
Sort of.
Again, the lake erupted with coots when I tossed the first scraps of bread into the water. The twist this time was that there were several Canadian geese and I think what was a Snow goose. The Canadian geese sound so cool. They've got this deep, low sound.
The Snow goose was huge! Hip high. It made a terrible, nasal squeaking sound. When I would turn away to feed the coots and ducks, it would bump me with its bill or grab my trousers and give them a shake. It was an interesting looking duck with a bumped bill and a waddle under its throat. Its breast was white, its body was tan and its feet were pink. Its insistence at being fed made me laugh out loud.
As I searched for information about this goose, I learned that I'm not supposed to feed wild ducks and geese. Kind of bums me out because it's been kind of cool spending time with them at lunch.
Sort of.
Again, the lake erupted with coots when I tossed the first scraps of bread into the water. The twist this time was that there were several Canadian geese and I think what was a Snow goose. The Canadian geese sound so cool. They've got this deep, low sound.
The Snow goose was huge! Hip high. It made a terrible, nasal squeaking sound. When I would turn away to feed the coots and ducks, it would bump me with its bill or grab my trousers and give them a shake. It was an interesting looking duck with a bumped bill and a waddle under its throat. Its breast was white, its body was tan and its feet were pink. Its insistence at being fed made me laugh out loud.
As I searched for information about this goose, I learned that I'm not supposed to feed wild ducks and geese. Kind of bums me out because it's been kind of cool spending time with them at lunch.
Adventures in Lent - Day 10
Not drinking soda is easy. I'm still tempted when I go through the drive-thru, but I'm getting better at ordering milk, juice, or punch. (I still haven't gotten with the idea of a burger + iced tea.) It's not even a sacrifice any more.
So, because I don't "feel" the sacrifice, I'm planning to up the ante. Every time I would drink a soda, I'll put $2 in a "soda jar." Then, on Easter the contents of the soda jar either goes into the offering plate or to a ministry--and it stands to be anywhere between $75 and $150. So, very cool.
And now for something completely different.
I've always hesitated to call myself a Christian because my life doesn't reflect godliness.
I've always had this nagging worry that, at the end of my life, God would turn me out of heaven because I hadn't really walked with him. I buckle down and try to pray or read the Bible, hoping that it would MAKE ME LOVE GOD, but it's been as effective as dragging a child by the ear to the dinner table to eat vegetables.
To rely 100% on grace...on God's own word...that he has my back....that he's got good plans for me...it absolutely scares the snot outta me.
And yet, today I decided to put grace to the test. I got up and said, "Ha! I don't hafta pray." And then, instead of watching TV, I ended up talking with God about work but without the veneer of holiness. I said he could be the project manager of my team.. I felt gentle instead of snarky so I prayed a little for my co-workers.
All day today, it's been effortless to work hard. I knocked through a snag I've been procrastinating about for MONTHS. My team totally gelled. They worked hard but actually thanked me at the end of the day. And some of the petty crap I've been carrying dropped away with no effort.
So. It's like a terrifyingly scary little miracle.
So, because I don't "feel" the sacrifice, I'm planning to up the ante. Every time I would drink a soda, I'll put $2 in a "soda jar." Then, on Easter the contents of the soda jar either goes into the offering plate or to a ministry--and it stands to be anywhere between $75 and $150. So, very cool.
And now for something completely different.
I've always hesitated to call myself a Christian because my life doesn't reflect godliness.
I've always had this nagging worry that, at the end of my life, God would turn me out of heaven because I hadn't really walked with him. I buckle down and try to pray or read the Bible, hoping that it would MAKE ME LOVE GOD, but it's been as effective as dragging a child by the ear to the dinner table to eat vegetables.
To rely 100% on grace...on God's own word...that he has my back....that he's got good plans for me...it absolutely scares the snot outta me.
And yet, today I decided to put grace to the test. I got up and said, "Ha! I don't hafta pray." And then, instead of watching TV, I ended up talking with God about work but without the veneer of holiness. I said he could be the project manager of my team.. I felt gentle instead of snarky so I prayed a little for my co-workers.
All day today, it's been effortless to work hard. I knocked through a snag I've been procrastinating about for MONTHS. My team totally gelled. They worked hard but actually thanked me at the end of the day. And some of the petty crap I've been carrying dropped away with no effort.
So. It's like a terrifyingly scary little miracle.
Monday, March 02, 2009
Adventures in Lent – Day 5
I made it through Day 4 with no soda. I got another lemonade but didn’t even finish it. Fortunately, today is a gray day so I’m not jonesing for soda the way I was during super sunny Saturday.
I’m continuing to memorize Psalms on the way to work. I’ve struggled with this. Part of me says, “It’s just works.” But, part of me says, “Hey, Jesus, the prophets, and the apostles all could quote scripture.” So, even on the days I’ve gotta force myself, I’m continuing to creep through.
So far, I’m on Psalm 4. And, even though I’m kind of “force-feeding” them to myself a lot of the time, they kind of come back to me:
Psalm 1: Imagine being like a tree planted by a stream of cool water. They’re so lush. In the Sierras, the oaks that are planted by the water have such amazing color. In Japanese gardens, when willows are planted by a stream, they grow so luxuriantly that their branches dip into the cool water.
Water is used in baptism to signify death and resurrection. Jesus’ baptism is one of the few places where Bible references the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit as all present at the same time.
Our bodies are mostly water. Our planet is mostly water. When Jesus’ side was pierced, both blood and water flowed from his heart.
I’m continuing to memorize Psalms on the way to work. I’ve struggled with this. Part of me says, “It’s just works.” But, part of me says, “Hey, Jesus, the prophets, and the apostles all could quote scripture.” So, even on the days I’ve gotta force myself, I’m continuing to creep through.
So far, I’m on Psalm 4. And, even though I’m kind of “force-feeding” them to myself a lot of the time, they kind of come back to me:
Psalm 1: Imagine being like a tree planted by a stream of cool water. They’re so lush. In the Sierras, the oaks that are planted by the water have such amazing color. In Japanese gardens, when willows are planted by a stream, they grow so luxuriantly that their branches dip into the cool water.
Water is used in baptism to signify death and resurrection. Jesus’ baptism is one of the few places where Bible references the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit as all present at the same time.
Our bodies are mostly water. Our planet is mostly water. When Jesus’ side was pierced, both blood and water flowed from his heart.
Sunday, March 01, 2009
Adventures in Lent - Days 3 and 4
Okay, so a bit of the soda lust kicked in and I still haven't done any serious fasting from T.V.
Yesterday, I was late getting my lunch. I drove through Boston Market for one of their $5 favorites. Immediately, I was faced with the temptation of having soda with my meal. But, I remember that they serve yummy Minute Maid lemonade. It was a minuscule sacrifice though, as I'd really, really, really wanted a coke.
Later that day, the Coke craving kicked in again when I went to do my errands. I was sorely tempted to pull into a gas station for a quick soda fix; instead, I splashed my thirst with a bottle of Crystal Light fruit punch. Still, my soda tooth ached for a 20-ounce Coca-cola over ice with a nice fat straw.
Today, I grabbed a burger after church. Again, I was faced with avid soda lust. Oy! I've gotten in the habit of having soda for lunch, dinner, and with an afternoon snack. But, again, I resisted and went with a carton of OJ instead. But, even as I write this, I'm longing to lose myself in sticky-sweet, carbonated soda-soda-soda.
Part of me thinks that, perhaps I'm even cheating by having OJ or lemonade or iced tea. But, perhaps, sacrifice is one step at a time.
On the good side, my depression has lifted. It had been dogging me for weeks. I'd tried going to bed sooner, but I tossed and turned or woke up at 4 a.m. I tried taking Benadryl, but it only allows me to sleep for 4 hours and then *bong* I'm awake. My NP has prescribed 3 mg of Melatonin. I'm getting a bit better, but still having a hard time falling asleep, sleeping deeply, and getting more than 5 hours of sleep. She advised me to up the dose to 6 mg tonight. We'll see how that goes.
In the past, I've taken Ambien but, the more I read about hypnotic sleep meds, the less I want to take them. And yet, I know that when my sleep cycle breaks, my depression comes roaring out like a lion.
Yesterday, I was late getting my lunch. I drove through Boston Market for one of their $5 favorites. Immediately, I was faced with the temptation of having soda with my meal. But, I remember that they serve yummy Minute Maid lemonade. It was a minuscule sacrifice though, as I'd really, really, really wanted a coke.
Later that day, the Coke craving kicked in again when I went to do my errands. I was sorely tempted to pull into a gas station for a quick soda fix; instead, I splashed my thirst with a bottle of Crystal Light fruit punch. Still, my soda tooth ached for a 20-ounce Coca-cola over ice with a nice fat straw.
Today, I grabbed a burger after church. Again, I was faced with avid soda lust. Oy! I've gotten in the habit of having soda for lunch, dinner, and with an afternoon snack. But, again, I resisted and went with a carton of OJ instead. But, even as I write this, I'm longing to lose myself in sticky-sweet, carbonated soda-soda-soda.
Part of me thinks that, perhaps I'm even cheating by having OJ or lemonade or iced tea. But, perhaps, sacrifice is one step at a time.
On the good side, my depression has lifted. It had been dogging me for weeks. I'd tried going to bed sooner, but I tossed and turned or woke up at 4 a.m. I tried taking Benadryl, but it only allows me to sleep for 4 hours and then *bong* I'm awake. My NP has prescribed 3 mg of Melatonin. I'm getting a bit better, but still having a hard time falling asleep, sleeping deeply, and getting more than 5 hours of sleep. She advised me to up the dose to 6 mg tonight. We'll see how that goes.
In the past, I've taken Ambien but, the more I read about hypnotic sleep meds, the less I want to take them. And yet, I know that when my sleep cycle breaks, my depression comes roaring out like a lion.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Adventures in Lent – Day 2
I think that giving up soda may have been too easy of a challenge. I’m well into Day 2 and have no cravings whatsoever. It doesn’t feel like a sacrifice at all.
I didn’t do so well at giving up television. I have some alternatives planned but I rationalized, "I'm so tired from work. I'm depressed. I'll start tomorrow. I want to finish watching the series." I'm glad Jesus didn't rationalize.
And yet, I DO want to finish watching the series. So, I'm going to watch the final 5 episodes and then begin my TV fast.
Alternatives: knit, go for a walk, go to the gym, read, do the stuff I always put off
I didn’t do so well at giving up television. I have some alternatives planned but I rationalized, "I'm so tired from work. I'm depressed. I'll start tomorrow. I want to finish watching the series." I'm glad Jesus didn't rationalize.
And yet, I DO want to finish watching the series. So, I'm going to watch the final 5 episodes and then begin my TV fast.
Alternatives: knit, go for a walk, go to the gym, read, do the stuff I always put off
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Feeding the Ducks
It's a beautiful sunny day so I decided to have a flashback to childhood and went to feed the ducks at lunch.
I found a nice bench by the lake. I envisioned a leisurely time of tearing small chunks of bread and tossing them out into the lake while a few ducks dabbled around.
Boy did I ever have it wrong.
After I tossed the first chunk of bread in the water, the lake erupted with COOTS. Dozens and dozens of them surged towards the little scrap of bread. Others ran toward me, honking and screeching, beaks questing for the next slice.
I shredded the entire loaf as quickly as I could but--golly--I could scarcely shred and toss quickly enough. The boldest ones gathered around my feet, snatching at the scraps I dropped. I feared they would snap up one of my toes. Some of them were so close, I could literally put the bread in their mouths.
It took less than 10 minutes to go through a full loaf of bread. It was as invigorating as a 10-mile march.
Although it wasn't the leisurely activity I was looking for, it still was sort of nice. So, if you ever feel unwanted, just take a loaf of bread to the nearest lake. You'll feel like a movie star in no time.
I found a nice bench by the lake. I envisioned a leisurely time of tearing small chunks of bread and tossing them out into the lake while a few ducks dabbled around.
Boy did I ever have it wrong.
After I tossed the first chunk of bread in the water, the lake erupted with COOTS. Dozens and dozens of them surged towards the little scrap of bread. Others ran toward me, honking and screeching, beaks questing for the next slice.
I shredded the entire loaf as quickly as I could but--golly--I could scarcely shred and toss quickly enough. The boldest ones gathered around my feet, snatching at the scraps I dropped. I feared they would snap up one of my toes. Some of them were so close, I could literally put the bread in their mouths.
