On Knitting And Kindness

Good evening, everyone...I hope the holidays have been as pleasant as possible, and that the yarn is flailing about with reckless and colorful abandon.

So, last week I did a blog post for LoveKnitting about the easiest fingerless mitts ever, so that people could get rid of their scrap yarn as gifts for people, and the pattern was designed to not have a thumb. They were easy as ever, after all, but I personally can't go thumbless in good faith. It prompted people to ask me how I made the thumb in the blog photos, so here is the blog post on how to make an afterthought thumb...you can make any simple fingerless mitt that folds around the hand and add a thumb this way later:

http://blog.loveknitting.com/the-afterthought-thumb/?blog_page=/

I saw the movie "Wild" this afternoon after the Bears game (and yes, I have now gloated to Vinny a thousand times that my prediction for the Bears over Labor Day weekend was a 5-11 record, and that is how they ended the season), and there is a line in that movie where Laura Dern is teaching her daughter a life lesson:

"Always do the kindest thing."

I try to be kind at all times. I have failed miserably on a few occasions, but generally, the consequences of not being kind are never worth it. My niece asked me for a poncho for Christmas, and she told my mom she wanted it blue. I held it up to her on Christmas Day to make sure it fit her, and she said, "Can you put some pink on here if it isn't too much trouble?" Of course I can. You are almost nine, you are my brother's kid, and you asked me to knit you something. Miss Rachel, I will do whatever the hell you ask me to do, and I'll like it.

On Christmas, I got stood up for a breakfast date, which (from where I was sitting, anyway) meant I had some extra cash at my disposal. I bought breakfast for the woman in the booth behind me and her three adorable little boys...they walked into Denny's like they were walking into Disneyland. It was awesome. Then I rounded my server's tip up to the nearest hundred...she was lovely and deserved every penny.

But kindness certainly does not have to be about money...I just happen to make way more of it than I could ever understand how to spend. I never acquired a taste for Coach purses or whatever, so if it's not real estate, I probably consider it a luxury and don't bother buying it. I would rather give it away in ways like that to people who would appreciate it.

Kindness does not have to be about knitting, either...but knitters are usually the most charitable group out there. If you don't know Karen Plomin (or KcScrapper on Ravelry), get to know her...if she is knitting or talking about knitting, it is probably either because an item is being gifted to someone else or she is promoting a charitable organization that needs knitted goods. The girl doesn't have any idea what it means to NOT be kind.

Kindness, though, sometimes gets occluded by this huge ball of anger, and you have to look for it. I used to be close with someone that, looking back, was not kind. I should have seen it sooner, and I should have severed ties with that person sooner. All this person knew how to show was anger, and every time I heard this person say something that was meant to be kind...maybe it's just me, but...it sounded fake, contrived. Perhaps I am wrong...maybe this person was one of the kindest beings ever. But I really do not think so. I saw this person almost throw a chair at a dog, not speak to someone for two days over the fact that his significant other showed him a picture of a baby, and told the person he supposedly loved that their outfit on date-night looked like they were going to a garage sale. Not kind at all.

I recently encountered someone who called me one of the more harsh insults I have ever been called, and crazy enough, my first reaction to it (in my head) was, "Wow...I really hope this person can find a way through all of that anger. I'm so, so sorry this person is hurting that deeply." Weird, right? And I did not respond to it because...well...why would I? This person's reality could not be changed, no matter how much explaining I felt like doing. And to an extent, I deserved the insult.

But I am still kind. I just make mistakes like the next girl. Because I am a knitter, I would normally make this person a prayer shawl but I do not think it would be well-received right now.

Then again, I once had a few dates with someone that I found out after the fact was married (I had been in his apartment, and there was absolutely no evidence to any other adult being in the place). I came to a place where the now-ex wife and I were able to be friendly enough where I sang at her wedding to the next guy. So I don't know...if a situation like that can be tied up into a neat bow instead of a bunch of angry loose ends, then maybe kindness prevails.

Maybe that was a fluke. I don't know. But I am not going to stop living by the golden rule and offering knitted goods to people who need them. Always do the kindest thing. All anger does is kills people, and it's not as worth it as the rewards of kindness.

Attention Walmart Shoppers...

Good morning, and a Happy Thanksgiving to you all! I am not shy about my political views; I am a fiscal republican with what I consider a pretty big heart, so sometimes it is difficult to balance the capitalist in me with the giver in me. That said, I do not feel people should just get something for nothing. It is what it is, and of course you are welcome to feel your own way, disagree with me, and call me a name or two.

When I was a kid, I remember having a Barbie Dream House and both Andrea and Kristen drooling over it. I remember boxes and paper absolutely everywhere. I remember making cookies, year in and year out, at Mom's house. I remember carrying my Cabbage Patch Kid into my cousin's house in Bolingbrook and everybody oohing and ahhing over it.

My point is that the positive feelings associated with Christmas was more because those things were mine and the day surrounding them, and less because of the moment I received them. Now, I was recently at a birthday party for a five-year-old, and when he opened one of his gifts, he started running from the living room to the playroom and back, yelling, "I'M FREAKING OOOOUUUTTTTTT!" It was hilarious. I just don't know if the lasting impression will be the yelling and running, or playing with the toy afterward.

And it could have been any toy. Or game. Or article of cute clothing. The lasting effect on kids is the entire day, and not that one gift that they open and lose their minds over.

I say this today because, up until June of this year, I managed a retail outlet overnight for the largest company of its kind on the planet. Last year, on Black Friday, I was in the middle of my rotation and had to leave Thanksgiving dinner at Mom's house to go to Walmart. My first job of the night was to be backup for our Asset Protection manager, so I was directing traffic in the parking lot. "Excuse me!" I yelled. "This is a fire lane, so sorry!" I got "Fuck you...everyone else is parked here!" Okay then.

After that, I went inside to help control the flow of the lines. Every register had a cashier on it, but our fire code allowed for (if I recall) 33 people per register in the store at a time. Think about this for a second, and picture how close together the registers are, and how everyone wants to get checked out all at once. People were in line for three hours, barely moving for the majority of that time. Meanwhile, the person you claim does not make enough money to survive without food stamps (not true, by the way...most of these kids are either supplementing their income, or they know what they are getting into when they take the job...that is THEIR choice and not Walmart's...I also had hourlies that made forty grand a year) is getting harassed by one person at a time, plus the two or three people behind them in line within ear shot of the cashier.

I was in the middle of a swarm of people with shopping carts who were threatening each other, and they started to threaten me and my safety if I did not take care of things. This is a mob mentality I have trouble understanding. I actually did something I do not often do...I put on my Mom hat, and I told these people I would take care of things the best I could, but that they had to shut up and cooperate or they could leave their full shopping carts where they were and I would be happy to show them the door.

