"The great thing is, if one can, to stop regarding all the unpleasant things as interruptions in one's 'own' or 'real' life. The truth is, of course, that what one regards as interruptions are precisely one's life." C. S. Lewis
I've always been a West Coast girl. I grew up in Portland, Oregon, went to school in McMinnville, Oregon, and now live in the San Francisco Bay Area of California.
There was one brief stint spent in Vail, Colorado while working as a housekeeper in a hotel. Did I learn to ski? Not so much. The idea of downhill skiing terrified me, so I took a lesson in cross-country skiing. The teacher said, "Wow, I've never had a student fall down so much." Um, thank you? It was much harder and wetter than walking, which I did in abundance, rarely falling down. Thus ended my relationship with skis and poles.
What I'm thinking about while analyzing my choices in coasts and my obvious lack of skiing ability is that I've spent most of my time with plentiful fruits and berries and vegetables. Amazing berries growing wild in the empty lot next door when I was a child (I also tried picking berries for money with a friend, but again, HARD and way too early.) And the nuts? We had two walnut trees growing in our yard that provided so many nuts that my mother became quite creative in their use. I've only been able to face walnuts again in the past 10 years.
California also is an amazing land of plenty, fruit, nut, berry and vegetable-wise. I can casually plant a squash in my flower garden and enjoy fresh squash for months, heck, I've even had volunteer tomatoes grow from the compost I made before I learned not to put anything that might grow from a seed in the mix. Every street I go down has lemon trees.
But I've always been able to recognize the vegetables.
Aren't these the prettiest things? New to me!
In Alabama we had the pleasure of watching one of my hubby's cousins in action. And I see why I have my own personal energy crisis, since she had her energy, my energy, and possibly the energy of everyone living in a 5 mile radius. She's one of those people I can only sit back and view in awe: in retirement she heads up the local Chamber of Commerce, runs the local farmers market, takes tennis lessons, and in her down time she does HAND SMOCKING on dresses for her granddaughter. And that's only stuff I know about! And in retirement. I've not done that many things total in my life.
Hubby with his cousins, while he semi-patiently waits for me to be
done taking photos with his iPhone since my battery was dead.
It drove him a little crazy, but it's a mighty short trip anyway.
But the bounty of 'Bama! Oh--they have beautiful fruits and vegetables, things I've never seen in person. We went to the farmers market the Monday we were there, and I of course went crazy taking pictures. It was just so colorful, and the actual farmers themselves are the ones selling the produce, and that doesn't happen at home.
Sells honey from his farm, among other things. And only looks
mildly irritated that I'm making him pose. ;-)
Yum. Beautiful produce, and he didn't seem to mind
the crazy lady from California asking him to pose. :-)
Those are the actual farmers themselves--in fact, the market is held in the afternoon just so the farmers can bring their produce. And an extra added bonus? In this lovely small town, people didn't act like I was an escaped mental patient when I talked to strangers!
More produce loveliness:
More new-to-me vegies!
We bought that Ambrosia canteloupe--and that big melon
that looks black? Actually very dark green, and is a Sugarbaby (if i remember right) watermelon!
And oh, sweet summer fruit--don't you just want to dive into that
Flying out of the Birmingham airport in Alabama, the sight of miles and miles and miles of green amazed me. Having grown up in Portland, Oregon, land of liquid sunshine and all things green, my spirit is always lifted by the sight of green growing things.
A swath was cut through the miles of lush, green trees--but what was it? From where I sat, far above, it looked for all the world like a casual path cut by a lawnmower through the green. On closer squinting, (these eyes aren't what they used to be,) I could see cars were traveling along a swath of highway.
Coming into Denver looked less like plush grass carpet and more like a crazy quilt, beautiful in a different way. Both places have an expansiveness not seen in the Bay Area where houses touch houses touch other buildings touch--you get the idea.
On the leg from Denver to Oakland, CA, I was part of a real-time demonstration of that whole Mars/Venus difference between men and women. The young man next to me (and mind you, "young" means pretty much anything under 50 to me now) asked the flight attendant if he could purchase two glasses of wine at once. She said, "Oh! I don't know if we can do that--let me go ask someone."
After she left I turned to him and said, "Well, you look like you could handle it."
He said, "Yes, I would think so! I weigh two twenty!"
Who but a man would announce that so proudly to a complete stranger?