It took less than 10 minutes to go through a full loaf of bread. It was as invigorating as a 10-mile march.
Although it wasn't the leisurely activity I was looking for, it still was sort of nice. So, if you ever feel unwanted, just take a loaf of bread to the nearest lake. You'll feel like a movie star in no time.
Adventures in Lent - Day 1
Depression is on the rampage today in this brain o’ mine. Even though I’ve prayed the sinner’s prayer and offered my life to God, I never quite feel saved.
I don’t see that my life has radically changed. Even before I became a Christian, I’d never been one to take drugs or swear like a sailor. I’d already gotten to the point in my life where I didn’t get drunk or sleep around. And yet, I still felt lonely and sad.
When I moved to a new town, I decided to get involved in the community by going to church and volunteering at the local library. I enjoyed volunteering at the library. And, after a few times of going to church…I felt so sad…I remember sitting in the back row, wearing solid black and praying, “God, I can’t make it another day without you.”
For awhile, I was really focused on prayer and going to church…but after about a year or so, the pastor did a lousy thing and my church imploded with grief and anger. The pastor was kicked out and a new pastor took over.
The whole drama shook me so hard. I fell into the deepest depression I’d ever known. I was hospitalized for a few weeks, but it was months before I was functional again.
I’ve stumbled around for years…dropping out of my career, following a new master that let me down, going to a different church…but after about 6 years, returning to my original church.
The things that make me feel unsaved is that I don’t have a deep desire to pray or read the Bible or tithe and I feel guilty when I don’t do it and that I don’t have the desire to. It’s not easy for me to go to church, that is, I don’t go “woo-hoo, it’s time for church!” I often drag myself there. Currently, I’m forcing myself to memorize Psalms. There’s no joy in it though.
I feel trapped in no-man’s land. Not finding the peace of God or peace with God. I want it, but it’s so elusive. Today I told God that I give up. I don’t want to, but I just don’t feel the fruit of the Spirit. I don’t see/feel the action of God in my life. Maybe I’m ungrateful or something. I don’t want to be, but I just am.
I was memorizing the Psalms because I thought it would cure my apathy.
Today is the first day of Lent. Even though I’m “giving up,” I thought I’d still “do Lent,” by giving up soda and TV.
I don’t see that my life has radically changed. Even before I became a Christian, I’d never been one to take drugs or swear like a sailor. I’d already gotten to the point in my life where I didn’t get drunk or sleep around. And yet, I still felt lonely and sad.
When I moved to a new town, I decided to get involved in the community by going to church and volunteering at the local library. I enjoyed volunteering at the library. And, after a few times of going to church…I felt so sad…I remember sitting in the back row, wearing solid black and praying, “God, I can’t make it another day without you.”
For awhile, I was really focused on prayer and going to church…but after about a year or so, the pastor did a lousy thing and my church imploded with grief and anger. The pastor was kicked out and a new pastor took over.
The whole drama shook me so hard. I fell into the deepest depression I’d ever known. I was hospitalized for a few weeks, but it was months before I was functional again.
I’ve stumbled around for years…dropping out of my career, following a new master that let me down, going to a different church…but after about 6 years, returning to my original church.
The things that make me feel unsaved is that I don’t have a deep desire to pray or read the Bible or tithe and I feel guilty when I don’t do it and that I don’t have the desire to. It’s not easy for me to go to church, that is, I don’t go “woo-hoo, it’s time for church!” I often drag myself there. Currently, I’m forcing myself to memorize Psalms. There’s no joy in it though.
I feel trapped in no-man’s land. Not finding the peace of God or peace with God. I want it, but it’s so elusive. Today I told God that I give up. I don’t want to, but I just don’t feel the fruit of the Spirit. I don’t see/feel the action of God in my life. Maybe I’m ungrateful or something. I don’t want to be, but I just am.
I was memorizing the Psalms because I thought it would cure my apathy.
Today is the first day of Lent. Even though I’m “giving up,” I thought I’d still “do Lent,” by giving up soda and TV.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Sneaky Pete and His Walking Bananas
Today I broke up with my friend, Tom. We've been friends for nearly 20 years. I broke up with him because he's only around when I fall apart.
About 20 years ago, we worked together at Kendall McGaw Pharmaceuticals. We had a boss, Letty, who was an absolute nightmare.We wrote reports to get IV solutions approved for the FDA. Letty would review our reports, praise us like crazy to our faces,and slash us to ribbons when she presented the reports to her boss.
Tom had worked there way longer than me. His confidence had deserted him. He didn't even try to leave. One of the managers at Kendall knew how crappy our boss was. She turned me on to a job at Allergan. I told Tom about it and teased him, saying I knew I could get the job but he never could. His competitive spirit kicked in and we both went for the job, full blast. (In the meantime, I also applied to a job at a software company.)
We both interviewed at Allergan and they narrowed the field of candidates to two: me and Tom. We went for our final interviews.I hated the guy I interviewed with; we didn't click at all. The next day, they awarded the job to Tom and I got the job at the software company. (Tom won the job fair and square, on his own merits.) Together, we handed in our resignations and escaped the evil witch.
We were really close friends for a long time. For a very short time, we flirted with the idea of a sexual thing, but we both been pretty messed up from other relationships. We would have
destroyed our friendship if we went down that path. But we stayed friends, having coffee, going to movies and always joking. I think we were such good friends because we love language and have a twisted sense of humor.
But our lives gradually took different paths. We dated other people, got more involved in careers and hobbies. The intensity of our friendship faded, but we still emailed, talked on the phone, and sometimes had lunch or coffee.
About 10 years ago, Tom started dating a women, Nadine, who was horrifically jealous of all of Tom's friends. She'd monitor his phone calls and basically forbade him to have contact with us. When he tried to break up with her, she'd threaten suicide, he'd rescue her and the cycle would start all over again.
Tom also suffered from terrible depression. I fell awful because, at the time he was suffering most, I told him to pull himself up by his bootstraps and snap out of it. He took medication and did counseling any way and got better. He tried to get help for Nadinet hrough counseling, but she rejected it. All in all, they were together about 10 years.
Eventually, Tom became so well that he broke free of Nadine. I think it's not only because he became healthy but because he met a cool woman, Lily, who liked him. She shares his interests, loves his hobbies, and really loves him. She's his equal. He had been so screwed up by Nadine--she's the kind of woman I'd hoped he'd find.
When I went through my own battle with depression, Tom floated me financially and helped me keep my house. Later, he helped me fight a battle with the DMV to keep my license.
But, I broke up with him today because he's only there for me when I fall apart. There's something yucky in having someone who only wants to talk with me when I'm broken. I can't remember the last time we had *FUN* like coffee or lunch or even talked on the phone for more than 10 minutes. I let him go today, not because I was mad, but because it started to feel like shit when, on the rare occasions I would call him, he'd always say, "I've gotta go and meet Lily at the gym, at the pool, for dinner, etc."
In the past, I've screwed myself up by pretending that a relationship was something it's not--that sex was love--stuff like that. The truth is that I DID sometimes want to talk or hang out with Tom and he didn't need me at all any more.His priorities had shifted--and it's cool that he found a loving relationship. It's something I'd prayed for him for a long time. But,I also didn't want to feel like shit on the rare occasion that I called him.
I know I'm a jackass because he really did help me save my life. But, I also need a friend who wants to know me when I'm strong.
When I broke up with him, he offered to do lunch next week, but I know it's a lie. We'd have lunch, I'd be placated and, when I called two or three months from now, he'd say, "Gotta go..." And I'd feel like shit again. I can't change him and I can't change what the rejection feels like. So, the only thing I could do is to let him go.
I'll miss him...or the idea of our friendship. He's irreplaceable and I'll never know anyone like him ever again. Even now, I feel like I made a mistake, but you can't fake reality.
About 20 years ago, we worked together at Kendall McGaw Pharmaceuticals. We had a boss, Letty, who was an absolute nightmare.We wrote reports to get IV solutions approved for the FDA. Letty would review our reports, praise us like crazy to our faces,and slash us to ribbons when she presented the reports to her boss.
Tom had worked there way longer than me. His confidence had deserted him. He didn't even try to leave. One of the managers at Kendall knew how crappy our boss was. She turned me on to a job at Allergan. I told Tom about it and teased him, saying I knew I could get the job but he never could. His competitive spirit kicked in and we both went for the job, full blast. (In the meantime, I also applied to a job at a software company.)
We both interviewed at Allergan and they narrowed the field of candidates to two: me and Tom. We went for our final interviews.I hated the guy I interviewed with; we didn't click at all. The next day, they awarded the job to Tom and I got the job at the software company. (Tom won the job fair and square, on his own merits.) Together, we handed in our resignations and escaped the evil witch.
We were really close friends for a long time. For a very short time, we flirted with the idea of a sexual thing, but we both been pretty messed up from other relationships. We would have
destroyed our friendship if we went down that path. But we stayed friends, having coffee, going to movies and always joking. I think we were such good friends because we love language and have a twisted sense of humor.
But our lives gradually took different paths. We dated other people, got more involved in careers and hobbies. The intensity of our friendship faded, but we still emailed, talked on the phone, and sometimes had lunch or coffee.
About 10 years ago, Tom started dating a women, Nadine, who was horrifically jealous of all of Tom's friends. She'd monitor his phone calls and basically forbade him to have contact with us. When he tried to break up with her, she'd threaten suicide, he'd rescue her and the cycle would start all over again.
Tom also suffered from terrible depression. I fell awful because, at the time he was suffering most, I told him to pull himself up by his bootstraps and snap out of it. He took medication and did counseling any way and got better. He tried to get help for Nadinet hrough counseling, but she rejected it. All in all, they were together about 10 years.
Eventually, Tom became so well that he broke free of Nadine. I think it's not only because he became healthy but because he met a cool woman, Lily, who liked him. She shares his interests, loves his hobbies, and really loves him. She's his equal. He had been so screwed up by Nadine--she's the kind of woman I'd hoped he'd find.
When I went through my own battle with depression, Tom floated me financially and helped me keep my house. Later, he helped me fight a battle with the DMV to keep my license.
But, I broke up with him today because he's only there for me when I fall apart. There's something yucky in having someone who only wants to talk with me when I'm broken. I can't remember the last time we had *FUN* like coffee or lunch or even talked on the phone for more than 10 minutes. I let him go today, not because I was mad, but because it started to feel like shit when, on the rare occasions I would call him, he'd always say, "I've gotta go and meet Lily at the gym, at the pool, for dinner, etc."
In the past, I've screwed myself up by pretending that a relationship was something it's not--that sex was love--stuff like that. The truth is that I DID sometimes want to talk or hang out with Tom and he didn't need me at all any more.His priorities had shifted--and it's cool that he found a loving relationship. It's something I'd prayed for him for a long time. But,I also didn't want to feel like shit on the rare occasion that I called him.
I know I'm a jackass because he really did help me save my life. But, I also need a friend who wants to know me when I'm strong.
When I broke up with him, he offered to do lunch next week, but I know it's a lie. We'd have lunch, I'd be placated and, when I called two or three months from now, he'd say, "Gotta go..." And I'd feel like shit again. I can't change him and I can't change what the rejection feels like. So, the only thing I could do is to let him go.
I'll miss him...or the idea of our friendship. He's irreplaceable and I'll never know anyone like him ever again. Even now, I feel like I made a mistake, but you can't fake reality.
Grief fades but doesn't disappear
It's coming up on the one year anniversary of Mommie's death. It still makes me cry when I think of her.I can't shake the feeling that I murdered her. This year, I want to do something to memorialize her insome way.
I've almost forgotten the details of her face and her questioning trill. I still sometimes sing the nonsense song I sang to her:
Mommie Loo, I love you.
I really do, O Mommie Loo.
Mommie Cat, I love you
and that is that, O Mommie Cat.
It's not as though I don't love my trio of tabbies. It's not as though I don't have a cool, full life, full of things I love. I just sometimes still miss her.
I've almost forgotten the details of her face and her questioning trill. I still sometimes sing the nonsense song I sang to her:
Mommie Loo, I love you.
I really do, O Mommie Loo.
Mommie Cat, I love you
and that is that, O Mommie Cat.
It's not as though I don't love my trio of tabbies. It's not as though I don't have a cool, full life, full of things I love. I just sometimes still miss her.
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
Knit the Stash
I had the opportunity to do a kindness for a fellow knitter. She confided to our knitting teacher that she might be losing her house and it make her a nervous wreck. The only thing that comforts her is knitting.