Then, later, I had eleven customers at the door of my office (the capacity of the office was three, maybe four if someone was in a dispute and you were willing to stand instead of sit). Apparently, one of the associates gave out tickets for a Playstation before the right time, so customers were threatening my job and my safety again unless I could do something for them. I took down all of their names and phone numbers, talked to our Electronics manager later that evening, called each and every one of them back the next day, and offered for them to buy the product online and I would refund them the difference. After a night's sleep (on their end) and their mob-mentality hangover wearing off, they were fine with that and they thanked me for my help.

But not that night. It was all about blood and anonymity that night.

So I ask you to consider a few things on this Thanksgiving, which now has the greatest commercial misnomer EVER, "Black Friday":

1. Do you remember Thanksgivings of days past as being a beautiful day of family, football, food, and togetherness? If your answer is "yes," then stay home and shop tomorrow. Your kids will be pleased with whatever they receive for Christmas.
2. Retailers (not just Walmart...all of them) have made it difficult to afford Christmas without missing Thanksgiving. Are you willing to do that? Are you willing to sacrifice family time to get hot under the collar with a thousand people fighting over the last Wii, or would you rather make the holiday yours and just afford what you can, so you can focus on love instead of money?
3. Do you honestly believe that your kids will grow up resenting you if you get them a smaller tablet for Christmas than what they wanted?
4. If you do venture out, can you please take a breath now and again and remind yourself that the people waiting on you are also missing their holiday, not so they can buy things for their kids, but so you can buy them for yours.

I do not normally bleed my heart out for anybody...I love to make money, and sometimes you have to take advantage of people to do that. But there are so few togetherness-themed times in our lives that are left; cars have DVD players so kids no longer play the alphabet game with their parents on road trips. We miss little moments because we are so busy documenting crap on facebook that we do not look up in time to see the next thing that happens. We go to little league games where no score is kept because heaven forbid a kid get their feelings hurt for losing, so we no longer have the chance to comfort our kids and help them get strong enough on their own two feet to accept the fact that life goes on after defeat.

So if you would rather get a good deal on a new TV instead of sit at home and laugh with your family, I respect your decision. But the people you encounter are either other stressed out shoppers just like you, or they are retail workers who are doing their best to get you the hell our of their store in peace so they can put things back where they belong when you are gone. They appreciate your business, but each of them will have thirty people asking them questions and complaining all at once, and quite frankly, none of them get paid enough to prioritize like that. 

I did. I made well over seventy grand a year there. But the hourly employees are there strictly to help you find what you need, and make your shopping experience pleasant. If you are miserable, ask yourself if it is because of something at the store, or if it is because you chose to go out into the swarm. I am not blaming anyone for holiday shopping. All I'm saying is that perhaps...maybe...you brought on some of that stress yourself. Retailers' jobs as a company are to entice you. If you fall prey to it over being with your family, that is on you. Not them.

Happy Thanksgiving to you. And ask for a manager if you need one.

Today Is Important

Good afternoon, friends! I'm currently in Freeport, Illinois getting ready to meet a potential customer, and I can't drive through this town without smiling about two things:  1) this is where Dad and I took rainy-day field trips when he lived in Mount Carroll, and 2) their high school mascot is the Pretzels.

Today is a very important day for me, for two reasons. One of them, I will keep to myself. The other, I will shout from the rooftops. My cancer was blasted to bits on this day ten years ago.

The first time I was sick, no big deal. Thyroid cancer is the most curable cancer out there; the younger you are, the more likely you will survive it. My surgeon, Daphne Denham, looked like a supermodel from Bowling Green, Kentucky and yet she was far from someone who liked to garner attention from the paparazzi. She photographed my tumor for me, told me to schedule the surgery around my life, and hung out with both of my parents long enough to answer any questions they had, even though I was 27 at the time.

Then, a year later, I went in for a follow-up, and the piece of tissue left on my vocal chord had grown pretty significantly in size. It was biopsied, and of course because this is science and not advertising, it was presented to me like this:  "Well, the cells exactly mimic the cancer cells, and the tissue's growth has us very concerned, and we would like to do more tests to be sure, and..." Basically, they said everything in the world except "Your cancer has come back and we want to blast the crap out of it for you."

But, that they did. If any of you happen to remember when I opened the coffee shop, I was off of my thyroid meds for several weeks while I waited for my body to be primed for treatment. My godfather, Uncle George, shaved my head for me because my hair was coming out in clumps in the shower. I held an auction that day for who could be the lucky one that got to shave my head. The winner was my dad, but he did not want to drive in for the shaving, so he asked his brother to do it. Everyone who bid ended up donating the money anyway, so my hair went to Locks of Love and the money went to the American Hearing Impaired Hockey Association. Wins all around.

After a two-day stint in the hospital and a two-week period where I was too much of a biohazard to interact with other humans and domesticated animals, I was clean. As far as I can tell ten years later, anyway.

I thought a tattoo would be a fun way to celebrate, so I sent an email to my friend Jesse's favorite tattoo artist. I told her I wanted a lily of the valley coming out of soil made from my cancer cells, and I sent her photos of what thyroid cancer looks like under a microscope. This is the result:

I have no idea why I was chosen to survive this. More importantly, I have no idea why people like Philip Turner had to die from it at 43, or my dad had to die at 63, or Estrella has to fight her ass off at 40. But here is what I do know.

You have to eventually ponder the why. You have to look around at your chunk of the seven billion humans that fit in your circle, and even the ones on the fringe of it, and compare your life to theirs. It is human nature. What you do not have to do, however, is draw any conclusions from it.

A common mantra is that there are no second chances. Maybe not, but why should we need one? We are not perfect beings, and we cannot control everything in our lives. If we screw up, we all have the capability of apologizing or trying to make amends, and then getting better by learning from our mistake. We do not need second chances. We need to just make every chance we get the best chance we have.

Notice people. Look around your chunk of the seven-billion-human population and see what is out there. You may not realize it, but you get something out of each and every one of them. They will either show you something you want to be, or something you do not want to be. Absorb both lessons with equal significance.

I was not the girl who woke up after treatment and all of a sudden started noticing the beauty in the sunsets. I was already a pretty damn happy person with a backpack full of flaws. But as I get older I realize how grateful I am that I get to age. I can pick and choose who shares my life, and I can gracefully bow out of the lives that are toxic to my well-being. I suggest everyone do the same.

Oh, and one last thing:  I did learn one major lesson from my little ten-year benchmark. Stupid, I know, but I have gradually felt less and less like I have the start of a serious illness every time I get the sniffles. After all, if I die tomorrow, some of your lives will be affected, but mine will just end. I may as well just live as though I have something valuable to offer, and hope that people find value in me.

I happen to associate today with a day of importance. You do not need to do that. We all have value in this world; offer what you can, and selfishly take their gifts as life lessons for yourself in return. The balance sheet is even at that point.

Excuse me, as I have to cast on a sweater for my Save the Children Pins 'N' Needles Challenge. The chances of me finishing are a bit slim, but dammit if I don't try.