Our time in Alabama with family was relaxing and fun and we laughed a lot and I got to go to a great yarn store, "In the Making," with my hubby's cousin. And why yes, of course I got a photo of the store.
All those bins of colorful yarns give me a tickle of excitement along with an injection of "I'm in my happy place." Life is good when I'm in a yarn store. A different sort of expansiveness and pattern that makes me smile.
Unable as yet to embrace my gray hair, I continue to put myself through the annoying process of home hair color. In hopes of a quick and easy solution, I purchased a different brand than usual. The name, "Perfect 10," was compelling. I mean, 10 minutes away from at least my hair being a perfect 10?
I've often had friends available to do the deed for me while I sit, slipping into a hair-coma. Whether someone is cutting, styling, or even brushing my hair, I get so relaxed I could end up bald and not even care. Never mind that it's much simpler for someone with a view of the top and back of my head to paint my roots.
I launched into the usual scenario--pull out the instructions, put on the plastic gloves, line up the bottles and tubes to be used in proper combination. And all with the promise of only 10 minutes needed to cover those stubborn grays.
10 minutes to do the job, yet an hour later I was still trying to scrub the color from my skin and the area around my eyebrows that now looked like Groucho Marx. I was trying to bleach the color from the sink, the countertop...giving myself seriously raw patches on my face from the scrubbing... *sigh*
Then on to blow-drying my hair, then straightening my hair, because if I do those things it will last for days without doing more than passing a brush through it.
But how does fibromyalgia enter into this picture, you ask? Well, all that holding my arms over my head against the better judgement of my weary muscles leaves me very tired and achy--which can lead to a certain level of personal crabbiness.
Skimmer's Recap: Fibromyalgia and vanity make poor partners. :-)
At the moment I am sitting in a lovely, clean house, everything in order and tastefully decorated. Mine? Heck no! I must be visiting!
Hubby and I have been staying with one of his Alabama cousins and her husband and cat. The husband is very gracious. The cat, not so much. I have mixed feelings about cats whose front paws have been declawed, but it's been a positive situation for me. I don't think Shelby the cat likes me all that well. She's beautiful, a rescue kitty that was dumped on the other cousin's property as a baby, possibly by someone sensing the animal-friendly vibe of the acreage.
"Acreage"--there's a word we don't hear much in the San Francisco Bay Area. In our spot called home our houses are on small dots of property surrounded by privacy fences. Seems the closer people live to each other, the more closely guarded any bit of personal space is. We can see into a neighbor's open bathroom window 15 feet away, but we have fences so we can sit on our little chairs in our little back yards and listen to every word of every conversation taking place in the 3 back yards surrounding ours. Here in the area of Alabama the cousins live in, one yard just rolls into the next and into the next, broken only by houses and landscaping.
Of course, here in Alabama, I don't honestly know if they sit outside in the summer like we do in California. Each time I've stepped out of a store or car I've been surprised again by my immediate immersion into a moist heat sauna.
The downside to this friendly family picture we're enjoying is that the cousins' father is being treated for pancreatic cancer. As you can imagine, the whole family is having a tough time.
The upside is watching the interactions of this family. Every person pitches in. They're a unified group, helping out in whatever thing needs helping. It's a good thing to see. :-)
My newest LARGE Cool Tool is the Silver Reed LK 150 knitting machine.
Men and (other) women may love talking about 0 to 60 in however many seconds, or horse power under the hood, but me? I'm thrilled by words like "tension" and "150 needles" and "row counter."
To many others these may be words of a foreign nature, and tension merely states the feeling after work each day, or needles just remind you of your last trip to the doctor's. But to me? Ahhhhh....sweet drippings of nectar into my mouth.
I understand it may look like nothing much to you, but let me tell you about it! If you have ever used a sewing machine or done any hand knitting or crocheting, you will understand "tension." Without correct tension being held the stitches will be all wonky and uneven, but with tension? A whole new world of precise, beautifully matched stitches one after the other after the other.
I have been using The Ultimate Sweater Machine by Bond for the past few years with a decent amount of success (pictures of projects at the link above. And any of you who know me can totally accept that I had just that look of happy pride the lady at the top right of the box has. HAHAAHAHA! There were some great moments of frustration.
See those cute antennas on the first photo, the Silver Reed? Those are part of the aforementioned Good Tension. Notice the antennas on the Sweater Machine? No? That's because there are none! And yet I managed to make some decent projects on it. So I am pretty much guaranteed success on the new one, right?