I know the feeling of being "way out there in the blue, riding on a smile and a shoeshine." So I dug into my stash for a way of giving her a yarnish hug. I found a skein of ice blue Kashmir Aran by Louisa Harding, suitable for Fetching gloves, 4 skeins of red Rowan Tweed suitable for a fabulous scarf, and a skein of alpaca sock yarn.
Because I'm shy, I gifted her secretly through our knitting teacher. I happened to be there when my fellow knitter received her yarn and crowed happily as she dug through the bag. I felt so grateful to be able to pass along kindness.
What my fellow knitter doesn't know, is that I benefitted from digging through my stash and UFOs.
I found some Noro Taiyo and am considering an entrelac pillow. I also found some Noro Cotton Hill and am considering what to pair it with to create a beret or scarf. Boucle gives me hives, but maybe something cute can happen with it.
I need to give my 2nd sock, 2nd sawed off mitten, and Lizard Ridge square some attention, but they'll have to until this weekend.
O knitting!
I know the feeling of being "way out there in the blue, riding on a smile and a shoeshine." So I dug into my stash for a way of giving her a yarnish hug. I found a skein of ice blue Kashmir Aran by Louisa Harding, suitable for Fetching gloves, 4 skeins of red Rowan Tweed suitable for a fabulous scarf, and a skein of alpaca sock yarn.
Because I'm shy, I gifted her secretly through our knitting teacher. I happened to be there when my fellow knitter received her yarn and crowed happily as she dug through the bag. I felt so grateful to be able to pass along kindness.
What my fellow knitter doesn't know, is that I benefitted from digging through my stash and UFOs.
I found some Noro Taiyo and am considering an entrelac pillow. I also found some Noro Cotton Hill and am considering what to pair it with to create a beret or scarf. Boucle gives me hives, but maybe something cute can happen with it.
I discovered all of these odds and ends of Encore so I decided it was time to try magic ball knitting. I'm tying together lengths of tropical colors into one skein--enough to make a funkadelic hat. I also have a stash of pinks and heathered gray that can become...something. Fun!
As for UFOs, I restarted my Fair Isle Book Bag (from Bag Style) and promptly messed it up. I also started my third Monteagle bag (from Mason Dixon Knitting Outside the Lines). and it's crusing along nicely. I messed up the right crosses and had to rip back, but I'm not sending it away for a time-out.I need to give my 2nd sock, 2nd sawed off mitten, and Lizard Ridge square some attention, but they'll have to until this weekend.
O knitting!
Friday, November 07, 2008
Grief subsides
It’s been 7+ months since Mommie Cat died and I miss her still, but not with the grinding sorrow of fresh grief.
Because of the vacancy Mommie left, Outside Tiger has slowly become an inside tiger, sleeping at the foot of my bed. Tommie, her “kitten,” has taken Mommie’s place as my right-hand cat, always close by, waiting for skritches and treats. And Cat is now my only girl.
I’ve been in my new job since June and it’s heaven. I enjoy my co-workers greatly. The work is fairly easy.
Because of the vacancy Mommie left, Outside Tiger has slowly become an inside tiger, sleeping at the foot of my bed. Tommie, her “kitten,” has taken Mommie’s place as my right-hand cat, always close by, waiting for skritches and treats. And Cat is now my only girl.
I’ve been in my new job since June and it’s heaven. I enjoy my co-workers greatly. The work is fairly easy.
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
All Things
And so I did finish the API manual. It was horrifying.
I'd created chartering estimates based on a reasonable amount of work. However, the team wanted our two-person team to create two technical manuals in a month. The .Net Controls Guide was 150 pages and the API Manual was 495 pages--yes, in just 20 working days.
By the time I finished, my hands were screaming in pain. It felt like knives were being jammed into my wrists everytime I clicked a key.
The result is that I looked for and found a new job. I'm psyched and scared.
I'd created chartering estimates based on a reasonable amount of work. However, the team wanted our two-person team to create two technical manuals in a month. The .Net Controls Guide was 150 pages and the API Manual was 495 pages--yes, in just 20 working days.
By the time I finished, my hands were screaming in pain. It felt like knives were being jammed into my wrists everytime I clicked a key.
The result is that I looked for and found a new job. I'm psyched and scared.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
All things--even API Manuals
I've been procrastinating about getting started on writing an API Reference Manual. I'm really intimidated by it. I felt a bit overwhelmed by the technicality of it and the fact that I'm separated from the developers by 3 time zones.
But, I'm saying to myself, "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." Which means, I can even count on Jesus to guide me through writing an API Reference Guide. I mean, if He was instrumental in creating the universe in less than 7 days, certainly an API manual isn't too hard for Him.
But, I'm saying to myself, "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." Which means, I can even count on Jesus to guide me through writing an API Reference Guide. I mean, if He was instrumental in creating the universe in less than 7 days, certainly an API manual isn't too hard for Him.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Cleaning house
When Mommie was dying, it's like I HAD to knit to deal with the overwhelming sadness. Now that she's gone, it's been hard to get started in knitting again.
I spent most of this weekend cleaning my house. Mommie died because I let myself live in my depression. I used it as an excuse to live a sloppy life. My home has been a dirty, disgusting mess for 3 years.
Yesterday I took 15 bags of trash to the dump. I've got 6 more to go, but it's looking better.
I washed 2 sets of silverware, three sets of dishes, and 2 sets of glassware. I can see my kitchen counter! I "swiffered" my floors 6 times before they were clean. Now, my home smells like citrus instead of detritus. I cleaned stuff out of my fridge that expired last summer and restocked it with fresh fruits and veggies.
I cried as I cleaned because Mommie won't be here to sit with me on my clean patio or to bask in the sunshine on the clean, fluffy carpet. She died because I didn't take care of myself or anything very well. But, the way I can honor her is by being kinder to my kitties--cuddling them instead of pushing them away and by giving them a clean home to live in.
I spent most of this weekend cleaning my house. Mommie died because I let myself live in my depression. I used it as an excuse to live a sloppy life. My home has been a dirty, disgusting mess for 3 years.
Yesterday I took 15 bags of trash to the dump. I've got 6 more to go, but it's looking better.
I washed 2 sets of silverware, three sets of dishes, and 2 sets of glassware. I can see my kitchen counter! I "swiffered" my floors 6 times before they were clean. Now, my home smells like citrus instead of detritus. I cleaned stuff out of my fridge that expired last summer and restocked it with fresh fruits and veggies.
I cried as I cleaned because Mommie won't be here to sit with me on my clean patio or to bask in the sunshine on the clean, fluffy carpet. She died because I didn't take care of myself or anything very well. But, the way I can honor her is by being kinder to my kitties--cuddling them instead of pushing them away and by giving them a clean home to live in.
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
You deserve a break today
I was waiting in the drive-thru at Mickey D's when I saw a guy get out of his Jeep, walk to the dumpsters, and throw away his cigarette. I thought it was so cool that he threw his cigarette butt in the trash instead of in the parking lot, I paid for his lunch. He yelled, "Thank you," as I drove away.
Rewriting my life's script
Today Dr. Laura said that for short-term burnout, physicality is a great remedy: take a hike or something. Short-term burnout is about overloading the brain. But, long-term burnout is about a lack of joy and requires rewriting your life's script.
So, I am kind of hating my life and I do feel a lack of joy. So, I need to figure out how to go to the place of joyfulness and usefulness.
So, I am kind of hating my life and I do feel a lack of joy. So, I need to figure out how to go to the place of joyfulness and usefulness.
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
It doesn't get better
It's been three weeks and one day since I put Mommie to sleep. In some ways, I've already forgotten her and moved on. There isn't unendurable pain. It's not fresh and raw and sharp. But...
The other day, I was getting ready to go to work and did a quick "cat count" before I left. I saw Cat sleeping on the bed, Bug sleeping on the patio chair and Tommie's face smiling at me from behind the living room chair. But, I rushed all over the house, panicked, because I couldn't find Mommie. Suddenly, I remembered she was gone. Fresh grief.
Sometimes I still call out to her, "M - O - M!" I don't believe she can hear me. It's more that I'm afraid of forgetting my darling kitten.
I feel guility because I don't look for her every day. It doesn't cut me up when I don't see her sitting inside the front door when I come home. I don't miss her any more when I wake up. I can't remember the details of her face. The memory of her meow is already dimming.
And yet, last night I read my rembrances of her and couldn't get through it without tears crashing down like a waterfall.
I kept thinking I'd get a little stone or box to remember her, but I can't yet. She's just a damn cat, but I loved her. I was crappy at being loving to her most of the time, but I did give her a moderately safe place to live when no one else would. And, in point of fact, she chose me. Maybe that's why I miss her--because she's one of the few things in this world who chose me.
The other day, I was getting ready to go to work and did a quick "cat count" before I left. I saw Cat sleeping on the bed, Bug sleeping on the patio chair and Tommie's face smiling at me from behind the living room chair. But, I rushed all over the house, panicked, because I couldn't find Mommie. Suddenly, I remembered she was gone. Fresh grief.
Sometimes I still call out to her, "M - O - M!" I don't believe she can hear me. It's more that I'm afraid of forgetting my darling kitten.
I feel guility because I don't look for her every day. It doesn't cut me up when I don't see her sitting inside the front door when I come home. I don't miss her any more when I wake up. I can't remember the details of her face. The memory of her meow is already dimming.
And yet, last night I read my rembrances of her and couldn't get through it without tears crashing down like a waterfall.
I kept thinking I'd get a little stone or box to remember her, but I can't yet. She's just a damn cat, but I loved her. I was crappy at being loving to her most of the time, but I did give her a moderately safe place to live when no one else would. And, in point of fact, she chose me. Maybe that's why I miss her--because she's one of the few things in this world who chose me.
Everyday Christmas
Today's Christmas "box" is for a little girl. It's a canvas bag stuffed with a child-sized pillow and blanket, a stuffed toy, slippers, crayons, and coloring books. I also scored some glow-in-the-dark dinosaurs and wind up cars to add to some boxes in progress for a little boy.
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
It gets better
Serious depression set in over the weekend. I didn't make it out of bed much on Saturday or Sunday. With a person, you can tell yourself, "X wouldn't want me to be like this." But, while MommieCat was a sweet, affectionate girl, she really didn't care about the quality of my life.
But, today I'm turning the depression corner. I've resume the wonderful vitamin B complex (which really seems to help). I'm also starting to set goals and to do things that make me feel powerful instead of powerless. These are serious keys, for me, in overcoming depression.
I still miss Mommie. I notice it most when I eat because she would always demand her share. Part of me is afraid that I'll forget her. I don't want to forget her, but if the pain goes away, I'm afraid I'll forget her.
I also am ashamed at how much I took her for granted. Alot of people tried to tell me that I shouldn't feel bad because I gave her a great life. Well, I didn't. If I'd have had her blood tested in January when she had such a bad eye infection, we might have been able to knock the E coli down in time. But I was equal parts cheap and depressed. She paid for my stupidity with her life.
The thing I can do is, from now on, to treat my 2 1/2 remaining cats with more affection and to buy insurance so cost isn't a factor when I take them to the vet.
I don't believe that animals go to heaven. The Bible says that God created animals, that He knows when a sparrow falls...but they don't have souls. Still, I know God created Mommie for me and sent her when I needed her the most. I hope He loved her enough to take her heaven.
But, today I'm turning the depression corner. I've resume the wonderful vitamin B complex (which really seems to help). I'm also starting to set goals and to do things that make me feel powerful instead of powerless. These are serious keys, for me, in overcoming depression.
I still miss Mommie. I notice it most when I eat because she would always demand her share. Part of me is afraid that I'll forget her. I don't want to forget her, but if the pain goes away, I'm afraid I'll forget her.
I also am ashamed at how much I took her for granted. Alot of people tried to tell me that I shouldn't feel bad because I gave her a great life. Well, I didn't. If I'd have had her blood tested in January when she had such a bad eye infection, we might have been able to knock the E coli down in time. But I was equal parts cheap and depressed. She paid for my stupidity with her life.
The thing I can do is, from now on, to treat my 2 1/2 remaining cats with more affection and to buy insurance so cost isn't a factor when I take them to the vet.