Did Somebody Say Vogue Knitting LIVE?

I am currently sitting at Mapps Coffee and Tea in the U of M neighborhood of Minneapolis, and I am thinking that today might be the first day in ages where my overwhelm actually feels welcome. Generally...and correct me if I'm wrong...when you have too much to do, you want to crawl into a hole and do absolutely nothing until enough time passes where all of your deadlines have crushed your reputation. Or you have the intent of doing one thing at a time, but instead you start six different things and finish zero or them.

Or...you look at your to-do list and you knit.

Right. So today is the first day where I feel like I did the right thing and actually tackled the to-do list instead of knitting, crawling into a hole, or starting everything.

Basically, I make about $250,000 a year and have no kids and no spouse, so my job is to use that money and my reach to promote the virtue of helping others. My arm of that virtue, of course, tends to be knitting. So get ready, because I have some ideas for you.

Tonight, the Windy City Knitting Guild meeting is focused on collecting hats for newborns and preemies...in red yarn, because it's the American Heart Association promotional color...to promote awareness of congenital heart defects. The drive is connected to a dozen or so hospitals in the area, so babies you may end up knowing when they come into the world could have a hand-made hat from you.

Then, Vogue Knitting LIVE is this weekend. You can help Save the Children by making a sweater (more on that later), bring a preemie or newborn red hat to the Windy City Knitting Guild booth, or just head to the Marketplace and see what other charitable ventures the vendors are supporting. It is not to be missed.

I am in the process of starting a non-profit geared toward the Safe Haven Laws, but I need some help. If you like to knit blankets, or if you are a politician or member of law enforcement or fire rescue, or you work in a hospital or church, or you work with anyone from DCFS, please drop me a line. If you know anyone in the above organizations, please forward on my contact info.

Other than that, hmm...I am driving quite a bit. More driving and less knitting. The good news for you knitters is that I am plopping Cascade Yarns into the hands of the owners of your local yarn shops, so you will have plenty to choose from the next time you shop. Buy Cascade Yarns, especially if you live in IL, WI, MN, ND, or SD. Then, I can eat.

Have a great day, everybody!

Oh So Grateful

So, I am a pretty horrible facebooker. I did not do the Ice Bucket Challenge, I do not tag friends when there is some sort of "Beautiful Women Unite!" post, and I skipped over the "Three Days Grateful" challenge as well.

Then, I looked back on my last few years, and at a few times this year where I pointed out that I have not been focusing on the positive aspects of the world as I should, and I had a mental slam on the brakes.

It is, in fact, not a challenge to come up with things for which I am grateful. Perhaps, though, I do need to write them down. If worse comes to worst, maybe someone is reading this in the dark somewhere and he or she is encouraged to crawl out of the hole that encompasses their sides and top to whatever their bottom is. So there.

I am grateful that while I am far from perfect, I generally make sound decisions. My dad was probably the most logical, practical person to ever walk the planet. My mom can step back and see the big picture and prioritize with the best of them. Not a bad combo to inherit. On that note, however, I also inherited the "freak magnet" gene from my mom and the "talk to everybody within earsho" gene from my dad. Not as good a combo.

I am grateful for the ability to stand up for myself. Sometimes I am wrong. Sometime, the universe is wrong. But sometimes I am right, the universe is right, and the person disagreeing with me is wrong and treating me like crap. Back away slowly unless you want to be put in your place.

I'm grateful for pets. Not just mine, but pets in general. Humans are not a guarantee of unconditional love...people estrange from their parents, their children, their siblings, their best friends, their spouses, and even themselves. But a dog can get loose in the yard, run away, and come back several years later. They will, in fact. And when I did have pets, I did not need television.

I am grateful my cancer was caught in time. I may not have direction, but dammit I still have plenty of decorating to do. For my ten-year cancerversary this November, I am getting a super-cool tattoo. If you remind me then, I will be happy to show it off.

And as long as I'm waxing medical, I am grateful for the human body to repair itself and bounce back in a timely fashion.

I am grateful to have (relative) financial freedom. It gives me the chance to focus on doing my little teeny part in making sure a retail industry owned 90% by women succeeds. If they succeed, then I get rich. Everybody wins!

I am grateful to Trisha Malcolm, who opened some pretty darn amazing doors for me as I was writing my wee little column about the Chicago Knitting Scene.

I'm grateful for my super-tight circle and its fringe:  Alex, PJ, Peter, Andrea, Jesse, and the probably dozen shovel buddies who circle THAT group so I always am protected.

I am grateful for being able to do math in my head. And knowing the difference between some commonly confusing English words. and knowing a little science, a little history, a little art, and a little geography without being a know-it-all.

I am grateful for being left-handed. Built-in conversation topic at any table full of strangers for life.

While I wish at the time that some lessons were easier learned, I am grateful to have loved and lost. It gives me an excuse to chase that dangling carrot again...the chase is fun!

I am grateful that I do not have a mortgage.

I am grateful that people turn to me for advice in difficult situations. Whether it is because I'm trusted or because I have already lived two lifetimes, whatever...it's flattering.

I am grateful for my sense of direction. That comes in handy quite often.

I am grateful that I never lost the ability to see the world through a child's eyes, and even more grateful that I still pay all of my bills on time.

I am grateful for double-pointed needles. Screw you, magic loop...you come in handy but I get a great deal of satisfaction just from fiddling.

I am grateful for my voice, both literal and figurative. I miss making the congregation at St. Williams Parish on Sayer cry for no reason.

I am grateful for Babe Hiland, CJ's mother. For so many reasons.

Thank goodness I have good hair, green eyes, and tiny ears...it means that I can wake up late and still have the main parts of my head looking okay with minimal shallow work.

I am grateful that coffee is not, and will never be...banned due to its controlled-substance qualities.

I am grateful for free-will and living in a democracy. Separate from feeling that your vote is important, I am so thankful that I can have chocolate cake for breakfast any time I want.

Even though it used to creep me out, I am thankful for my angels and guides who talk to me. They know I am here to listen, and I know they are there to pull me through. Plus, they have sent so many people to me who just needed to get to their next level, whatever that may be.

I am grateful for seasons, sunsets, and other immeasurable beauties in nature for which we would lose appreciation if we knew we were going to live forever.

This is enough for now...you are welcome to post why you are grateful in the comments instead of me tagging everyone on the planet that I know. Be well, find peace, and make your own destiny before someone else does. ...xoxo

In Praise of My Best Friend At Forty

I would like to take a moment to sing the praises of my most beautiful, bestest friend on her fortieth birthday.

Our families lived a few houses apart. Our lives were quite similar; she and her two brothers are each exactly one year older, in order, than me and my brothers. She lived in the same house design in the subdivision, except their house was a mirror of ours. Plus, she had a swingset! And mint growing along the side of the house.