I purchased the Silver Reed LK150 at That Yarn Store in nearby Dublin, CA. Lessons are included in the purchase price, so yesterday when I picked it up I had my first lesson. The owner teaches a lot of classes on a variety of levels of machines and in a variety of needle arts. She has taught classes on my first love, the Sweater Machine, and told me I should be very proud if I was able to turn out projects. My first lesson on my new love (no, I am not fickle, I just love them all) was to get me used to the machine set-up and get me over any fear of the machine and the usage of it and the yarn.
I just get all warm inside when I think about it! I even bought a very cool metal case that looks like I'm carrying a rifle--so very American of me to appear to be "carrying." :-)
Skimmer's Recap: Julie got a cool new toy. See Julie smile.
Seriously? Two weeks since I last posted anything? Good grief. So much for my thoughts of consistency. Oh well, that's usually how consistency works out for me.
SO--Skimmer's Recap of the past two weeks:
The back garden hummingbird nest has gone from this--
^ to this ! ^
My good friend went from bearer of a large red ball
to the bearer of this beautiful baby boy (how's that for alliteration?) And i got to love on this little lovely! (i just can't stop!)
i had a mini vacation all by myself in the beautiful breezy back garden in Sunday's warm weather--i lounged on the new cushion of my lounge chair, soaked up the sun, and listened to the birds, the windchimes, and the "shoosh"ing sound of the poplar leaves.
Some of the new plants are growing beautifully,
while some of them? Not so much.
But that's just life, right? Some of it is full of joy and amazement, while parts of life carry only the best of intentions that didn't work out after all.
Pretty sure my care of this plant is in that last category. But then the next day comes along and i get to start fresh again. Plus i can always go buy a new plant. ;-)
Last year in July, Dean finally got the camera he'd been lusting after forever, a Canon EOS Rebel T1i. The first pictures we took were of the hummingbird nest in our backyard poplar tree. At Christmas i actually managed to surprise him with a very cool telephoto lens. The first pictures i've taken with the telephoto lens have been of the mommy hummingbird in this year's nest! i was so happy to find her back again.
the majestic lion, sleeping off his dinner of fresh gazelle.
Did you know that calorie counters abound on the good ol' www? Do you also know you should not use one when eating at a Texas Roadhouse restaurant?
I, of course, during my current obsession with calories, have the calorie counter from Livestrong.com installed on my iPhone. A good portion of the restaurant's menu pops up in their database. And it scares this current counter. "WHAT??! ONE ROLL HAS HOW MANY CALORIES??" (And this after i had just eaten the second tasty fluff of carbohydrate.)
My husband suggested that perhaps I should not look at the database or my meal would be spoiled. But no, for me it was much more like driving by an accident and you don't want to look but you do anyway--what I believe is called "morbid fascination."
As the food arrived I couldn't help but notice that at home I use platters smaller than their plates. I looked around me at couples and families in the neighboring booths. . .they must eat there a lot. I am no dainty princess of a woman, and yet I felt, well, small.
Surrounded by folks who were leaning protectively over their plates to eat like one of those nature shows where the beautiful gazelle is being torn into bloody bits by a lion, i thought, "Are we being secretly filmed for one of those documentaries called 'Obesity in America'?? Have I been placed in the fat room?"
Heck no, I have no issues around my size or food ...
Oh, side note: I have a friend with celiac disease. She is unable to eat at Texas Roadhouse, because everything has some form of wheat in it! Even the steaks have seasonings containing wheat. Bad news.
Skimmer's Recap: Texas Roadhouse--bad for people with grain allergies, bad for dieters. But tasty. Very, very tasty.
My brain has gone blank frequently these days, therefore I am declaring today a Fret Free Friday and putting something up I wrote a couple of years ago. Besides, I like this post!
The bible verse that kept me going during my recent Fentanyl withdrawal experiment was the one about the vine and the branch, where Jesus says, "I am the vine and you are the branch. If anyone remains in me and I in them, he will bear much fruit. Without me you can do nothing." (That's a loose-ish paraphrase of John 15:5.) While i was feeling so detached from life i needed to feel attached still to my Creator, so i would repeat it but from my end of it: "You are my vine, i am your branch." It's yet another version of something i've said to God in the past while going through what seemed an impossible situation: "i may not be able to see You right now, but i will not turn my back on You."
You see, i remain aware of His thoughts toward me, and his persistence in loving me even when i don't seem to be able to carry off my end of the deal. Sometimes simply voicing that desire for connection with God has helped me hold on.