I don't believe that animals go to heaven. The Bible says that God created animals, that He knows when a sparrow falls...but they don't have souls. Still, I know God created Mommie for me and sent her when I needed her the most. I hope He loved her enough to take her heaven.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Grief and Baby Sweaters
I was doing great yesterday and today *bleah*. I could barely crawl out of bed! I kept hearing Mommie all night. I'd hear her clicking into the room as her extra toes caught on the carpet. I heard her questioning meow. I woke up scratching her head and ears--but it was only the teddy bear.
To assuage my grief, I'm knitting and working. However, I don't want to finish my berry bag. I think it has something to do me working on it while Mommie was dying...or maybe I don't want the reward of finishing the bag while I'm grieving for Mommie...or even that being done with the bag is like being done with Mommie.
So, instead, I'm knitting baby sweaters for charity. I work with Chris Coble. He and Lori lost their kids in a car accident last spring. The amazing news is that Lori is having twins in May. I'm kicking around the idea of making three sweaters for their babies. In Berrocco Comfort. I may go with Rosebud, Peche, or Buttercup for the girl sweaters and Military Mix for the boy sweater. (I know, these colors are not neutrals, but why should I resist yarns named "Rosebud" and "Buttercup"?)
To assuage my grief, I'm knitting and working. However, I don't want to finish my berry bag. I think it has something to do me working on it while Mommie was dying...or maybe I don't want the reward of finishing the bag while I'm grieving for Mommie...or even that being done with the bag is like being done with Mommie.
So, instead, I'm knitting baby sweaters for charity. I work with Chris Coble. He and Lori lost their kids in a car accident last spring. The amazing news is that Lori is having twins in May. I'm kicking around the idea of making three sweaters for their babies. In Berrocco Comfort. I may go with Rosebud, Peche, or Buttercup for the girl sweaters and Military Mix for the boy sweater. (I know, these colors are not neutrals, but why should I resist yarns named "Rosebud" and "Buttercup"?)
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
The Story of Cat
Ten years ago I dated a man who, after his divorce, moved in with his parents with his two young daughters. I think he needed the comfort of family and wanted his girls to have the positive female influence his mom could provide.
The family had a large yard that was inhabited by a multiplicity of feral cats. Most of them were white, scruffy-looking things. They had no interest in human company and would, in fact, scatter at the hint that a human was thinking about going into the yard. The B’s didn’t want the feral cats to starve, so they put a plate of kibble on the patio every evening—first come, first served.
One day, as I was sitting on the patio, I spied a tabby kitten with a sweet white bib and white kitten toes.
I figured it would be great to adopt this young cat. I imagined watching TV in the evenings with the grateful tabby curled on my lap, purring contentedly.
I brought a cardboard box over to the B’s, ready to be a pet owner. I figured that capturing the kitten would be as simple as scooping it up and putting it in the box. So I put the box on the patio, reached out to grab the kitten and YOW! I got a faceful of growl. I was terrified by this thing that was probably less than 1% of my body weight.
Papa B wasn’t about to be thwarted. He cornered her and scooped her into the box. The box came alive with fury but I carried it to my truck anyway.
The box bumped and lurched with anger as I drove the few short miles home. I was grateful that I'd bought a bag of kitty litter so I could weigh it down.
When I got home, I set the box in my living room. I knew I had to open it, but I was afraid of being savaged. I got a broom and gently nudged the lid open. POW! The box exploded and a lightning bolt of tabby streaked around the living room, into the dining room, into the kitchen and UP onto a basket on the kitchen counter. I approached warily as two golden eyes glared at me from the safety of the basket.
I decided to leave well enough alone. I put out a dish of food, a dish of water and a cat box. I wondered, "What have I gotten myself into?" But I loved this little feline too much to let her go the way of her littermates--eaten by coyotes or run over by cars.
And so our adventure began.
The family had a large yard that was inhabited by a multiplicity of feral cats. Most of them were white, scruffy-looking things. They had no interest in human company and would, in fact, scatter at the hint that a human was thinking about going into the yard. The B’s didn’t want the feral cats to starve, so they put a plate of kibble on the patio every evening—first come, first served.
One day, as I was sitting on the patio, I spied a tabby kitten with a sweet white bib and white kitten toes.
I figured it would be great to adopt this young cat. I imagined watching TV in the evenings with the grateful tabby curled on my lap, purring contentedly.
I brought a cardboard box over to the B’s, ready to be a pet owner. I figured that capturing the kitten would be as simple as scooping it up and putting it in the box. So I put the box on the patio, reached out to grab the kitten and YOW! I got a faceful of growl. I was terrified by this thing that was probably less than 1% of my body weight.
Papa B wasn’t about to be thwarted. He cornered her and scooped her into the box. The box came alive with fury but I carried it to my truck anyway.
The box bumped and lurched with anger as I drove the few short miles home. I was grateful that I'd bought a bag of kitty litter so I could weigh it down.
When I got home, I set the box in my living room. I knew I had to open it, but I was afraid of being savaged. I got a broom and gently nudged the lid open. POW! The box exploded and a lightning bolt of tabby streaked around the living room, into the dining room, into the kitchen and UP onto a basket on the kitchen counter. I approached warily as two golden eyes glared at me from the safety of the basket.
I decided to leave well enough alone. I put out a dish of food, a dish of water and a cat box. I wondered, "What have I gotten myself into?" But I loved this little feline too much to let her go the way of her littermates--eaten by coyotes or run over by cars.
And so our adventure began.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Grief
My kitty is dead. I can hardly breathe. I hear her questioning meow. I woke up this morning and she wasn't there. She's a pile of ashes now. All I have left are memories and a scrap of fur.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Letting her go
Today is the day I'm putting Mommie to sleep. She's thin as a rake and her charming personality is gone. She sleeps and eats. She took weak to jump off the bed. I had to put a disposable catbox on the corner of the bed.
I don't know why she's dying. I only know that she is. I've tried antibiotics, steriods, and subQ fluids for 5 days. And she's getting thinner every day. I'd be a complete jerk to deny it and continue to "hope" she'd get better.
I've kept her around because I didn't want to feel guilty about putting her to sleep and because I didn't want to face the pain of her loss. I'm old enough to know that nothing can take her place.
A phone call from the vet confirms that she has e. coli. Damn. Mommie always has been a trash picker. But it's my fault she got to the trash. The guilt is overwhelming and my heart is broken. I feel like coming completely unraveled.
I don't know why she's dying. I only know that she is. I've tried antibiotics, steriods, and subQ fluids for 5 days. And she's getting thinner every day. I'd be a complete jerk to deny it and continue to "hope" she'd get better.
I've kept her around because I didn't want to feel guilty about putting her to sleep and because I didn't want to face the pain of her loss. I'm old enough to know that nothing can take her place.
A phone call from the vet confirms that she has e. coli. Damn. Mommie always has been a trash picker. But it's my fault she got to the trash. The guilt is overwhelming and my heart is broken. I feel like coming completely unraveled.
Friday, March 21, 2008
Mommie
 |
| My beautiful girl |
Mommie is a black and white cow cat who is confident in her own beauty. When I think of her, I picture her sitting with her white chest out, whiskers forward, absolutely confident that she is beautiful and irresistibly petable. And yet, she meows like a junkyard cat—a really, grating, disagreeable alley cat sound.
She is a mask and saddle cat. I love that her black ears are sugar-frosted with wisps of white. From the front, she appears to be mostly white. From the back, she appears mostly black—a solid black tail with little wisps of white. Her front legs are marked with black spots. It looks as though the spot starts on one leg and continues to the other. Her best marking is a black, heart-shaped patch over her heart--my black-hearted girl. Her fur is extremely fine and soft and shiny.
I also love that she’s a polydactyl—front and back. I sometimes call her my pterodactyl.
She’s my only cat who is a greeter. When my other cats hear someone walking up the steps, they scatter and hide—but not Mommie. She always greets me when I come home from work, either sitting near the front door or howling at me from an open window. She always presents herself to my infrequent visitors. She wants them to have the opportunity to admire her extreme beauty.
She is an amorous girl. She doesn’t like to sit in my lap or to be held, but she loves to be petted—especially her neck, shoulders, and behind the ears. She puts her whole head into my hand and sometimes nuzzles my palm to awaken me for “the petting.” Because she enjoys it so much, I call it “heavy petting.”
Mommie showed up on the patio of my Costa Mesa apartment in the Spring of 1998 with her five feral kittens: two black and white polydactyls, two black polydactyls, and a tabby. She presented her kittens with pride, whiskers up, her tail like a little flag. She spent the afternoons sitting in the sun on my patio chair while her kittens slowly destroyed every plant in my garden.
Over the course of a month, I worked to tame her kittens. At first, when I would open the door to the patio, the kittens would scatter. Mommie would remain on the patio chair, smiling in the sun. Bit by bit, the kittens grew accustomed to my presence.
I borrowed a large dog kennel from the Irvine animal shelter and captured the kittens. I kept Mommie and her kittens in the kennel at night but let them roam my bedroom during the day. As soon as the kittens would tolerate being handled, I gave them to a kitten adoption agency. I’d planned to give all of the kittens away, but Mommie howled and HOWLED with grief when I separated her from the kittens. So I kept her tabby kitten, named him Tommie and he’s lived with me, Mommie, and Cat for nearly 10 years. Tommie nursed on his Mommie for nearly 4 or 5 months, until he was almost the same size as her.
In 2000, the cats and I made the move to my condo in Aliso Viejo. It was a smooth transition and we settled into our new home nicely.
Mommie sleeps in a lot of places, but mostly she sleeps on my bed. Sometimes, she even sleeps on my pillow. The sound of her purring through the nice is extremely comforting.
I love that she is my cuddly cat, the cat that wants to be near me, the one who wants to be petted. She, more than my other cats, is my companion. When I’m home, Mommie is always within arm’s reach, except when I’m in the kitchen.
She loves to drink from a sports bottle of water and is an avid junk food eater. She assumes that any food in the house is up for grabs. Many times I’ve been watching TV and eating chips, left the room, and come back only to find a black and white cat butt sticking out of my bag of chips. She loves to eat melon—especially watermelon and cantelope. And, probably from her feral days, she's an avid trashpicker. She cheerfully pulls anything and everything interesting from the trash for midnight feasts.
She loves riding in the truck. She likes it if I hold her in my arms as we’re driving down the road. She looks out the window and the wind ruffles her fur.
Terms of EndearmentMommie Lou, Mommieness, M-O-M, Mommie ManyToes
Emmy-O-E-Emmy
My Girl
Mommieskin
Mommieskin Rug
Wicked Little Girl
Naughty Girl
Tiny girl
Big girl (Great BIG Girl)
A Nonsense Song I Sing to Her
Mommie Lou
I love you
I really do
Oh Mommie Lou
Mommieness
You’re the best
In the west
Oh Mommieness
MommieMeow
I love you
I really do
Oh MommieMew
Saturday, February 23, 2008
The Story of Outside Tiger (AKA “Doodlebug”)
When I
moved into my condo in February 2001, it felt luxurious for me and
my three felines to move from a 750 sq ft, one bedroom apartment into a 1100 sq
ft, two bedroom condominium. Still, I felt I was on the verge of becoming the
weird lady in the corner house with all the cats. I definitely wasn’t looking to
adopt any more animals.
We settled in nicely. Tommie, Mommie, and Cat all found their favorite sleeping spots and especially enjoyed spending their days napping tummy-side-up on the patio. Spring turned to summer and summer turned into hot. After one uncomfortably sweatable day, I came home to discover my kitchen counter throbbing with ants.
I swore under my breath and began to evict the offending insects. As I cleaned, my furry trio danced around my feet, begging as though they were hungry. I shooed them away because I always left out a large bowl of kibble so they could freely feed.
After banishing the
bugs, I tugged off my work clothes and grabbed a shower. Still, the tabbies
swirled and yowled outside the bathroom door. “What the heck do they want,” I
wondered.
Before throwing myself in front of the TV for the night, I checked the kibble bowl. Damn. It, too, was alive with ants. I swept the kibble into a plastic grocery bag and tossed the bag outside of my front door. Ahhh, now I could cool off and watch the tube.
Just as the opening credits for ER started, I heard something rustling near my front door. Crap. I figured a possum had come up onto the porch, attracted by the kibble smell. When I peeked out the window, I saw a rake-thin tabby, wolfing down the kibble, shaking and twisting his head when the ants stung his face.
I ran and flung open the door. I wanted to give him fresh kibble—not trash. But he ran as soon as he heard me move.
I struggled with my thoughts. Four cats is definitely too many. And yet, this beautiful leonine animal was so thin I could see his ribs and hip bones nearly piercing his skin. I decided he could be my “outside tiger.”