She had this awesome yellow and orange swimsuit I wish I could have had, but alas...not only was it hers and not mine, but even then, she was smaller than me despite our age difference.

She was the reason I took dance classes. While I'm thankful, I am sorry to say it did not improve my coordination one bit. She did teach me how to get taller, however; one summer day, we were hanging out on the swingset when she taught me a trick for getting taller that she learned on The Brady Bunch. "Hang," she said, and climbed high enough to hang from one of the monkey bars. It only worked for one of us, as she does not quite clear my nose at present.

Her grandmother made these excellent grilled cheese sandwiches. I liked my mom's, but Grandma Sicola made them with different cheese. It was good stuff.

My mom took me to get my ears pierced. She called me while I was at my best friend's house. Her ears were already pierced, of course. I assume we were playing Strawberry Shortcake that day.

Running down the stairs and yelling "BANGBANGBANGBANG!" was hilarious to us. It still is, actually.

It turns out that I actually did bring something to the table in our friendship. I did not find this out until I was in my thirties, but it turns out I am the reason she is a Cubs fan. I had dinner with her parents one night in 2008 when her dad told me he had been mad at me for that. I did not understand, until he explained that right after they moved to Connecticut as a family, I wrote Andrea a handwritten letter (back in a computer-free era), complaining about how the Cubs blew it in the playoffs yet again.

She took the letter to her dad and said, "Who are the Cubs?"

As it goes, he was a White Sox fan and a Houston Astros fan, which was his hometown team. She had no idea there was another baseball team in Chicago.

Oh, by the way...you read that correctly. Her family did not move from Downers Grove to Woodridge...they moved from Downers Grove to Ridgefield, Connecticut. And we stayed good enough friends where were were Maids of Honor at each other's weddings.

When she was getting married, her friend Heather hosted a bachelorette weekend in Miami. I did not tell my best friend that I was going to the party. Instead, when she was walking from the airport to the car, I popped out of the back seat and took her picture. She looks so excited in that photo, but the hilarious part is that she did not realize it was me until after the photo was taken. That was when the real freakout happened.

On my way to Sydney in 1995, I scheduled my layover in Los Angeles, where she was living, for the entire day. We laughed. We cried about boyfriends. We hugged. And then I flew to Sydney.

She brought her boyfriend to Chicago for a visit. It was my big chance to meet him, size him up. It took me all of ten seconds to realize she found the right guy. That was around the turn of the millenium, if you needed perspective.

I went to her high school graduation. She visited me in college.

When my dad died, she drove the seven hours from Tampa to Santa Rosa Beach for the memorial and started crying the moment she walked in the door. She then looked at me and started laughing because she knew she was going to cry the moment she walked in the door. I thought the best thing to do was to laugh and cry at the same time with her.

I high-tailed it to Florida, where she was living, shortly after she had her baby. Kayli was nine months old when I was there...Kayli was crying, so she went into Kayli's room. She looked at her child, not even old enough to talk, and said, "You're faking it!" Kayli stopped crying. Magic.

We saw Dane Cook together. Earlier that day, we went to Starbucks.

Some of her favorites:  Target, Rush, The Karate Kid, her old Nissan Pathfinder...and obviously, Dane Cook and Starbucks. Rush...well...there was mooning and a moving car the weekend of her high school graduation, and that is all I will say on that topic.

I met up with her in Seattle once...I was living in Portland, and one of her other best friends was getting married. I was invited to the wedding on a whim, and I had the honor of driving a bunch of bridesmaids in puffy blue dresses around downtown Seattle in my teeny car. She felt one of her friends was not treating me well, and she made that known in a classy but firm way. She defended me when I didn't even know defense was necessary.

I am behind. She only knows goodness, passion, love, charm, and right from wrong...nothing else. I am a year behind, and about seven thousand steps behind in the "good person" department. As she likes to say about others, but needs to hear it more about herself, "She is just as beautiful on the inside as she is on the outside."

So I thought the least I could do was sing her praises a day early.

Miss Andrea, here's to another forty years, and if you don't mind, I would like to continue being your oldest, bestest buddy at least until I figure out how to be you. Thank you for making me realize, pretty much daily, that I still have a ways to go to reach amazing. It is the most flattering form of envy. Take it that way.

Such Is Life

Have you ever felt like your brain was too unoccupied? I do not mean that you are bored, or inert, or even too scattered to formulate a coherent thought. I mean that your brain clears itself, and then it suddently collects sediment and you mentally start trying to clear out what is settling. For me, it happens on long drives.

I am currently going on several long drives per week, which is why this is coming up now.

For some reason, no matter how awesome our lives are, it only takes a few of these periods of brain-clearing to get into a bad mental place. Perhaps it is an out-and-out depression, or something less severe, such as a darker version of pensive. Either way, it only takes a bit to get there. It is a sign that we are not settled, not relaxed. Something is keeping us off-center and we have a nagging fear we will not be able to right the ship, and we will always be pulling the mast with force to keep going both upright and forward.

I found myself reflecting over the past few years, and then the period of time increased to ten years, and then fifteen, and then all the way back to college, and finally, childhood. Something has changed in me over the most recent period of my life.

My brain started using every negative life event as a time marker in my head. Moving to my teeny condo, taking a $50,000 pay cut at Planet Walmart, selling my house, getting divorced, buying the Money Pit, losing the animals, enduring three years of misery and banging my head against the wall, moving to Texas, losing CJ, losing my dad, moving to Portland, moving to Phoenix, buying a car for the job at Kare, closing the coffee shop, leaving Nordstrom so abruptly, getting sick a second time, getting sick the first time...

Why in the world would I do that?

Perhaps the tragedies were more profound than the victories. Maybe there were just more of them. Maybe, just maybe, in some weird way this was my way of remembering all of the times where I learned something and came out of the other end of the tunnel stronger than when I had entered it. But I doubt it.

I was sitting on the front porch of the Money Pit yesterday, making my last sales calls of the day and waiting for a prospective tenant so I could tell them that, in fact, I was unable to show them the unit. I have a tenant who is leaving because she thinks I do not do enough to keep her safe. Here is what I know for sure:  if you (as a building) do not keep the bolts locked on the door, and then your husband thinks someone is breaking in, and he calls you at work, and then you call me at work, I simply cannot help you. Twenty minutes have gone by, nobody has called the police, and I am thirty miles away and unwilling to stick my body in front of a bad guy like Captain America's shield.

She is currently not speaking to me, not taking my calls, and not allowing me access to my own unit to show it to prospective tenants. I filed and injunction and emergency motion to get access, and then I asked the judge to deny it. If I have gotten to the point where I am using this period of my life as a time marker, "the time where I could not show my unit because I was getting played by my tenant," then I have hit the bottom. I refuse to call this The Bottom. It's not cancer, it's not cancer a second time, it's not losing a parent, it's not losing a fiance, it's not losing your identity in a miserable marriage. It is my brain and big heart against somebody else's anger. Neither of us wins.