Anyway, later in reading a random bible verse i read something written by the apostle Paul to the Christians in Colosse, "Let your roots grow down into Him and draw up nourishment from Him so you will grow in faith, strong and vigorous in the truth you were taught." (Colossians 2:7.) These thoughts meshed for me. i choose to remain attached to the vine that is Jesus, and that is because i will then stay rooted to the source of nourishment, and will stay strong.
Recently i picked apricots from my daughter's tree with the help of her two girls, Haley and Cassidy. A few branches here and there had been broken away at their place of connection to the bigger tree. The only apricots they held were stunted and dried up, inedible. Other branches were heavy with apricots, growing vigorously from their solid connection to the tree, and were ripe and plump and beautifully colored.
Even i get the visual there--remaining strongly rooted to the source of nutrients grows plentiful, enjoyable fruit. The interruptions of life that we may let break us away from the tree causes dryness and immaturity of fruit.
Good stuff.
Skimmer's recap (and no, hubby of mine, i cannot set this blog up to send you only the skimmer section, sorry--): Attached to the tree= healthy growth. Not attached=little growth if any growth at all.
Lately I've read some articles that serve to give me firm excuses for my lack of a model body (well, that does depend on model of what.) Such as, hormonal imbalances are common in fibromyalgia, and those generally cause weight gain. (Yup, I've got those.) Many of the medications used to treat fibromyalgia cause weight gain. (Yup, I take those.) Plus there's that whole "seriously I'm this exhausted 24/7 and you want me to do aerobic exercise??" (And yes, I LIVE there.) Excuses? I collect those with the same diligence I use to explore all the chocolates of the world.
Actually, the fibromyalgia comes way after the issues of poundage. I've struggled pretty much since birth with the F word and the D word--you know, Fat and Diet. What'd you think I meant?
My sister and I had a long conversation recently where I laughed about the many many diets I've tried over these 56 years of life: in elementary years I ate a million carrots. As I grew older I simply became more sophisticated about it, instead trying the "don't eat in front of people" diet because I felt like skinny people would be judging me, before I moved on to the ever-popular grapefruit diet of the 70s. (Still can't look one o' them buggers in the eye.) I soon went through the Atkins and McDougall's of the diet world, and let me tell you, pork rinds are not the same as barbecue potato chips, and there is no all-vegetable substitute for cheese! I've eaten tiny portions with tiny utensils, I convinced myself for years that I didn't like chips. I've read Dr. Phil's solutions and those of 25 hundred other people, all guaranteed to be "The One." I've eaten enough lettuce to choke a rabbit and enough seeds to sprout like a Chia Pet. To which my sister responded, "I've never been on a diet."
I hate her. I mean, I love her but--
Okay, she too is overweight. But she hasn't spent what seems like an eternity wasting her energy and money on all this dieting silliness of mine. Is it just my way of saying, "hey, I'm trying!"? I'm sure that if I was thin, I would obsess about something else--maybe that people teased me about being skinny (sorry, not feelin' you skinny folks out there--it's been my lifelong dream to have someone be able to call me "skinny.")
I can at least feel good about my efforts to support the economy--all those books and magazines and cookbooks about diets, and that gym membership I have somewhere--?? If I ever decide to return, I'm going to need to call somebody to remind me where it's located.
Skimmer's Recap: Feeling whiny, and you're here to complain at. What about it?!!
I admit it. I am not the best cook in the world--and it's not even that I think I couldn't be a good cook, I would just need to *care* about cooking. Not my favorite.
We used to tease my mother about her cooking, that she would get frostbite from purchasing most of our dinners in the frozen food section of the store. Heck, until I was an adult I didn't know you could make spaghetti without cans or boxes.
But she pulled off some good meals. Her Sunday pot roast with potatoes and carrots? Oh so good. Rich in taste and comfort-food satisfaction. Her pork chops on the other hand? They could have been used as food for the space program, they were so devoid of moisture. Throw one in a baggy and you had a "just add water" meal.
She was creative, and I've followed in those footsteps. Again, and maybe I was just a particularly stupid kid, it didn't occur to me that people bought new couches. I was always fascinated to see the new slipcovers my mother would make for our furniture when she created a new look for the living room.
She loved to write, so do I.
