Girls Scouts Live On!

Ah, the memories that can come crashing back when there is a proper trigger. Or in this case, total immersion.

I can now look back on being a girl scout with fond memories. I seem to have blocked out the revulsion I had at the time to the wonderful polyester uniforms purchased at the nearest JC Penny. Okay, not completely. I remember the tasseled socks, annoying sash, the troop goodie-tooshoos (Jill Lusher) who had all the badges, the mean rule mom (Gail Lusher) and trying to hide our "secret society" in high school. I remeber my friends and crafts and projects instead. And hey, who can forget the cookies? Ever?

Last night, I was treated to a flash back of epic proportions with the difference that I was THE adult and not one of the girls running around and giggling. I finally understand how my mother in her middle years felt and why she managed to have the most childish fun at every turn she could. While I would blush and get embarrassed, my mother would get us not only kicked out of Toys'R'Us, but banned as well. She was behaving the same as a child. In other words, she was HAVING FUN! Imagine that, an adult having fun. Simple, childish fun.

But I digress. Last night I had the honor of escorting a friends darling Duchess daughter to her Girl Scout meeting. And I so wanted to play too! And they got to play dress up! Movie Stars for the night. I can't say I was entirely an observer, as I went slightly overboard and brought various hats and such for the girls to wear for pictures. But alas, in the end I was the adult and did not get to dress up. But I did get some great photos. And let's face it, I have a whole closet I can play dress up with, the purpose being dress up. Some items from my mother, some that I have collected myself. Hopefully someday my own daughter will have a collection too. In the mean time:




And don't forget, Girl Scout Cookies loose their calories when put into ice cream!

Weekends of fruitfullness

Okay, it is Sunday. And I am taking it as a day of rest. Why is it when I spend a weekend with nothing planned on my agenda that I manage to keep busy, I feel like I have done nothing constructive and have been totally reclusive. And yet, when I have a full schedule set up for a weekend, I feel exhaustive, rushed and like I still haven't gotten anything done.

And when I have a weekend where things are scheduled I long for"A weekend at home where I can just knit and relax all day, sleep in and take naps so I'm restful." Work on the guitar or yoga.

I feel exhausted come Monday and I can never quite seem to get back to balance. I need to work on that.

And a cat is playing with my toes.

Lace: An evil no one tells you about!

Grandma's doilies, trendy tops, hair ties, and table clothes. All have lace. A beautiful airy fabric that can be thin enough to slide through a wedding band. Or, that's the goal and the true measure of knitting a lace stole.

Right! The true measure is going to be can I make the practice one with out having my family commit me. The test of character will come if I can bring myself to start the "real" one if I ever finish the test run.

So far, even the cat has not been seduced, enchanted, or developed even a remote interest in the tangled nest that is the 1st stole. I admit that my sub-conscience is leaving it out and vulnerable to see if she goes for it, (so I can blame her for the mess) she's not biting.

And yet, I can't yet put it down. Because in my mind, there has to be a way to make this simple and to make it make sense. I could breakdown and atom easier.

I love the fact that at this point in time, on of my knitting idols is working on a lace shawl. so in my mind, we are working as a team to create lace for the world. Hopefully she is having better luck than me.

Mending Bruised Hearts and Egos

Well, yet another possible boyfriend has been kicked to the curb. I did explain that I would not tolerate game playing. I also warned him that I'm smart enough to know that 2+2=4 not 8. The load of BS really was unbelievable. I surprised he thought anyone would buy it. When called on it he said "his life is complicated, you wouldn't understand." Well, unless you felt like telling me what was up, no, I could not possibly understand with no information. The fact that he couldn't/wouldn't speaks clearly if you ask me.

So my ego and heart were a little bruised. And my best friends came to the rescue. They swarmmed armed with 3 qts of Ben & Jerry's, a bunch of movies, and girl talk/ men bashing, chocolate and fiber. Who could ask for more wonderful friends?

Valentine's gifts at Knit Night, a "Yarn & Fiber Tasting" and tea and hugs. Encouragement, books lent, and patterns given.

So the guy didn't work out. There will be others, no doubt. But I am not alone, I have friends who care, understand and support. They share their stories, thoughts and fears. And best of all?

They totally get the fiber thing!

Love you girls.

Harry the Hank

It's a ...

Rat?!

Poop?!

Hairball?!

Nope! It's Harry the Hank! Da ta da ta!




Meet Harry the hank. My first attempt at spinning and then PLYING yarn. Plying yarn is trickier than it sounds. I'm going to have to work on that. I know it doesn't look like much, but heh, it's my first attempt. Harry is un-dyed and naturally processed. He is very eco-friendly and is made from local blue faced wool (type of sheep I think) and Alpaca (type of cuddley camel). It's impossible to show detail in picture, but harry is actually brown and grey plyed together.

Yes, I know he's small, but he is enough for a coffee cup cosy. However, think that Harry will be staying as a hank, simply because I'm so proud of him, and he is kind of cute. The cat also thinks he's cute, and that could be a problem. We'll see.

I am proud to be a "Townie!"