I was approached by a photojournalist, who wanted to talk city diversity. She saw a bunch of neighborhood kids, plus the tenant's three children, on the porch with me. I must have looked like the best foster mom in the history of the world. She asked me what drew me to Chicago, and I thought about it for a few seconds before answering. "Community," I said. "People who welcome with open arms, people who come from different places."

When I spoke to her off the record, I told her about the tenant. My demeanor, and therefore my outlook, changed in a moment. "I feel bad for her," I said. "Here she is, obese, a smoker, and incredibly angry. She is going to die before she turns fifty and those three kids will be orphans." I do not want this woman to die. I do not want anyone to die, really...I do not have that streak in me at all.

I want her to realize that this petty crap is not worth it. Dwelling on the negative, conscious or unconscious, is not worth it. Look around you:  there is so much taken-for-granted good that all you can see in the forest is the couple of dead trees that stick out and cloud the view.

Ironically, the last time I saw this tenant, she was cheery and bubbly, friendly, and interested in my knitting. "I could never do that," she told me. I offered to teach her, and told her it was a great way to quit smoking.

I guess I do not ultimately care if she knits or not. But I know one thing is certain:  whatever vessel has brought her to this insanely angry place - even if the catalyst was me - that vessel can be broken down just as it was built. It was yet another moment when I realized that anger is just not worth it, and that seeking out the positive if you cannot readily see it will trump swimming in the negative any day of the week.

Maybe after she moves, she will have a similar moment of clarity. I will provide the worsted-weight yarn, a pair of US8 (5.0mm) needles, and the patience of a saint if it would help her get out of the mindset that will ultimately kill her. Because then I can look back and say, "Remember that time I mentally helped someone off the ledge and saved her life by teaching them a way to relax and help let the bad crap go?"

All markers of time should look more like that.

That Stress Scale Again

If I go back the past...let's say...six years, since my dad died, I bet I have lived an entire lifetime of just events in that time frame. But to be fair, let's use the Holmes Rahe Stress Inventory. I'll go back only two years.

I dare you...score yourself and compare.

http://www.stress.org/holmes-rahe-stress-inventory/

My score was 545, and that was with me trying to eliminate as many duplicates as made sense.

That said, I have been grieving, changing, and finding myself as much as I humanly can. My two-year plan has been quite successful; I just was not expecting all of the shedding of baggage, tears, and crap that was going to come with it. I have a self-sustaining real-estate investment company, new home paid for in cash, new gig blogging for loveknitting.com, and VERY new gig selling yarn to yarn shops for one of my favorite companies. 

Win, win, win, win, and win!

However, I realized that I was not finished...or in some cases, had not started...grieving some events in my recent past. There was CJ, of course...it is difficult to grieve a lost spouse when you marry his best friend, and the two of you have incompatible grieving processes.

Then...and this one took me by surprise. It was a year ago this past weekend that triggered the worst period of depression in my memory. I had to remind myself to get out of bed...it was that awful. So, as I was walking to Starbucks, I started to cry. You know those big, cleansing tears where there is no accompanying weep? Yeah...those.

So I stopped at the church across the street from the starbucks, and they have a good-deed box. I wrote the following note, as close as verbatim from memory (except with some parts deleted, due to a ridiculous confidentiality clause I signed):

One year ago this weekend, one of my dogs attacked the dog of my dog-sitter and dear friend, Renee. The dog had been socialized with both children and other dogs, but she was in an unfamiliar environment, and neither of us saw a problem initially since I had never seen her aggressive like that, and Renee had obviously cared for many animals. When she took her dog to the emergency vet, she left my dogs in her yard, accidentally leaving the gate open. By the time I arrived, I found out from Animal Control that Penny (my one dog) had attacked and killed a second dog. Lily, Renee's dog, died that night as well. The other person involved was so angry that first he blamed Renee, then me, then he did not know who to blame beyond that. Renee forgave me instantly; in fact, she did not see anything to forgive since it was just a horrible accident. I was going through a nasty time, and my remaining two animals ended up moving to Texas because of questions regarding my fitness as a pet owner and me just finally being too tired to argue. I know as well that it was a horrible accident, but I still had to put Penny down; it was the only right decision, and it was absolutely horrible. I hope you can please pray for the following:
Pray for Renee and her family, who continue to be models of His grace and of forgiveness, despite suffering their loss.
Pray for the family of the other dog, who just wanted money from me in their anger, and for hoping they get past it and are able to move forward.
Pray for Penny, Lily, and the third dog who are hopefully running together in Heaven and all is forgiven.
Pray for the other person involved, who will hopefully see one day that blame and anger is just preventing him from loving himself and others.
Pray for Bluto and Axl, who I hope are as loved in Texas as they were loved by me.
Pray for me, who knows it was nobody's fault but who still hurts from it, and wishes the best possible for everyone involved.

Writing this down in the back pew of the Baptist church at Irving and Kostner with tears constantly streaming down my face made me feel like Penny finally had a voice. Completely stupid, I know. But I firmly believe that sweet dog had no idea she did anything wrong, and the guilt I carried was certainly enough for both of us.

So in related news, sometimes, I am asked why I knit so much. My silly answer is "So I don't smoke." I have no desire to smoke; I'm a singer. Doing both is not a possibility, and I will always choose health over death, and singing over silence.

So I knit. Knitting prevents me from engaging in destructive habits like smoking, overeating (although sometimes I think the entire chocolate cake is a serving size...sue me), doing hard drugs, biting my nails, or even mindlessly scratching some benign thing, like a kitchen table.

I do not just love to knit. I need to knit. Reviewing yarns for LoveKnitting.com means I get to knit a simple, one-ball piece every singe week of my life. I will always have something to break away from my stress level. And now I get to sell Cascade Yarns to yarn shops, which is an excellent choice for every yarn shop in America (as far as I'm concerned, anyway), so my creative juices are flowing nonstop. If the creative juices flow, then the pipe does not have much room for holding onto guilt and shame and despair and disappointment and...

My goal for the next two years, however, is to get that stress score down just a bit.

Running Jokes In Knitting

Hello, everyone...reporting live, from my weird purple chair in the yarn room...

It is a truly gorgeous day here in Chicago. So gorgeous, in fact, that when my upstairs neighbor's music woke me up at 1pm (like, I was in my unit, using Shazam to determine what gospel song he was playing...it was THAT loud), I went for a walk through my new neighborhood and bought socks and soap.  You know...important stuff.

I know I do not blog very often, but if you have been following, you know I have been knitting Deborah Newton's Asymmetrical Tunic from the Fall 2012 issue of Vogue Knitting magazine for...umm...a year now. The sweater is comprised of eight panels of different shapes and sizes that get sewn together in this totally cool way, and then a neck band gets knitted onto the back to hold the shoulders together. Here are two of the panels.