There are similarities between us, something I do think about around Mother's Day. As the years pass, I'm more easily able to see those and not just the emotional unavailability, or the hot temper, or the crazy-making responses to life. I'm becoming more able to put all the hurtful letters she'd sent into their own place in my brain, and the memories of her laughing into another. I'm learning to hold the pleasant days my family spent with her as precious hand-me-downs, while boxing up her anger and accusations into their own separate closet. It's a process.
Yesterday I woke early, reaching for the next book waiting on my bedside table, "Thin Places" by Mary E. DeMuth. Nearly 4 hours later I put it down--finished. What kept me reading?
The idea of Thin Places is the times in your life where the membrane between earth and God are stretched so thin you can see God more easily. These places in Mary's life were during the more soul-wrenching parts: being abused as a 5 year old, seeing father after father removed from her life, dealing with the sense of loneliness that came from being "in the way." She explains how these things carry on into adult life, as we all are made up of our old experiences and beliefs.
My own childhood home was a place of chaos, so I'm always curious how others dealt with that. In Mary's story she is quick to show where God made something good out of the darkness of her life, so I was left with a sense of hope, not depression. I am another person who travels the road of actions based on old pain, so I related to much she had to say.
I was immediately caught up in the flow of her words, as her prose has a comfortably poetic phrasing. She is honest, she shares the rawness of life--but there is no self-pity in her recounting of pain, and much can be learned simply from that.
Personally, i loved the book. It was like a 4 hour sit-down over coffee with a good friend.
One week ago Barnaby, all 12 pounds of him, joined us for lunch. We were having pizza and he brought something into the bed next to hubby's chair to eat. Hubby looked down, looked at son, asked "Is that what I think it is?" and stood up. Son looks down and says, "Yes, I think so."
While being interviewed later by his mother, son said, "I looked down and all I could see was skinny little bird legs." Barnaby had caught a bird for lunch. Apparently if not offered pizza, he will simply BYOB--Bring Your (his) Own Bird. Good to know.
I was disturbed by this event. Our little blue-eyed boy catching a bird? I am not used to him chasing anything larger than a spider or fly, and baby birds are too cute to kill. (I do not share the same opinion of any age of spider, fly, or ant.) Later i realized there was a nest in a bottle-brush bush that overhangs our fence. How did I notice this? When the next baby bird was being chased by our dog Blue.
And again I ask, is this the face of a killer?------->
I think not, he appears innocent enough, but apparently the call of nature is stronger than me screaming "DROP THE BIRD!! DROP THE BIRD!" loud enough for neighbors in a six block radius to hear.
At least he didn't bring his to the lunch table. Or get a chance to snack on its feathery delights.
That was the point where I realized the mama and papa birds were hanging out on the fence top cheeping their baby on--"Come on! You can do it! Fly Freddie, fly! Uh oh."
Remember when i said "I'll say more on the book once I do more than just put it on my bedside table"? Yeh, back on that page. I just finished reading it today.
I have to admit I got hooked on the story. I'm not the greatest romantic, I don't tend to pick up books of couples gazing into each others eyes, and I definitely don't pick up books with a World War II airplane for background to previously mentioned adoring couple. Usually I'm the one hunting in corners for books about dysfunctional families, or books where if I could just once make it past chapter 5 might Change My Life Forever.
Let's face it: in the last few years mostly I'm looking for a home decorating magazine I haven't seen already.
But I loved it! Author Sarah Sundinis a new friend from the writers conference I recently attended at Mount Hermon near Santa Cruz, California. She was just so sweet and welcoming I decided that whatever she wrote I was buying and having her sign, like the little admiring newbie writer I am. (Imagine my relief on finding she wasn't writing a 12 part series called "Fun With Higher Mathematics." Phew.)
"A Distant Melody" has a great cast of characters. The story revolves around a wealthy young woman and the correspondence she carries on with a young pilot during World War II. As a young woman who has grown up under the weight of her parents expectations, how does she find the path to become the woman she would like to be?
I don't normally write book reviews, but I wanted to share what I appreciate about Sarah's writing: she writes approachable, imperfect characters, who have flaws, a sense of humor, and don't have all the answers. After all, aren't imperfections and struggles things we as humans can absolutely relate to?
If you're looking for a bodice ripper you won't find any heaving bosoms here. But if you're looking for a storyline you can sink your teeth into with characters like the flawed folks you probably know, you're in the right place. Sarah writes substance, not just hormones.
I'm a fan of substance and good storytelling, and Sarah gave me both. Thanks, Sarah!