Each night, I put a fresh bowl of kibble outside the door and wait next to the window to be sure he got his dinner. After a few weeks, I could leave my front door open and watch through the screen door as he enjoyed his dinner. Finally, after a month, I could sit on the steps and watch the sun set as my outside tiger nibbled kibble.
The best day came when, one evening, I felt a tentative paw on my leg. It was followed by a tentative tiger as he crawled into my lap. Tear flowed down my cheeks as I petted his golden tabby fur and sleek muscles. I had resisted loving this creature because I didn’t want the responsibility or stigma of being “the cat lady.”
But outside tiger taught me that creatures and situations are transformed by love.
We settled in nicely. Tommie, Mommie, and Cat all found their favorite sleeping spots and especially enjoyed spending their days napping tummy-side-up on the patio. Spring turned to summer and summer turned into hot. After one uncomfortably sweatable day, I came home to discover my kitchen counter throbbing with ants.
I swore under my breath and began to evict the offending insects. As I cleaned, my furry trio danced around my feet, begging as though they were hungry. I shooed them away because I always left out a large bowl of kibble so they could freely feed.
 |
| My Outside Tiger |
Before throwing myself in front of the TV for the night, I checked the kibble bowl. Damn. It, too, was alive with ants. I swept the kibble into a plastic grocery bag and tossed the bag outside of my front door. Ahhh, now I could cool off and watch the tube.
Just as the opening credits for ER started, I heard something rustling near my front door. Crap. I figured a possum had come up onto the porch, attracted by the kibble smell. When I peeked out the window, I saw a rake-thin tabby, wolfing down the kibble, shaking and twisting his head when the ants stung his face.
I ran and flung open the door. I wanted to give him fresh kibble—not trash. But he ran as soon as he heard me move.
I struggled with my thoughts. Four cats is definitely too many. And yet, this beautiful leonine animal was so thin I could see his ribs and hip bones nearly piercing his skin. I decided he could be my “outside tiger.”
Each night, I put a fresh bowl of kibble outside the door and wait next to the window to be sure he got his dinner. After a few weeks, I could leave my front door open and watch through the screen door as he enjoyed his dinner. Finally, after a month, I could sit on the steps and watch the sun set as my outside tiger nibbled kibble.
The best day came when, one evening, I felt a tentative paw on my leg. It was followed by a tentative tiger as he crawled into my lap. Tear flowed down my cheeks as I petted his golden tabby fur and sleek muscles. I had resisted loving this creature because I didn’t want the responsibility or stigma of being “the cat lady.”
But outside tiger taught me that creatures and situations are transformed by love.
Observation
I notice that I can be pretty dang project-oriented toward knitting rather than process-oriented. As a result, I put a lot of pressure on myself and rob myself of enjoyment. In my knitting, I'm working to be mindful of when that critic kicks in...and of when that GOTTA GET IT DONE, GOTTA BE PERFECT mindset kicks in.
Today, I was working on a purse. I made a few errors in learning the pattern (trinity stitch) and felt calm about it; however, when I got to the point of having to rip out a row of purling, I'd just had enough. Instead of forcing myself to rip, rip in that moment, I just put my knitting back in the bag and scheduled a teaching appointment with my teacher. And I feel peaceful. I can continue if I want to or I can wait until I see my teacher. But it's okay because I'm learning to master a new stitch.
Today, I was working on a purse. I made a few errors in learning the pattern (trinity stitch) and felt calm about it; however, when I got to the point of having to rip out a row of purling, I'd just had enough. Instead of forcing myself to rip, rip in that moment, I just put my knitting back in the bag and scheduled a teaching appointment with my teacher. And I feel peaceful. I can continue if I want to or I can wait until I see my teacher. But it's okay because I'm learning to master a new stitch.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Natural Highs
1. Falling in love.
2. Laughing so hard your face hurts.
3. A hot shower.
4. No lines at the supermarket.
5. A special glance.
6. Getting mail.
7. Taking a drive on a pretty road.
8. Hearing your favorite song on the radio.
9. Lying in bed listening to the rain outside.
10. Hot towels fresh out of the dryer.
11. Chocolate milkshake (vanilla or strawberry ).
12. A bubble bath.
13. Giggling.
14. A good conversation.
15. The beach.
16. Finding a 20 dollar bill in your coat from last winter.
17. Laughing at yourself.
18. Looking into their eyes and knowing they Love you
19. Midnight phone calls that last for hours.
20. Running through sprinklers.
21. Laughing for absolutely no reason at all.
22. Having someone tell you that you're beautiful.
23. Laughing at an inside joke with FRIENDS
24. Accidentally overhearing someone say something nice about you.
25. Waking up and realizing you still have a few hours left to sleep.
26. Your first kiss (the very first).
27 Making new friends or spending time with old ones.
28. Playing with a new puppy.
29. Having someone play with your hair.
30. Sweet dreams.
31. Hot chocolate.
32. Road trips with friends.
33. Swinging on swings.
34. Making eye contact with a cute stranger.
35. Making chocolate chip cookies.
36. Having your friends send you homemade cookies.
37. Holding hands with someone you care about.
38. Running into an old friend and realizing that some things (good or bad) never change.
39. Watching the expression on someone's face as they open a much desired present from you.
40. Watching the sunrise.
41. Getting out of bed every morning and being grateful for another beautiful day.
42. Knowing that somebody misses you.
43. Getting a hug from someone you care about deeply.
44. Knowing you've done the right thing, no matter what other people think.
2. Laughing so hard your face hurts.
3. A hot shower.
4. No lines at the supermarket.
5. A special glance.
6. Getting mail.
7. Taking a drive on a pretty road.
8. Hearing your favorite song on the radio.
9. Lying in bed listening to the rain outside.
10. Hot towels fresh out of the dryer.
11. Chocolate milkshake (vanilla or strawberry ).
12. A bubble bath.
13. Giggling.
14. A good conversation.
15. The beach.
16. Finding a 20 dollar bill in your coat from last winter.
17. Laughing at yourself.
18. Looking into their eyes and knowing they Love you
19. Midnight phone calls that last for hours.
20. Running through sprinklers.
21. Laughing for absolutely no reason at all.
22. Having someone tell you that you're beautiful.
23. Laughing at an inside joke with FRIENDS
24. Accidentally overhearing someone say something nice about you.
25. Waking up and realizing you still have a few hours left to sleep.
26. Your first kiss (the very first).
27 Making new friends or spending time with old ones.
28. Playing with a new puppy.
29. Having someone play with your hair.
30. Sweet dreams.
31. Hot chocolate.
32. Road trips with friends.
33. Swinging on swings.
34. Making eye contact with a cute stranger.
35. Making chocolate chip cookies.
36. Having your friends send you homemade cookies.
37. Holding hands with someone you care about.
38. Running into an old friend and realizing that some things (good or bad) never change.
39. Watching the expression on someone's face as they open a much desired present from you.
40. Watching the sunrise.
41. Getting out of bed every morning and being grateful for another beautiful day.
42. Knowing that somebody misses you.
43. Getting a hug from someone you care about deeply.
44. Knowing you've done the right thing, no matter what other people think.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Agitated and Itchy
Damn but I'm agitated today. Not irritable. Just unable to settle down. I feel like jumping up all of the time. I start to work and I immediately want to work on something else.
It was dang near impossible to go to sleep last night. As David Byrne said, "I'm tense and nervous and I can't relax." Will I fulfill my hope and go headlong for glory?
I spose this is the upper boundary of normal, buzzing around the perimeter of hypomania.
It was dang near impossible to go to sleep last night. As David Byrne said, "I'm tense and nervous and I can't relax." Will I fulfill my hope and go headlong for glory?
I spose this is the upper boundary of normal, buzzing around the perimeter of hypomania.
Saturday, February 09, 2008
Creative Hibernation
I think my creative self is mulling over what to do next; however, there's nothing I'm burning to knit. Even leafing through my stash of knitting books doesn't inspire. Maybe I'm a little burned out. I dunno.
Because of my restricted driving status, I didn't attend the felted scarf workshop in Long Beach. I did buy a drop spindle the other day. I haven't figured out how to spin yet though. I plan on creeping in on Tuesday night to give it a try.
My cats are passionately in love with the roving that came in the drop spindle kit. They really get freaky with it. They act the same way as they do with catnip. Cat is the sweetest girl kitty and yet, after a few minutes of rubbing her face on the roving, she spiked me (without claws) when I tried to take it away.
I leafed through the book "Intertwined" the other day. Wowee--that's some weird and intriguing yarn. I can't really imagine becoming a spinner...but I'm interested in learning how to make yarn.
I've been working my buns off at work and that sucks up a lot of my creative energy, too. Even though it's technical writing, it's still writing.
So, I don't know what's up with me creatively. But, it's normal for me to burn hot and cold, to wax and wane in my interest towards my hobbies. My brain is wired that way.
And yet, my creativity walks forward. After college I took drawing and loved life drawing. I took painting and loved the smelly, juicy forgiveness of oil paints. Through the Laguna Beach Festival of the Arts I learned to make paper, masks, and weave baskets. Mada Leach and David Speck were awesome teachers.
When I fell in love with basketry, I searched until I found the Misti Washington Gourd and Basketry Guild. I wove all kinds of baskets for several years. I even travelled to the AMB Convention in Michigan and the Indiana Basketry Convention.
One day, while I was shopping for basketry supplies, I saw a class for making books. I took the workshop and soon abandoned basketry for book arts. I travelled to the San Francisco Center for the Book to take workshops from master printmakers and book binders.
When I was hospitalized for depression in 2001, my desire to do anything disappeared. For years, the only thing I did was kung fu.
In 2006, I noticed a knitting store near my martial arts studio. I signed up for classes and learned to knit.
Because of my restricted driving status, I didn't attend the felted scarf workshop in Long Beach. I did buy a drop spindle the other day. I haven't figured out how to spin yet though. I plan on creeping in on Tuesday night to give it a try.
My cats are passionately in love with the roving that came in the drop spindle kit. They really get freaky with it. They act the same way as they do with catnip. Cat is the sweetest girl kitty and yet, after a few minutes of rubbing her face on the roving, she spiked me (without claws) when I tried to take it away.
I leafed through the book "Intertwined" the other day. Wowee--that's some weird and intriguing yarn. I can't really imagine becoming a spinner...but I'm interested in learning how to make yarn.
I've been working my buns off at work and that sucks up a lot of my creative energy, too. Even though it's technical writing, it's still writing.
So, I don't know what's up with me creatively. But, it's normal for me to burn hot and cold, to wax and wane in my interest towards my hobbies. My brain is wired that way.
And yet, my creativity walks forward. After college I took drawing and loved life drawing. I took painting and loved the smelly, juicy forgiveness of oil paints. Through the Laguna Beach Festival of the Arts I learned to make paper, masks, and weave baskets. Mada Leach and David Speck were awesome teachers.
When I fell in love with basketry, I searched until I found the Misti Washington Gourd and Basketry Guild. I wove all kinds of baskets for several years. I even travelled to the AMB Convention in Michigan and the Indiana Basketry Convention.
One day, while I was shopping for basketry supplies, I saw a class for making books. I took the workshop and soon abandoned basketry for book arts. I travelled to the San Francisco Center for the Book to take workshops from master printmakers and book binders.
When I was hospitalized for depression in 2001, my desire to do anything disappeared. For years, the only thing I did was kung fu.
In 2006, I noticed a knitting store near my martial arts studio. I signed up for classes and learned to knit.
Friday, February 08, 2008
New Hobby?
It's weird. After obsessively knitting for months, I've absolutely run out of steam. Part of it is due to the restricted license preventing me from attending knitting classes, but another part is that I've got no interest.
I wonder if a new hobby is waiting for me.
I wonder if a new hobby is waiting for me.
Thursday, February 07, 2008
Phoebes and Lantana
On this first day of the Year of the Mouse, I stepped out into cloudless blue skies and sunshine. I'm so grateful for the violet and ivory lantana that surrounds the office building and the peeping cheeps of Black Phoebes as they buoyantly bounce from tree to tree, looking for lunch.
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
Firetrucks and Slinkys
Today my lunch excursion to Target's dollar bin yielded a plastic firetruck and tiny Slinkys. I'm starting to be tempted to slow down a bit in my excursions, or to branch out and select a single $5 item.
I've even started to notice the sale items at Starbucks--wondering if a young person might like a cool coffee mug or adult "sippy cup."