I flew through the first piece, went through the second piece pretty quickly, and then plodded along on the two long pieces...numbers three and four. What happened next will only be funny to knitters, but it became a joke that has run away and cracks me up every time I talk about it.

I started reading ahead in the pattern. Normally, when knitting a sweater, the directions will say something silly like, "Sleeves (make 2)," or give the directions for "Sleeve," and at the end, the last direction will be, "Repeat for second sleeve." It's right up there with a jar of peanut butter having the disclaimer on the side which reads, "WARNING:  Contains peanuts."

Anyway, I arrived at "Sleeve." I read the entire direction. Read the notes. Read the assembly instructions. Looked at the photo of the finished sweater on the model, which clearly has two sleeves. Read the entire instruction page again. Nowhere...other than the photo, which indicates there is one on each side...is there an indication that two sleeves need to be made.

I went into a fake panic and told my knitting group, "Me confused. The picture has two sleeves, but it doesn't say anywhere that I am supposed to make two." Going forward, we all referred to the sweater as the one with "sleeve." It spun into the idea that maybe you just make one and steek it, or you make one super-long sleeve and it wraps around the neck, et cetera.

Now, patterns have errata all the time. It comes with needing to fit a pre-written pattern into a finite publishing space. But this is not errata...obviously the sweater requires two sleeves, but I am just horribly amused that it never says two sleeves need to be knitted. The name of the panel, by the way, is just called "sleeve." I have to assume that since it is an advanced-level pattern in Vogue Knitting magazine, which is already a pretty advanced-level knitting publication, the necessity of knitting two sleeves is a given.

Well, I finished "sleeve." I then went rogue and made a second sleeve, figuring that I might need it. I calculated how much yarn I would need at the beginning...three skeins of Cascade Eco+ in Mystic Purple...and I am currently getting ready to start the eighth and final panel.

Oh...one more note:  The sleeves are not labeled, number-wise. The panels are labeled One through Six, and then, there is "Sleeve." So it's possiblly even MORE proof I only need seven panels.

I can tell I'm going to need a fourth skein of this yarn, going into that eighth panel. My knitting group is convinced it is because I went crazy and made the second sleeve. Turns out the photo of the model in the garment is the exception, because here is the schematic for how to sew the pieces together:

http://media.vogueknitting.com/DNN/VK/charts/VKF12/VKF12_20d.pdf

Yep...say it with me...

So in the middle of reviewing yarns, this is the project I work on. And I WILL finish it soon...I am in the home stretch. And I will go nuts and attach both sleeves so it looks like the photo with the model. And I will wear it every damn day until I die once it's finished. I am thinking about streaming the Seaming The Pieces Together Event on YouTube so everyone can Pay-Per-View the sucker and I can get rich. Thoughts?

Swimming Along

Good morning, everyone!  I am currently sitting in my yarn room, contemplating all things knitting and life, and it dawned on me that many of my thoughts never make it from head to blog.  Yes, I do realize this may be a good thing for some, but there are occasions where I just flat-out need to write so my head doesn't explode.

I have been twice-weekly blogging for a British website called LoveKnitting, and the respnose and experience has been fantastic.  While I admit I need to brush up on my British English a bit, the writing has been successful. To give you an idea of what I write, here is the most recent post:

http://blog.loveknitting.com/anatomy-of-a-baby-hat/

And while I still write my Examiner.com column, these past two months have been difficult keeping up since I moved and changed jobs, blah blah blah.  But here is the fun part...this is the reason I decided to blog today as it is. More than just to say hello, I am a bit full of discovery and felt like sharing with the masses.

This was my sixteenth move in nineteen years.  I know it is not my last...when I walked through my condo for the first time, my first thought was "Ooh...dollar signs!" and my second thought was, "Hmm...I could live here for a bit."  I own a real estate investment company.  This company is why I was able to quit my job and take a massive pay cut so I could figure out who the hell I am and other existential crap I cannot quite articulate after a night of working.  My condo is a part of that...I paid cash for it, and the fact is that it will make a perfect rental property for me when I decide to move.

But for now, though, it's cute.  And it has a yarn room...seriously!

So anyway, I was unpacking and putting things where they belong and creating spaces for things that did not have a home yet, and I became aware of two notions regarding my possessions.  The first is that I feel my bedroom is private enough where it should be the home for items like my old diaries, private photographs and letters, and publications that may not be appropriate for everyone.  And I am not talking about dirty magazines or anything like that...just some stuff that is only someone's business if I make it their business.

I was actually flipping through my diaries a bit...this is the second thing I discovered...and when I was reading entries from fourteen years ago, I had that pang of truth where you realize that the more things change, the more they stay the same.  If I am to believe what I wrote when I was in my mid-twenties...and let's face it, I tend to think lying goes against the ways of the universe...then I am to accept the fact that I was not settled then, and I am not settled now.  I talked about not feeling like I was home, not having any stability, and not knowing how I felt about certain people both for the here-and-now and for the long-term future.

I'm referring to family members, friendships, intimate relationships...all of it.

So I came to the conclusion that perhaps I should stop trying to seek out stability.  What is so wrong with taking life as it comes, anyway?  If I cross the threshold of "home," or meet "the one," or land THE job, or even get slapped in the face with a dose of karma telling me what I should be when I grow up, I may listen.

But for now, I LIKE me.  I like not knowing what is next, and yet still being a psychotic planner for the ticks in my life that I can control.

I am going to try my hand at being a real estate agent.  If it doesn't pan out, well, let me just get out a thick notebook to catalogue all of the various endeavors I have tried that did not work out...

I am going to get my non-profit off the ground this year.  Someone recently started following me on Twitter and I took it as a sign that this is, in fact, the year to do it.  I am thinking sometime around July I will be able to have the business plan ready, have the tools to know the next steps on how to proceed, and maybe even have a vision of my life after starting it.

Or not.

My life is not a river.  It is not fireworks.  It is certainly not a well-beaten path.

My life is more like church:  it has its constant qualities, but you never know what lesson you will learn from one week to the next.

I am going to try my hardest to be fine with it.  Seriously.

In the meantime, here is a picture of me in a baby hat.  Seriously.

I. Love. Life.

Good morning, knitting friends...while I wait for the city to thaw out, I have had plenty of time to think about life and whatnot, and have come to some really awesome conclusions.

Actually, I don't know if anyone will agree on the "awesome" part...but to me, these decisions and conclusions are seriously of that magnitude.

I was walking around New York for Vogue Knitting LIVE back in January, and I realized something. I freak out over nothing sometimes.  For as even of a keel as I tend to live, I sometimes over-think something to the point where I can't sleep, and working overnight makes this problem worse.  Anyway, I was contemplating changing jobs because the only part of my "old" life that I have left are my job and my house.

Well, guess what?  I sold my house.  Two weeks before the Super Bowl, when NOBODY buys real estate.