So, I now live in a small town in northern Virginia, not to be confused with "Northern Virginia." I did not always live here. I grew up in a large metropolis in beautiful sunny southern California. Yup, you read that correctly, I moved here willingly. I thought it would be a nice change of pace, that it would let me explore my "granola" side a bit more. I thought I had moved to the country (I also thought I moved to New England), it was explained to me that this wasn't the country.

In fact, we are a fairly large city with a Costco and TWO Super WalMarts! "Okay." I said with a giggle, this is a city?! "No, we are not city folk here. We are not counrty bumpkins, either. We are townies. " My wonderful, patient friend explained. What is a townie? Tonight I got to see first hand and am thankful for the experience.

(After reading this next part, my father is going to promptly call me up, and rightfully so, chew my butt off)

My lovely American-made 4-wheel drive SUV decided that it was time to remind me that I have obligations to my vehicle. Like my cat, I feed it and pet it (wash), but I also need to take it in to get a check up on occassion. You know, things like check the oil and other fluids in the car. You see, this car came with me from the west coast, and hasn't really been adjusted to this climate, like myself.

So today and tonight, it kept shifting on the fly into 4 wheel drive. The light wouldblink at me, saying"you need more traction!" I was sitting in park in a parking lot. The light continued to blink at me, mocking me. I saw my tax refund flying out the window as I tried to figure out how I was going to drive to work in the morning for 45 miles in 4x4. The light blinked more.

My wonderful patient friend was with me discussing a very important move in her life, and I was completely fixated on the blinking light. I couldn't hear a word she said. I couldn't see anything else.

Just the light.

Blink

Blink.

Crap. My friend then offered to follow me home and push my car if it needed it with hers. Give me a lift and the number of Boyce, the best mechanic in the valley. I get a slight thought flittering through my head as drive. I haven't had the oil changed since LAST YEAR! Which was the last time the fluids were checked at best. (go ahead daddy, I deserve it) I pull into the gas station by my house, explain the situation to my friend and pop the hood.

I look for the correct dip stick and discover: 1. I'm out of coolant/antifreeze (not good this time of year) 2. out washer fluid (that would help get the salt off the windsheild) 3. Out of Transmission fluid (I am praying I didn't do major damage) 4. the brake fluid, fortunately was full. I didn't check the oil.

Here is where living in a small town is great. I go inside to get an assortment of fluids, having no idea that there are different types, and before I can blink, have multiple men from 18 to 80 handing me the correct fluids and then, once paid for, putting them in my car. It is 23 degrees F outside right now with a bitter wind and there were 4 men who didn't know each other or me helping me out. And yes, one did make me promise to take the car in tomorrow and get it looked over.

They closed the hood, gave me smiles and waves and were off about their own business. I get in the car and turn it on. I shift through each gear like they told me to do. Waiting at least 3-5 seconds in each one before shifting again. I am holding my breath. The light stays off. It stays in 2 wheel drive.

I don't want to jinx myself, but I will say, it had to help the issue. I will take it in tomorrow like I promised. I should have gotten their names and addresses to send them all thank you notes and mittens. Now I can use my refund for that Malabrigo sock yarn.

I love townies.

Taxes

So, I'm being a good little girl and doing my taxes now instead of putting it off. I qualify for filing free online. Yippie! But alas, nothing ever goes off without a hitch, right?

I needed some information from last year's return, so I went digging in what passes for an office in my home. No luck. Now, this is an aberration. I am, if anything, overly meticulous about saving important forms and filing them away. But for some reason, I can't find last year's return. Ok, there is a number at the IRS that you can call.

I called last week and the guy told me the information was $xx,VVV. I continued to fill out my info and electronically sent my file to the IRS. It was rejected because the number the guy gave me was incorrect. So today, I call back.

I am told that the wait time is 10-15 minutes. I figure for the IRS at this time of the year, that's got to be pretty good, so I wait. I put on my hands free so I can do other things while I wait. I dye a cashmere sweater lilac to cover an oil stain-30 minutes. I finish one more pattern block on a Valentine's day sock for self-25 minutes. I feed the cat. I wash said sweater by hand. I do the dishes. I spin enough yarn to make two more pairs of socks. I'm beginning to wonder if it would be tempting fate to take the phone with me into the shower, because I won't have time to dry my hair in the morning.... A nice woman finally comes online. She politely gives me her name and id number then asks if I'm on a cell phone. Yes, I don't have a land line. CLICK.

Uh... Okay, breathe, stretch, small patience prayer. Call back. I am now way ahead on the sock game. Get a nice gentleman who patiently continues to say "hello" while I try to figure out how to get my phone off mute (not sure how it got on in the first place, I'll have to look that up). No mention of my cell phone. Yes! Okay, need some info from last year. "Where did you work?" "XWZ & Company" Could they be under another name? Not that I know of. I need this info to verify your identity, please check. " Don't hang up" rummage through file drawer "don't hang up, please" dig through computer bags "please god sir, if you have a heart, don't hang up!" Ah HA! Found a check stub. And it says "XWZ & Company" Address? blah blah. "Well, the address is right right. Your AIG was $V,xxx." You sure? "yep, V-x-x-x." Thank you wonderful man.

I return to the online site to fix the information.

"I'm sorry, we are experienceing technical problems. Please check back in at least 60 minutes."

Good night.