I've even started to notice the sale items at Starbucks--wondering if a young person might like a cool coffee mug or adult "sippy cup."
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
Bipolar Disorder Defined
Bipolar Disorder Defined
An opportunity to learn
Creativity in coping with Chaos
Determination to defeat the deceptions of Depression
Self confidence in spite of Setbacks
Generosity to live for others when hope has Gone dry
Compassion for the broken.
Faith that God has a beautiful purpose—
even for me.
An opportunity to learn
Creativity in coping with Chaos
Determination to defeat the deceptions of Depression
Self confidence in spite of Setbacks
Generosity to live for others when hope has Gone dry
Compassion for the broken.
Faith that God has a beautiful purpose—
even for me.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Diann Brannon - Don't be Afraid of Tomorrow. God is already there.
My friend, Diann Brannon, has been gone for nearly 5 years and I still miss her Texas drawl.
When I remember Di, I think of how much she loved her Italian grayhound. She always described Gracie as looking like a deer. She always loved to watch boxing on Pay Per View--not for the violence but because she loved the way the boxers "just glisten."
Her love of life was expressed through her ready smile, flaming red sports car, and bright red sofa. And, although most people would never think of a salad as being "mouth-watering," Di made such amazing salads that I'd leap at one of her salads the way a 5-year-old leaps at a chocolate chip cookie.
During the last years of her life, Di became a technical writer and she went through one layoff after another. It was a tough and stressful time for her. Everyday she'd call me with the Stump Report. She'd stand on an old tree stump in her backyard, look out over the neighborhood and local park, and tell me what she saw. In ne of her last Stump Reports, she told me about a rose blooming in her backyard that had been a favorite of her mom.
Di's mom died of breast cancer when Di was 19. Two of Di's worst fears were that she would Di in poverty or die a lingering death of cancer.
In August 2002, it was me who went into the hospital for a lengthy stay. At about the same time, Di was diagnosed with breast cancer. I was too ill to visit her in her last months. She passed away in February 2003.
It's a funny thing, but I always think of Di's death as evidence of God's love for her. He walked with her through her illness and kept her from facing her other worst fear. One of the last things she left me with was a little sign that said, "Don't be afraid of tomorrow. God is already there."
Another remembrance of Di is here.
When I remember Di, I think of how much she loved her Italian grayhound. She always described Gracie as looking like a deer. She always loved to watch boxing on Pay Per View--not for the violence but because she loved the way the boxers "just glisten."
Her love of life was expressed through her ready smile, flaming red sports car, and bright red sofa. And, although most people would never think of a salad as being "mouth-watering," Di made such amazing salads that I'd leap at one of her salads the way a 5-year-old leaps at a chocolate chip cookie.
During the last years of her life, Di became a technical writer and she went through one layoff after another. It was a tough and stressful time for her. Everyday she'd call me with the Stump Report. She'd stand on an old tree stump in her backyard, look out over the neighborhood and local park, and tell me what she saw. In ne of her last Stump Reports, she told me about a rose blooming in her backyard that had been a favorite of her mom.
Di's mom died of breast cancer when Di was 19. Two of Di's worst fears were that she would Di in poverty or die a lingering death of cancer.
In August 2002, it was me who went into the hospital for a lengthy stay. At about the same time, Di was diagnosed with breast cancer. I was too ill to visit her in her last months. She passed away in February 2003.
It's a funny thing, but I always think of Di's death as evidence of God's love for her. He walked with her through her illness and kept her from facing her other worst fear. One of the last things she left me with was a little sign that said, "Don't be afraid of tomorrow. God is already there."
Another remembrance of Di is here.
An Untraceable Saturday Night Fever
Since my Friday meltdown, I've been working on the things my counselor told me to do: write down 3 achievable goals and do one nurturing thing. Today, I sat in on a software Beta testing session all day at work. It was fun to be learning a new product, but the teacher is definitely a grumpy, impatient guy.
At 5 p.m., I decided that my reward would be a trip to the movies with popcorn and everything. I wavered between racing across town to see "The Great Debaters" or staying near work and seeing "Untraceable." I figured that racing across town and wrestling with parking would be a drag, so I opted for Untraceable.
I'm sorry I went.
The acting was fine and the plot held my interest, but it greatly disturbed my soul. Untraceable is not so much a thriller, but one of those sadistic voyueristic torture films, like the Saw franchise. As I started to watch the movie, I knew, as a Christian, I shouldn't be there. I shouldn't support this kind of entertainment. But I stayed because I'd already paid my money and was too embarassed to ask for it back.
And I started to think about how horror movies have changed over the years--starting with supernatural monsters like The Mummy, Frankenstein, and Dracula and moving to the villian being your sociopathic neighbor. There's something weird about our culture because a lot of us love murder as entertainment, whether it's something as simple as CSI or Law and Order or whether it's suicide videos available for download from the Internet.
Where are we going with all of this violence? With our preoccupation with violence and our penchant for reality shows, I wonder how many years will go by before we have shows like the executions and animal hunts held by the ancient Romans in the Colosseum. The ghoulish blood lust that was in them is the same as the one in us.
But I can't completely point my fingers at "society." I chose Untraceable over The Great Debaters. And my soul is less for it. When I left the theater, I was not lifted up. My soul felt as though it had crawled over into a corner to hide. It made me remember that, back in 1977, my Dad insisted on going with me to see Saturday Night Fever because it was originally rated R. After he left the theater, he said he would rather have been dipped in the gutter than have seen that movie because "at least you can wash that kind of filth off."
I didn't understand what he meant then. At the time, I thought he was a prude. But I understand him now. Thirty-one years later, I can still remember the scenes from Saturday Night Fever that made my Dad so disgusted: the disinterested stripper dancing on the bar, offering her breasts to the patrons; Tony's gang taking turns with Annette in the backseat of Bobby's car; and a guy stepping out of the backseat of a car turning to ask the girl, "What was your name again?"
And so, I hoped I've learned my lesson with Untraceable. What I put into my mind might stay there forever. There's no real way of knowing what I'll remember and what I'll forget. And what I put in my mind affects my soul. And just as I would be careful in what I would feed a child, I should be more judicious in what I feed into my mind and soul.
At 5 p.m., I decided that my reward would be a trip to the movies with popcorn and everything. I wavered between racing across town to see "The Great Debaters" or staying near work and seeing "Untraceable." I figured that racing across town and wrestling with parking would be a drag, so I opted for Untraceable.
I'm sorry I went.
The acting was fine and the plot held my interest, but it greatly disturbed my soul. Untraceable is not so much a thriller, but one of those sadistic voyueristic torture films, like the Saw franchise. As I started to watch the movie, I knew, as a Christian, I shouldn't be there. I shouldn't support this kind of entertainment. But I stayed because I'd already paid my money and was too embarassed to ask for it back.
And I started to think about how horror movies have changed over the years--starting with supernatural monsters like The Mummy, Frankenstein, and Dracula and moving to the villian being your sociopathic neighbor. There's something weird about our culture because a lot of us love murder as entertainment, whether it's something as simple as CSI or Law and Order or whether it's suicide videos available for download from the Internet.
Where are we going with all of this violence? With our preoccupation with violence and our penchant for reality shows, I wonder how many years will go by before we have shows like the executions and animal hunts held by the ancient Romans in the Colosseum. The ghoulish blood lust that was in them is the same as the one in us.
But I can't completely point my fingers at "society." I chose Untraceable over The Great Debaters. And my soul is less for it. When I left the theater, I was not lifted up. My soul felt as though it had crawled over into a corner to hide. It made me remember that, back in 1977, my Dad insisted on going with me to see Saturday Night Fever because it was originally rated R. After he left the theater, he said he would rather have been dipped in the gutter than have seen that movie because "at least you can wash that kind of filth off."
I didn't understand what he meant then. At the time, I thought he was a prude. But I understand him now. Thirty-one years later, I can still remember the scenes from Saturday Night Fever that made my Dad so disgusted: the disinterested stripper dancing on the bar, offering her breasts to the patrons; Tony's gang taking turns with Annette in the backseat of Bobby's car; and a guy stepping out of the backseat of a car turning to ask the girl, "What was your name again?"
And so, I hoped I've learned my lesson with Untraceable. What I put into my mind might stay there forever. There's no real way of knowing what I'll remember and what I'll forget. And what I put in my mind affects my soul. And just as I would be careful in what I would feed a child, I should be more judicious in what I feed into my mind and soul.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Nurture
Okay, so after having a nasty day of suicidal ideation style depression on Friday, I turned the corner this weekend. God bless my counselor for taking the time to help me find my ability to cope with life. And God bless Pastor Coffin for delivering an amazing sermon on Exodus 17: how God speaks to us, how we get off track, and how to get back into gear.
One of the things my counselor advised me to do to break the depression is to:
So, on Friday, I accomplished my 3 goals and bought myself a bouquet of beautiful flowers. I put the flowers in the entryway so they're the first thing I see and smell when I walk through the door.
And I woke up with a bit of happiness and energy on Saturday. So I cleaned up months of trash, books, projects, clean and dirty clothes off my bedroom floor. And I vacuumed. And I felt HAPPY and PROUD. My reward was to go to knitting; however, that turned out not to be a reward. So I bought 2 new fluffy pillows. And they are absolute heaven.
I awoke again on Sunday with energy. I set 3 achievable goals. I cleaned up months of books, projects, and trash off of my living room floor. And the momentum is building...
It's so exciting to have the depression break.
One of the things my counselor advised me to do to break the depression is to:
- Set 3 goals every day
- Do something that nurtures me
So, on Friday, I accomplished my 3 goals and bought myself a bouquet of beautiful flowers. I put the flowers in the entryway so they're the first thing I see and smell when I walk through the door.
And I woke up with a bit of happiness and energy on Saturday. So I cleaned up months of trash, books, projects, clean and dirty clothes off my bedroom floor. And I vacuumed. And I felt HAPPY and PROUD. My reward was to go to knitting; however, that turned out not to be a reward. So I bought 2 new fluffy pillows. And they are absolute heaven.
I awoke again on Sunday with energy. I set 3 achievable goals. I cleaned up months of books, projects, and trash off of my living room floor. And the momentum is building...
It's so exciting to have the depression break.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Shut up I'm counting!
Knitting class was absolutely jammed today. I was starting a new project but OY! I didn't get very far. I was sitting at the table with a person who was incapable of shutting up. Don't get me wrong--I enjoy chatting while I'm knitting, but I also enjoy periods of quiet where my mind can rest, I can count my stitches, and read my knitting to see if my project is on the right track.
I also enjoy a conversation about an interesting topic where there's give and take. And I always ask the people at the table about the projects they're working on. But THIS WOMAN nattered, blabbed, blathered, blethered, chattered, and jawed about NOTHING. It's like she had to blurt out every thought that came into her head. She kept yapping at me even when I said, "Could you hold on a sec, I'm counting my stitches" and "I need a minute to look over my knitting." But Miss Yappity Yap just giggled said "Oops!" and immediately blared on. Ninety minutes later, when she finally shut her cakehole, she realized she'd made huge mistake in her knitting. She had to tear everything out and start over.
This woman is a blabbermouth, completely insensitive to others around her. I would love nothing more than to smack the crap out of her. Part of me hopes that, by ripping out 8 rows of stitchings, she's learned that you sometimes need to shut up when you're knitting.
Another part of me hopes that God would make me sensitive to the people around me. Perhaps this woman is lonely and needs to yap-yap because no one listens to her at any other time. I dunno.
I also enjoy a conversation about an interesting topic where there's give and take. And I always ask the people at the table about the projects they're working on. But THIS WOMAN nattered, blabbed, blathered, blethered, chattered, and jawed about NOTHING. It's like she had to blurt out every thought that came into her head. She kept yapping at me even when I said, "Could you hold on a sec, I'm counting my stitches" and "I need a minute to look over my knitting." But Miss Yappity Yap just giggled said "Oops!" and immediately blared on. Ninety minutes later, when she finally shut her cakehole, she realized she'd made huge mistake in her knitting. She had to tear everything out and start over.
This woman is a blabbermouth, completely insensitive to others around her. I would love nothing more than to smack the crap out of her. Part of me hopes that, by ripping out 8 rows of stitchings, she's learned that you sometimes need to shut up when you're knitting.