And as I was eating probably my six hundredth slice of pizza (the pizza is not far from the top of the list of reasons why I adore New York), I thought to myself, "Why am I doing this?"

So I went back to work after my vacation and told my boss I wanted to step down to overnight stocker, instead of maybe Loss Prevention Manager or something else where I am suited more compatibly.  After getting approvals from about seven different humans, literally, I went from making $72,000 per year to $11.25 per hour.  And I couldn't be happier.

Then, something great happened.  I was asked to join the list of bloggers for a British website called loveknitting.com.  I get to write a knit tip for them every Monday and a product review every Friday, so instead of knitting just for fun, I get to knit with purpose!  I know this sounds like the worst nightmare for some, but I get to try every type of yarn, needle, notion, and what-have-you and tell people what I think of it.

Then, I was also asked to be the guest speaker for the Windy City Knitting Guild this July, where I get to talk about my column and the Yarn Crawl.

Then...finally...in addition to selling my house, I bought this adorable condo on the northwest side and it is closer to everything I could ever want in life.

Basically, my life now consists of knitting, writing about it, and running my real estate company.  The job is just a way to pass the time so my brain and body can vacation from the desk and creative process.  I have the best life ever!

Meanwhile, this week's product review for loveknitting.com is going to be about Eucalan.  My house currently smells like grapefruit, which is a way better smell than the phase I'm in at the moment.  See, I love moving.  I'm great at it.  This will be my thirteenth move in seventeen years.  And as much as I want to see if this is "The One"...home, that is...I don't care because I love living somewhere new every few years.

For now, though, I am headed to bed so I can go to the Blackhawks game with a dear friend, and then go to work.  And then I shall knit on my lunch break and have everyone scratching their heads at me.  Goodnight.

...And Now, I Nap

~~phew~~

So, I'm sorry it has been a bit, but I attended so many events at Vogue Knitting LIVE...and there were SO many people to meet and see...that I didn't even get to write every story I wanted to write.

I usually get to write about the Marketplace, and then all of the fun extras VKLive has to offer, but I was tired after writing eleven articles.  I feel I did okay with the coverage, however.

So now I shall use this space to tell you what you missed!

First of all, Vogue LIVE is great in any city, but it's worth the field trip to New York if you have never attended that one.  The hotel is accommodating, and since it's smack in the middle of Times Square you have plenty of food, people-watching, and walking-direction options when you need fresh air.  But I will say, the Marketplace...umm...

Part of the reason I didn't get to write about the Marketplace is that, even though I took a boatload of photos, the place was JAMMED.  I had a hard time trying to talk to peole to get the inside scoop on their booths, and find out why they thought they were special or ordinary or noteworthy or whatever they thought about themselves.

Here are a couple of fun photos, however...

This was Laura Bryant's demonstration on how the eye sees color...we all thought we were pretty artsy, or at least had an average pallette in our heads, but quickly realized we were wrong.  She was great...very, very passionate and a great sense of humor to boot.  I went to two yarn shops in NYC on Monday just so I could see her yarns in person, since I don't get to see them too often here in Chicago.

This was the view from the end of the runway at the Marketplace fashion show.  See all of the people in the back?  Keep in mind, the aisles were probably eight feet wide...it's not like we were crammed in like sardines on purpose.  The place was just that awesome.

This is one of the items that was autioned off for charity, next to its magazine promo counterpart.  It's nice to see a piece that looks great in person, and actually looks wearable when it's styled, no?  I may have to go back and make this one after I finish Deb Newton's tunic from the 30th Anniversary issue.

I also finally met Trisha Malcom in person, which was a hoot.  She posted a message on my facebook page, asking if I was at the gala and saying she was dying to meet me in person, and then of course a few minutes later, one of my yarny friends from Chicago sent me a message which echoed my sentiments exactly:

"Trisha Malcolm posting on your facebook page is totally your Jennifer Lawrence moment."

So there was that...she's great as well.  I walked up to her right before she was scheduled to sign a bunch of books...I think we both had closure...ha ha ha.  Anyway, I was SO honored to cover the event because I meet such great people and I get these emails afterward from people I don't know, saying that they really appreciate me giving them a good snapshot of what it's like there.  I'm quite proud of that.

Some news...I got an email from a woman named Helen Hollyhead, who is a higher-up at loveknitting.com, and to make a long story short, I've been asked to be a bi-weekly contributor to their blog.

Wow.

So all of a sudden, I am going to have this British-based audience with a world-wide reach, since of course we are talking about the internet, and I get to talk about yarn all day for money.  Suddenly, the whole changing-jobs thing and the very ill-timed changing-houses thing are looking like the greatests pushes from God EVER.  I am looking so forward to this gig, and of course I will be promoting the crap out of the website because it's like a little community and it has all of my favorite products on it...yay!

I'm off to work, and then tomorrow I get to interview Shirley Paden so I have to get all of my stuttering out of the way on the drive to UIC...ha ha ha.  I'm getting the hang of this, though.  It's funny, because I grew up in Chicago and see famous people pretty often, but when I meet a famous yarnie, I just get all flustered and my first thought is, "Your brain is AMAZING!"  So yeah...I might need to nap before the event tomorrow.

Cheers!

Is It New York Time Yet?

Hello!

Okay...so my head doesn't explode, I'll start with I'M GOING TO NEW YORK TOMORROW FOR VOGUE KNITTING LIVE!  Big deal, right?  Just a bunch of crazy cat ladies who get excited about yarn, right?

Well, I am one of those crazy cat ladies.  And I love yarn.  And some of the greatest characters I have ever met involve yarn and knitting.  So there.  Moving on.  Here is the preview I wrote for it...I can't wait to see my friend Kelly Fleek and all of the organizers of Vogue LIVE and the instructors and...gosh.  It's like the Oscars for knitting...EVERYONE is there.  And there is me, with my fedora and the little card that says "SCOOP" sticking out, shoving a microphone into the faces of the important and getting a nugget for the next story.

http://www.examiner.com/article/vogue-knitting-live-new-york-preview?cid=db_articles

When last we spoke, I was finding focus.  I think there was a weak day after that where I really, truly lost focus.  I was sitting on the couch, knowing I had things to do but knowing also that I was not getting up because I could keep telling myself I didn't care, and I would keep believing it.  Transition is funny.  I ran across a video of Faith Hill singing "I Surrender All."  It's a gospel hymn about giving up the struggle and realizing you can't do it alone.  For some reason, I heard it inside and out, loud and clear.

So I focused.  I finished three knitting projects in one day, including a little iPhone cover and a hat that I was making out of Malabrigo Rios.  I wasn't sure of the hat, but a friend of mine said he wanted one, so I started asking typical knitter questions.

"What color?"  Something normal.
"Slouchy or beanie?"  Beanie.
"Are you allergic to anything?"  No.