By the way, "A Distant Melody" is Book One in her "Wings of Glory" series.
Skimmer's recap: Book, romance, history, I liked it.
It's so fun the first time i go dig in the backyard dirt. i glance at the flower beds and wonder, "hmm...how many things have i not planted that are now growing?"
Yes! The purple lantana! This was definitely the outcome of purposeful planting.
But this? It looks healthy, but no, i don't remember planting it.
This is a decorative lavender, not the tea-making kind, but i did plant this--
but no, not this huge fall of ivy. It's a volunteer from the back neighbor's yard. At least it's pretty.
Quite purposeful planting! This is a California native--the Carmel Creeper plant. Lovely blossoms, and it comes in two different types: the upright and the ground cover. This one is the upright, i think. But yes, most purposefully planted.
This one, up close and personal with the Carmel Creeper? Don't know what this is--but i know i didn't plant it. And there are lots of these sprinkled around ...hmmm... well, it's kind of pretty.
i really love this one! i can't remember what it's called, but it grows beautiful little blossoms. Purposeful little blossoms. And then--
my sweet geraniums with their cute little pink and white faces, purchased at the Half Moon Bay Nursery. i love geraniums, they just grow and grow, even when i plant them.
But again with this one? Why? And scattered along the whole bed! Volunteer soldiers, standing up so straight and proud, ready to overthrow my plants.
And i think i'm quite happy with this, because i'm fairly sure i did plant it, and it's a lilac bush that started out a teensy-tiny thing a few years ago. When it blooms i'll know if i'm right.
But this??? OH it's the bane of my existence--oxalis. Impossible to kill, it covers every available dirt spot on our property after the first rains. At least the yellow flowers are pretty for a time.
This is lovely--and it fits both the volunteer and purposeful status in my yard. When i planted it against the back fence it was a bulb i had dug up from the yard, and i thought it was a white calla lily. BUT! turns out it was a volunteer bulb with glorious orange flowers, and its bloomed twice this year already.
And here is where i THOUGHT i dug out all the bulbs of that orange flower! Happy to volunteer. And i still don't know where they came from.
Here's an especially healthy volunteer Mongo dandelion. Some of the non-purposeful plants are the biggest thrivers. One more:
Did i plant this? No. But it grows over the fence from the neighbor's yard, the hummingbirds love it, so i do too. Plus it's red. i love red.
With all the emphasis on nature and all things "green" the question arises: should i disturb the volunteer plants in the garden-y, forest-floor-y dirt? Apparently not--
If i do? The ants get all crazy and start running around with their little eggs
and the bees get all buzzy around my head. And there was a snake--i swear there was a snake! And who am i to bother them, after all they are just doing garden-y, forest-floor-y things, and who am i to distract them from their content creeping, crawling, buzzing little lives?
Especially the snake. i really want the snake to be happy. And i want all the livestock of nature to leave me alone.
And who is our favorite Vicodin abusing TV doctor? Why, Dr. Gregory House, that's who! Clearly it makes HIM a happy camper.
So why would this fibromyalgic blogger decide to be UNhappy? Maybe she's tired of being tired and foggy. Maybe she thinks that if she can rid her body of the Aleve, Vicodin, Motrin and Percocet, she can ascertain which are fibro symptoms and which are pain reliever symptoms. And which is worse?
Don't get me wrong--i did not quit taking the Cymbalta my doctor prescribed. i'm not crazy. You've probably seen it advertised, that depressing depression commercial (think "Who does depression hurt? Everybody," and lots of pictures of sad looking people. They need an ad for "Who does fibromyalgia hurt? EVERYBODY ELSE," with at least one picture of me scowling.)
The premise of the moment for fibromyalgia is extra "Substance P" in the spinal column that in turn makes the person's central nervous system waaaay more sensitive than it should be. This makes the pain feel like it's screaming for attention when it should be only mildly grumpy.
i've not had the pleasure (?) of abusing my pain meds like House by taking them 4 at a time countless times a day. i've used the Vicodin at the same dose prescribed to me two years ago by the doctor at Kaiser's Pain Management Clinic. And i'm not gonna lie: when that pain reliever washes over, what a relief it is.
i've tried Motrin. Aleve. Percocet as well as Vicodin. And while they all lessen my pain level, they do bad things for all other levels in my life--my stomach goes to a dark place, my creative abilities follow. My emotions are even more touchy than before. None of these do i desire.