Another part of me hopes that God would make me sensitive to the people around me. Perhaps this woman is lonely and needs to yap-yap because no one listens to her at any other time. I dunno.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Trolling for needles at Michael's
I was rolling through the knitting section of Michael's, innocently buying some needles when suddenly, I was accosted by 2 shoppers. They were baby knitters whose brains had glazed over in trying to figure out how much and what kind of yarn to buy to crochet an afghan. They waved their patterns and peppered me with questions--and I could answer them!
I realize that I am now a true, official knitter. (Also, it's lucky there isn't a 24-hour yarn store or I would sleep there, gently snoring in a pile of DK.)
I realize that I am now a true, official knitter. (Also, it's lucky there isn't a 24-hour yarn store or I would sleep there, gently snoring in a pile of DK.)
Thursday, January 17, 2008
In Our Own Voice
I'm getting back into the swing of doing In Our Own Voice presentations through NAMI OC.
One of the presentations I'll be doing is for Providence Community Services in Norwalk. I'm a little nervous because I'm not at my highest functioning level. I've probably got too dang much on my plate and, and and.
I'm tired of feeling tired and scared. I'm tired of feeling overwhelmed. I'm tired of feeling angry. I'm tired of feeling worried.
And yet, I want to knit stuff to give other people comfort and to do public speaking about mental illness to give other people hope. It feels a bit hypocritical, but they're the only ways I find meaning in life.
And, I know the cost of doing a presentation. They zoom me into hypomania for a day and crash me into brutal depression the following day. But it's still worth it. I've seen family members be helped when I tell my story.
One of the presentations I'll be doing is for Providence Community Services in Norwalk. I'm a little nervous because I'm not at my highest functioning level. I've probably got too dang much on my plate and, and and.
I'm tired of feeling tired and scared. I'm tired of feeling overwhelmed. I'm tired of feeling angry. I'm tired of feeling worried.
And yet, I want to knit stuff to give other people comfort and to do public speaking about mental illness to give other people hope. It feels a bit hypocritical, but they're the only ways I find meaning in life.
And, I know the cost of doing a presentation. They zoom me into hypomania for a day and crash me into brutal depression the following day. But it's still worth it. I've seen family members be helped when I tell my story.
Hookie Lau
I'm driving to the hoop on the Hawaiian lap robe. Only three stripes and the edging to knit before it's ready to go to Mary Beth. I'm feeling some urgency to get it done because some of MB's fingers are turning dark. This is the same thing that happened to her toes before the doctors decided to amputate both of her legs up to her knees. I guess I'm thinking that, if she has to go into the hospital again, I'd like her to have a cuddly afghan in the hospital with her.
I'm knitting this lap robe because I remember that, when I was in the hospital, Joyce gave me a chenille afghan. It was great because it's sometimes chilly in the hospital. But, even more, it was like getting a hug from a friend every time I wrapped it around me...and that was something I really needed in the long, dark hours of the night. Having that afghan meant that somebody loved me--an awesome thing to remember when you're feeling yucky.
I'm knitting this lap robe because I remember that, when I was in the hospital, Joyce gave me a chenille afghan. It was great because it's sometimes chilly in the hospital. But, even more, it was like getting a hug from a friend every time I wrapped it around me...and that was something I really needed in the long, dark hours of the night. Having that afghan meant that somebody loved me--an awesome thing to remember when you're feeling yucky.
Does mobile blogging work?
Very cool. I can send email from my phone or anywhere. This is useful when I want to use large pieces of an email. I can just forward the email to go@blogger.com and edit it like a crazy thang.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Everyday Christmas continues to continue
Today the items I scored for the shoeboxes were two rubber balls that light up when you bounce them, 2 Hot Wheels cars with hot metallic paint, and two boxes of Crayons. Toys of joy for only $6.41.
Now that I've discovered that Matchbox and Hot Wheels cars can be purchased for only 97 cents, I know I'll be making them part of my regular skip-lunch-and-buy-Christmas-toys shopping ritual.
Now that I've discovered that Matchbox and Hot Wheels cars can be purchased for only 97 cents, I know I'll be making them part of my regular skip-lunch-and-buy-Christmas-toys shopping ritual.
Friday, January 11, 2008
Every day with Everyday Christmas
Today I went to Joann's to pick up some stuffing for my teddy bears. They had some fun stuff in the dollar bins: rhinestone-encrusted emery boards, pink lamé headband...all things glitz and glam...for the Pedragales boxes.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Knitting a Teddy Bear for Ashley
Last night I got the news that my kung fu Master's little daughter is in the hospital with 3rd degree burns on her face, neck, arms and torso. She's a curious 2 1/2 year old and pulled a pan of boiling water off of the stove.
So, I got some yarn and (hopefully) a simple teddy bear pattern. I'm going to try to finish teddy by Sunday night.
So, I got some yarn and (hopefully) a simple teddy bear pattern. I'm going to try to finish teddy by Sunday night.
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
Everyday Christmas Continues
It's so cool! I keep finding little things for the Pedragales Christmas boxes. Today I scored wooden airplanes, trains, and dinosaurs that come with a set of paints and brush. I know I'm on the right track when I look at a toy or game and think, "I wanna do that!" Already the boxes are filling up with things that sparkle, glow-in-the-dark, fly or growl. And, yes, it blesses the socks off me. No wonder Jesus said, "Hey! Bring the kids over here to me!"
Hawaiian lap robe and Shag Scarf
I've really messed up my Hawaiian lap robe. I've got about 20 extra stitches on the row. (I wanna throw it on the pile of UFOs, but I can't.)
On the Shag scarf, it seems like the picked-up stitches are baggy. It makes an unattractive gap between the old piece and new piece. (But I'm not giving up and I LOVE this Comfort yarn so much I could write sonnets about it.)
On the Shag scarf, it seems like the picked-up stitches are baggy. It makes an unattractive gap between the old piece and new piece. (But I'm not giving up and I LOVE this Comfort yarn so much I could write sonnets about it.)
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
Knitting Replaces Kung Fu as Life Passion
I had a really rough holiday season but it's turning around now. Knitting has replaced kung fu as my passion. I'm working on a lap robe for my friend in Hawaii, a baby blanket for a family that goes to my church, a chemo cap (I'll make more of these to donate), a funky scarf with all of these weird flaps. After I finish one of these projects this month, I'll move on to knitting blankets for homelss cats to donate to animal shelters and hand puppets and stuffed toys to donate to CHOC.
Friday, January 04, 2008
Gift Ideas for Everyday Christmas
TOYS
small cars, balls, dolls, stuffed animals, kazoos, harmonicas, yo-yos, jump ropes, small Etch A Sketch®, toys that light up or make noise (with extra batteries), Slinky®, etc.
SCHOOL SUPPLIES
pens, pencils and sharpener, crayons or markers, stamps and ink pad sets, writing pads or paper, solar calculators, coloring and picture books, etc.
HYGIENE ITEMS
toothbrush, toothpaste, mild bar soap (in a plastic bag), comb, washcloth, etc.
OTHER
Hard candy and lollipops (please double bag all candy), mints, gum, T-shirts, socks, ball caps; sunglasses, hair clips, toy jewelry, watches, flashlights (with extra batteries)
small cars, balls, dolls, stuffed animals, kazoos, harmonicas, yo-yos, jump ropes, small Etch A Sketch®, toys that light up or make noise (with extra batteries), Slinky®, etc.
SCHOOL SUPPLIES
pens, pencils and sharpener, crayons or markers, stamps and ink pad sets, writing pads or paper, solar calculators, coloring and picture books, etc.
HYGIENE ITEMS
toothbrush, toothpaste, mild bar soap (in a plastic bag), comb, washcloth, etc.
OTHER
Hard candy and lollipops (please double bag all candy), mints, gum, T-shirts, socks, ball caps; sunglasses, hair clips, toy jewelry, watches, flashlights (with extra batteries)
Thursday, January 03, 2008
Everyday Christmas
My church has a sister church in Pedragales, Mexico. Each Christmas, the members of our church pack individual shoeboxes with gifts for the children of the neighborhood in Pedragales and we host a Christmas party outreach. I don't have any kids of my own, so it gives me special joy to pack boxes for these kids.
I decided that I'll celebrate Christmas every month in my home. Toward that end, I've already started creating boxes for the kids at Pedragales. My stated goal is one per month, but my secret goal is more like one a week.
And God has opened up some cool little surprises--princess wands and tiaras, Slinkys, and dinosaurs in the dollar bin at Target. (I was tempted by some pirate hats and swords in the dollar bin, too, but there's a weapons ban on Pedragales gifts.) And I won't buy everything from the dollar bin; the Lord would give these little ones His best.
Even more, the Lord, has gifted me with a heart for charity knitting and some of the most fun and funky patterns for kids' hats and hand puppets. These aren't Grandma's knitting patterns! If the Lord allows, each box will have a handmade hat or puppet, too.
I decided that I'll celebrate Christmas every month in my home. Toward that end, I've already started creating boxes for the kids at Pedragales. My stated goal is one per month, but my secret goal is more like one a week.
And God has opened up some cool little surprises--princess wands and tiaras, Slinkys, and dinosaurs in the dollar bin at Target. (I was tempted by some pirate hats and swords in the dollar bin, too, but there's a weapons ban on Pedragales gifts.) And I won't buy everything from the dollar bin; the Lord would give these little ones His best.
Even more, the Lord, has gifted me with a heart for charity knitting and some of the most fun and funky patterns for kids' hats and hand puppets. These aren't Grandma's knitting patterns! If the Lord allows, each box will have a handmade hat or puppet, too.
Thursday, September 06, 2007
The Intervention of God in Everyday Lives
As a Christian, I take the Bible literally...composed by people, inspired by the Holy Spirit, writing down the literal thoughts of God. It has not always been easy for me to believe this. Some of the things the Bible says are difficult to accept; some are difficult to understand.
One of the things I've been pondering lately is: how much does God intervene in the everyday affairs of people? Is God primarily an interested observer? Does He take a more active minute-by-minute role? Or is it that God engages with me to the level I'm willing to engage with Him?
I think the Bible gives evidence that God intervenes in daily life. For example, when the Jewish nation was wandering in the desert for 40 years, God provided them with food and water every single day. And yet, even in this I wonder if God got up early and lovingly baked the manna every day, or if He simply automated it, scheduling the manna delivery start and stop date, or perhaps delegating the bread baking to angels.
Psalm 139:13 tells me that God "created my inmost being" and "knit me together in my mother's womb." Does this mean that God still creates every single human being? Because I've often thought that God created Adam and Eve, gave them the ability to procreate, and that was that. But the idea of being personally hand-knit by God is infinitely more wonderful. (I suspect He dropped a couple of stitches when He knit me.)
One of the things I've been pondering lately is: how much does God intervene in the everyday affairs of people? Is God primarily an interested observer? Does He take a more active minute-by-minute role? Or is it that God engages with me to the level I'm willing to engage with Him?
I think the Bible gives evidence that God intervenes in daily life. For example, when the Jewish nation was wandering in the desert for 40 years, God provided them with food and water every single day. And yet, even in this I wonder if God got up early and lovingly baked the manna every day, or if He simply automated it, scheduling the manna delivery start and stop date, or perhaps delegating the bread baking to angels.
Psalm 139:13 tells me that God "created my inmost being" and "knit me together in my mother's womb." Does this mean that God still creates every single human being? Because I've often thought that God created Adam and Eve, gave them the ability to procreate, and that was that. But the idea of being personally hand-knit by God is infinitely more wonderful. (I suspect He dropped a couple of stitches when He knit me.)
Monday, September 03, 2007
Movie Review: War
Rating: R
Starring: Jet Li, Jason Statham, John Lone
Release date: 8/24/2007 (U.S.)
Official site: http://www.warthefilm.com/
If you want to see Jet Li doing sensational martial arts moves, this isn’t the movie for you. Li stated that he was retiring from martial arts films. War proves that he wasn’t joking. With the exception of a samurai sword duel, this film is characterized by John Woo-like “gun fu,” not kung fu.
Although I love action films, War had more brutal violence and nudity than I care to see—especially degrading violence towards women and violence towards children. While I know his reaction toward this type of violence was the hero’s motivation, it’s gross to see Yakuza bosses virtually raping women, women being sent as sex gifts for a job well done, and the image of the blood of a murdered mother and child pooling and mingling together. Also disappointing is that John Lone was not used to the best of his abilities.