So I finished the hat and finally was able to give it to the recipient yesterday.  Try not to focus on the eye-candy...I have insanely good-looking friends...and just look at the hat.

First thing he said when he tried it on was, "It's so SOFT!"  That's Malabrigo Rios for you.  When I saw him leaving my house, he was wearing it under his other winter hat.  It was the grownup version of the woobie.

So then I finished this simple cowl that was tying up my size US9 circular needles (and I wanted to start the Scotty Hat because I brought it up in conversation three weeks ago...seriously...so I needed the needles).  I also finished this little iPhone pouch, pictured here.  Oh, and a gauge swatch.

Here's the thing with the gauge swatch.  I did a figure-8 cast on of 80 stitches and knit until I finished up the little ball of Cascade Eco+ that I had left from the Yarn Crawl pattern last year.  I wanted to see how thick it would be if I felted it.  This is probably my favorite yarn of all time...it drapes nicely, the colors are beautiful, the wool isn't itchy...nothing but good good goodness.

Then, I went to felt the swatch.

It started out at 7 inches tall by 9 inches wide.  It ended 4.5 inches tall by 9 inches wide.  Huh.

Part of the problem, I'm sure, is me.  I put it in cold water, went upstairs from the basement, went back down two minutes later, and I drained the basin.  Duh.  Clearly, coffee was not the order of the morning...a felted project in cold water is a bit of an impossible challenge.

Then.  I checked on it about every ten seconds.  Another duh...let the thing do its job!  But whatever...it was a learning experience and I now know to use a different, thinner yarn with larger than called-for needles to make what I want to make.  And I have a beautiful prom clutch for the next time I...you know...go to the prom.  I'm 38 and a half now, so I may get asked this year...

Anyway, I'm bringing the Scotty hat and the second pink sock with me to Vogue LIVE, and that's it.  That should leave plenty of room for yarn if, perhaps, a ball or two were to jump into my bag.  See you there...I will be live-tweeting, updating facebook, and writing about ten articles over the weekend.  My email address is amy.e.kaspar@gmail.com and my phone number is 708-912-7338...feel free to contact me at any time over the weekend.  Yay!

The Buck Stops Here

Usually, the new year is when people evaluate the past year, and resolve to make key points of opportunity better.  I apparently have to wait a few days to do that; big surprise, I was working on New Year's Eve so I was not exactly concentrating on my period of reflection.

However, I am now able to look at the past year, and this is what I see.  From solstice to solstice, here are a few of the key takeaways from my life:

1.  I told my husband I wanted a divorce.  I am not a fan of divorce, but walking away at the point of knowing I did everything...absolutely everything...that I possibly could do to save things made it the only decision I could make if I wanted to preserve my sanity.
2.  I was told my work situation needed to change.  Incidentally, I am always open to new opportunities, so if there are any job openings where you think I would be a good fit, pass it along.
3.  My dogs were involved in an attack, resulting in the deaths of two "innocent" dogs (including the beloved family pet of a very dear friend) and the loss of one of my two dogs.  There is nothing worse...and this is coming from someone who said goodbye to her high school sweetheart at his bedside...than saying goodbye to a pet who has no idea she did anything wrong, and moments beforehand is SOOO excited to be jumping up to eat her Canine Carryouts puppy treats.
4.  I went from being a landlord of two to a landlord of seven, practically overnight.  Too much.
5.  My house went on the market because I need a fresh start and to not be able to turn every corner of a room and see my marriage, and the place won't sell because (presumably) it's on a busy street and there is dust on the floor boards.
6.  I sprained my ankle and was basically inactive for three weeks.  Might not sound like a big deal to some, but I have the attention span of a fruit fly and my direction tends to change about as often as the next commercial break.
7.  The true love of my life came back, and left, and came back, and left, and...I don't know.  All I know is I see a ten-year cycle and I don't like cycles...I like swinging from branch to branch with a common finish line.
8.  I lost custody of some really odd stuff that affected my day-to-day activities.  Some, like the dog and cat, were given up in an effort to accelerate the breakup.  Others...well...I was left with a bunch of little goodbyes, like no toaster (but thank god I got custody of the toaster waffles), no microwave (but I have a pantry full of microwave popcorn), no pizza cutter, some odd-sized pots, tools, no normal light bulbs, no bathroom scale (mine), and my personal favorite...the margarine was thrown out but the cheese and sausage (two foods I don't eat) were left in the fridge.
9.  The anniversary of CJ's death hit me like a ton of bricks this year, but when I was bawling my eyes out for what felt like an irrational amount of time proportionate to the event, I decided that it was a wakeup call to do something awesome in his memory (see my last post for more info on that).

Through all of this, I realized I lost my confidence and focus.  It spilled over into my knitting...today, I went to a yarn shop to help out a friend whose employees were all on winter vacation, and I brought a project bag with me.  In it was not a sweater...it was part of a sweater, a second sock, half a hat, an almost-finished baby blanket, a recently-started scarf, and a voter registration card holder (gag gift for a friend).  This is not like me at all...I like to start things and then finish them.

So my reflections were short and to the point:  I looked at my year, decided it doesn't get much worse than this (and no, god...that is NOT a challenge), and noticed that the only things on that list that I could have controlled were things I wanted at the time I controlled them.  So what to do?

Simple.  Put it in Drive.  Eat better.  Get some fresh air.  Finish the knitting projects, not by knitting five rows of each every day but by finishing one at a time.  Get a new job.  Network.  Call upon the friends who have needed me in the past, because I need them now and true friends don't keep a balance sheet.  Continue to answer the phone when someone needs me in the present.  Offer up my spare bedroom.  Give rides.  Tell people I love them, and please, and thank you.

Most of all, focus.  Becoming the person I used to be may sound like a step back, but it is actually a giant and profound step forward.  The confidence will come back naturally.  And lord knows I've been asked out enough lately where the confidence should come roaring back, but I'm still waiting for Johnny Oduya to pick up the phone.

(Here's the sad part:  I joke so often about my crush on Johnny Oduya that if he ever DID pick up the phone, it would actually be his attorney with a member of law enforcement on the line as a witness.  Johnny, if you are reading, I promise I'm kidding and I would never, ever ever ever, stalk anyone, let alone a celebrity.  But I would still love to buy you a cup of java and just talk about lost loved ones and how beautiful Sweden is...I've been there.  And by the way I love your solid, consistent style of play and the fact that you are a defensive defenseman...you can block shots from other time zones and the Blackhawks are damn fortunate to have you.)

This school-of-thought resolution seems to be working for the first couple of days of the year.  I walked to my mechanic's place when it was one degree outside, and it felt great.  Of course, today I knit about five rows on three different knitting projects, but anyone who has ever owned a camera knows that focus is not instantaneous.

Focus is gradual.  It's progress.  It's driven.  I'm on it.

PS...I have a hand-written note from Brady which reads "Thank you for giving me focus."  No...thank YOU.