Both Li and Statham give wonderful performances. I don’t think Li has played such a stone cold killer since Lethal Weapon 4. It’s truly disturbing to watch Rogue (Li) betray and double-cross and double-double-cross everyone around him. Statham also does well as the single-minded detective willing to sacrifice everything to catch Rogue.
A small thing I liked about this film is that, although Rogue is a badass assassin, he makes it clear that he does not drink or smoke. I wonder if this is a bit of Li’s Buddhist beliefs at work. Another small thing I liked is that the supporting characters are developed fully enough that I actually felt sad when they got blown away.
The BEST thing about War is its surprise ending. In truth, the twist is a bit far-fetched, yet I still like the idea of it. It elevates Rogue from cold-blooded killer to a man seeking justice.
Starring: Jet Li, Jason Statham, John Lone
Release date: 8/24/2007 (U.S.)
Official site: http://www.warthefilm.com/
If you want to see Jet Li doing sensational martial arts moves, this isn’t the movie for you. Li stated that he was retiring from martial arts films. War proves that he wasn’t joking. With the exception of a samurai sword duel, this film is characterized by John Woo-like “gun fu,” not kung fu.
Although I love action films, War had more brutal violence and nudity than I care to see—especially degrading violence towards women and violence towards children. While I know his reaction toward this type of violence was the hero’s motivation, it’s gross to see Yakuza bosses virtually raping women, women being sent as sex gifts for a job well done, and the image of the blood of a murdered mother and child pooling and mingling together. Also disappointing is that John Lone was not used to the best of his abilities.
Both Li and Statham give wonderful performances. I don’t think Li has played such a stone cold killer since Lethal Weapon 4. It’s truly disturbing to watch Rogue (Li) betray and double-cross and double-double-cross everyone around him. Statham also does well as the single-minded detective willing to sacrifice everything to catch Rogue.
A small thing I liked about this film is that, although Rogue is a badass assassin, he makes it clear that he does not drink or smoke. I wonder if this is a bit of Li’s Buddhist beliefs at work. Another small thing I liked is that the supporting characters are developed fully enough that I actually felt sad when they got blown away.
The BEST thing about War is its surprise ending. In truth, the twist is a bit far-fetched, yet I still like the idea of it. It elevates Rogue from cold-blooded killer to a man seeking justice.
Movie Review: Rush Hour 3
Starring: Jackie Chan and Chris Tucker
Rated PG-13
Release date: 8/20/2007 (U.S.)
Official site: http://www.rushhourmovie.com/
I’m a great fan of Jackie Chan and the Rush Hour franchise. Unfortunately, Rush Hour 3 is pathetically bad. It’s in the same league as “Howard the Duck” and “Ishtar.” It’s not even worth renting as a video.
The adventure doesn’t continue in New York
Rush Hour 2 set my expectation that we’d see our heroes continue their adventures in New York City. I wanted to see them living it up at the Plaza and catching a game at Madison Square Garden. Inexplicably, RH3 is set in Paris. Lee and Carter’s adventure in New York and the failed romance between Lee and Isabella is just a bit of exposition. And it’s not satisfying.
I know the idea was to put both Lee and Carter into “fish out of water” environments, but that could have been accomplished in New York.
The buddies aren’t buddies
Lee and Carter aren’t buddies any more. It’s eventually explained that Carter played a role in the failed romance between Lee and Isabella; however, it’s more interesting to watch a relationship form or dissolve than hear about it in exposition. It’s not interesting to watch two disinterested people go through the motions of adventure.
This left our heroes without the arcs that made RH1 and 2 so appealing. In RH1, Carter learns to work with a partner and care about something outside of himself. In RH2, Lee and Carter become true friends and Lee finds romance. In RH3, it would have been nice to see Carter find true romance and to risk his life for it. It just seemed that not enough was at stake in RH3 for the buddies to re-establish their endearing friendship.
The motivation for the heroes and villains is weak and unclear—even who some of the villain ARE is unclear
In RH1, Juntao kidnaps Han’s daughter for revenge and big bucks. Lee is motivated to get the crime boss, rescue Han’s daughter, and avenge his former partner’s death.
In RH2, Tan and Hu Li are protecting their casino used for money laundering. Lee is motivated to stop the crime boss and avenge his father’s murder.
In RH3, Han discovers the location of a list of triad warlords. Instead of getting the list, he decides to announce its existence to the U.N. and gets shot. The rest of the movie is Lee and Carter trying to locate the list. There’s gratuitous T&A, but no money, threat, or romance driving the story forward.
Lee’s “brother” appears twice as a bad guy, but it’s unclear as to whether he’s a warlord or working for a warlord or what. Also, there’s a female Asian assassin who shows up twice to kick Lee’s butt—I don’t know who she is or why she wanted a piece of Lee either. (She and Chan did an excellent scene with a Chinese fighting fan though.)
The stunts are boring
The opening stunt of RH3 is one where Jackie Chan jumps through a one-story window, slides down a pole and runs across the freeway. This is WAY less interesting than the opening boxcar stunt of RH1 and scaffolding stunt of RH2.
The fights on the Eiffel Tower are too much like the ones we saw at the end of RH1 and would have been more amazing in the days before CGI. Jackie Chan is still a stud cake, but he’s not 25 any more.
There are too many scenes that don’t move the story forward
When Lee and Carter get to Paris, they’re beaten and strip-searched by the police—for no apparent reason. It doesn’t move the story forward. The only thing that makes it funny is that the infamous Roman Polanski does the strip-search.
Rated PG-13
Release date: 8/20/2007 (U.S.)
Official site: http://www.rushhourmovie.com/
I’m a great fan of Jackie Chan and the Rush Hour franchise. Unfortunately, Rush Hour 3 is pathetically bad. It’s in the same league as “Howard the Duck” and “Ishtar.” It’s not even worth renting as a video.
The adventure doesn’t continue in New York
Rush Hour 2 set my expectation that we’d see our heroes continue their adventures in New York City. I wanted to see them living it up at the Plaza and catching a game at Madison Square Garden. Inexplicably, RH3 is set in Paris. Lee and Carter’s adventure in New York and the failed romance between Lee and Isabella is just a bit of exposition. And it’s not satisfying.
I know the idea was to put both Lee and Carter into “fish out of water” environments, but that could have been accomplished in New York.
The buddies aren’t buddies
Lee and Carter aren’t buddies any more. It’s eventually explained that Carter played a role in the failed romance between Lee and Isabella; however, it’s more interesting to watch a relationship form or dissolve than hear about it in exposition. It’s not interesting to watch two disinterested people go through the motions of adventure.
This left our heroes without the arcs that made RH1 and 2 so appealing. In RH1, Carter learns to work with a partner and care about something outside of himself. In RH2, Lee and Carter become true friends and Lee finds romance. In RH3, it would have been nice to see Carter find true romance and to risk his life for it. It just seemed that not enough was at stake in RH3 for the buddies to re-establish their endearing friendship.
The motivation for the heroes and villains is weak and unclear—even who some of the villain ARE is unclear
In RH1, Juntao kidnaps Han’s daughter for revenge and big bucks. Lee is motivated to get the crime boss, rescue Han’s daughter, and avenge his former partner’s death.
In RH2, Tan and Hu Li are protecting their casino used for money laundering. Lee is motivated to stop the crime boss and avenge his father’s murder.
In RH3, Han discovers the location of a list of triad warlords. Instead of getting the list, he decides to announce its existence to the U.N. and gets shot. The rest of the movie is Lee and Carter trying to locate the list. There’s gratuitous T&A, but no money, threat, or romance driving the story forward.
Lee’s “brother” appears twice as a bad guy, but it’s unclear as to whether he’s a warlord or working for a warlord or what. Also, there’s a female Asian assassin who shows up twice to kick Lee’s butt—I don’t know who she is or why she wanted a piece of Lee either. (She and Chan did an excellent scene with a Chinese fighting fan though.)
The stunts are boring
The opening stunt of RH3 is one where Jackie Chan jumps through a one-story window, slides down a pole and runs across the freeway. This is WAY less interesting than the opening boxcar stunt of RH1 and scaffolding stunt of RH2.
The fights on the Eiffel Tower are too much like the ones we saw at the end of RH1 and would have been more amazing in the days before CGI. Jackie Chan is still a stud cake, but he’s not 25 any more.
There are too many scenes that don’t move the story forward
When Lee and Carter get to Paris, they’re beaten and strip-searched by the police—for no apparent reason. It doesn’t move the story forward. The only thing that makes it funny is that the infamous Roman Polanski does the strip-search.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Testing the Publish by Email Feature
One of the coolest things about contemporary blogging is that I can blog by email, by text message, or even by phone. I can blurt ideas onto the page at any time from anywhere.
Emerging Skills Sets for Technical Writers
After having been a technical writer for nearly 15 years, I took a couple of years off to teach martial arts. I kept my writing chops sharp by doing the occasional user guide or online help system, but I didn't keep my finger on the pulse of trends in the technical writing field.
In 2003, when I began my sabbatical, a tech writer would have been considered competent if s/he was skilled in using Word, Framemaker, RoboHelp/HTML, and Acrobat. If you wanted to be more marketable, you would've added Illustrator, Photoshop and HTML to your bag o' tricks.
This month, as I persued job listings on Dice, Monster, Careerbuilder, and Indeed, I found some companies are now looking for writers who, in addition to the core skills outlined above, are also versed in web design and content management.
Web Design
Like most tech writers, I'm a bit of a nerd, so I've created my own simple website and blog. The Dreamweaver and XHTML requirements are no big deal. But I'm definitely having to play catch-up in deepening my understanding of CSS and Javascript.
Even more interesting to me, were companies who were looking for people who were familiar with writing Wikis and blogs. I love using Wikipedia and have long kept a personal blog, but the idea of companies using Wikis and blogs to communicate with their employees, customers, and potential customers is new and intriguing to me.
Question: Will user guides one day become blogs that users can subscribe to and receive daily updates on their personalizing Google or My Yahoo page?
Content Management
Content management (AKA single sourcing, resusability) has been a buzzword in technical writing for more than a decade. Many companies use Framemaker's conditional text feature for single sourcing. However with the advent of databases and XML, single sourcing seems to becoming more of a possibility.
Questions: What are some of the new technical writing tools you use? How do you stay current in learning and assessing new and upcoming tools in technical writing?
In 2003, when I began my sabbatical, a tech writer would have been considered competent if s/he was skilled in using Word, Framemaker, RoboHelp/HTML, and Acrobat. If you wanted to be more marketable, you would've added Illustrator, Photoshop and HTML to your bag o' tricks.
This month, as I persued job listings on Dice, Monster, Careerbuilder, and Indeed, I found some companies are now looking for writers who, in addition to the core skills outlined above, are also versed in web design and content management.
Web Design
Like most tech writers, I'm a bit of a nerd, so I've created my own simple website and blog. The Dreamweaver and XHTML requirements are no big deal. But I'm definitely having to play catch-up in deepening my understanding of CSS and Javascript.
Even more interesting to me, were companies who were looking for people who were familiar with writing Wikis and blogs. I love using Wikipedia and have long kept a personal blog, but the idea of companies using Wikis and blogs to communicate with their employees, customers, and potential customers is new and intriguing to me.
Question: Will user guides one day become blogs that users can subscribe to and receive daily updates on their personalizing Google or My Yahoo page?
Content Management
Content management (AKA single sourcing, resusability) has been a buzzword in technical writing for more than a decade. Many companies use Framemaker's conditional text feature for single sourcing. However with the advent of databases and XML, single sourcing seems to becoming more of a possibility.
Questions: What are some of the new technical writing tools you use? How do you stay current in learning and assessing new and upcoming tools in technical writing?
Wednesday, December 01, 2004
12 Forms
I'm approaching the final days in preparing for my black belt test. I have 9 boxing forms and 3 weapon forms to peform and am beginning to practice the forms back-to-back.
It's scary to think of testing, but also exciting. Lately I've come to understand that achieving a goal means moving towards that goal when I feel like it and when I don't, when it's fun and when it's not...big steps, little steps, backward steps, and the occasional leap.
I've learned more boxing forms than I thought possible. I didn't think my brain could do it. And yet, I know I've only brushed up on the outside edges of kung fu.
It's scary to think of testing, but also exciting. Lately I've come to understand that achieving a goal means moving towards that goal when I feel like it and when I don't, when it's fun and when it's not...big steps, little steps, backward steps, and the occasional leap.
I've learned more boxing forms than I thought possible. I didn't think my brain could do it. And yet, I know I've only brushed up on the outside edges of kung fu.
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