It's been, thus far, a 2 week fast. i'm making good friends with the hand-me-down hot-tub again. The only downside to it is my proactivity with the chemicals has made it smell like a public pool (minus the urine.)
We shall see how it goes.
Skimmer's recap: Will fewer pain meds lead to more pain or simply more sanity?
Martha, my husband's sister, stayed with us over the Christmas holiday. We decided to have our very own Local Yarn Store "hop." She's in a knitting guild, Creative H'Arts, in the Monterey area and does this sort of thing on a regular basis. i, the Self-Made Knitter of Easy Projects Only, live in my sheltered non-guild, non-hopping world. So we decided to have an adventure.
That Yarn Store in Dublin, CA. *happy sigh*
We started with my new favorite yarn store, That Yarn Storein Dublin, CA. Unfortunately they were closed. Bummer. But there's a great Chinese restaurant in the same shopping center, so all was not a loss. It's a friendly place with a welcoming atmosphere where generally someone is sitting at that big, black table as you enter, working on a knitting project. It just feels good to me, yunno?
On we went, armed with my iPhone's map capabilities--i love watching where we are on the map as we travel (but no, NOT when i am the driver!) So we headed to Piedmont Avenue in Oakland, CA, just blocks from where my daughter used to live. A street lined with small boutiques and several coffee shops, it's my perfect shopping zone. It's also the location of
Piedmont Yarn and Apparel, a small shop packed with yarn goodness--as soon as we walked in i was invited to feel the yarns. (Unlike a yarn shop Martha and i once went into where the lady said "don't touch it unless you're buying it." Hmm.) For we yarn folk, feeling it is a big part of the yarn experience, so i knew this place had to be good!
Piedmont Yarn and Apparel--small but mighty!
Gaylord's, where the coffee is tasty AND artistic!
We finished off the visit by crossing the street to Gaylord's coffee where the condiments counter is a glass enclosed organ. Plus the coffee is so good there--forget Starbucks, forget Peets, this place is great.
With our coffees in hand we returned to the car to find a parking ticket on the windshield. Hmmm--apparently even on the street you have to pay for parking. Good to know. Woulda been better to know sooner. Oh well, it was Martha's car. ;-) Sorry Martha!
i love this photo from "Cartoon Barry" on his blog--If it snowed in the East Bay of California, the Piedmont/Oakland police would totally do this.
Now to Article Pract, a yarn store on Telegraph Avenue in Oakland. Strange name, yes, but i just read on their website that it is a "spoonerism" where the beginnings of two words are switched. So i still don't get it. If i actually knew what "hip" meant, i'd say this yarn store is.
Cool logo, eh?
Again, friendly service was obvious. i eavesdropped on a worker helping a 20-something guy pick a gift for his girlfriend "to show I'm aware of and interested in what she likes." i was impressed by both the staff person but by this gift buying guy. i had to ask--"how old are you?" "Twenty-eight," he said, managing to hide whatever he might be feeling about some random strange woman asking him personal questions. "Ah!" i said, "then there is hope for my son--" The staff person piped in, "Yeh, about 28 is when they start getting human," (she looked to be about his age herself.) The guy looked back at me and said, "Yep, you should have seen what I got her last year--a bowling ball and a refrigerator." See why i eavesdrop and talk to strangers? Most of my family and friends don't get it, but i love it.
Names have a "feel" for me. While there i bought two skeins of Aztec Turquoise Lamb's Pride Bulky made by Brown Sheep Company, Inc. My mind hears that whole name and sees a couple of solid and sturdy sheep standing proudly on a hilltop--one is brown (obviously,) and one is an extra chubby turquoise sheep. It's a yarn that brings a comfortable and practical feeling.
Lovely.
Next stop, off Solano Avenue in Berkeley to a cute little yarn shop named Stash. Immediately a young lady greeted us at the door to explain their method of organization. All yarn was shelved counter-clockwise around the store starting with the skinny little lace weights and sock weights that people (with more patience than me) use, to the heaviest of yarns that looked more to me like pretty rope.
i bought some bright lime green yarn and watched it go from a hank of yarn (a loosely twisted oblong) to a neat center pull ball. From swift to ball winder, all words i am learning these days. "Non-returnable when wound," they all say, but it could be worth it just to see it done. i am easily fascinated.
Two women sat behind the counter working on projects of tiny yarns on tiny needles that i avoid, chatting pleasantly with the shoppers. i watched in awe as one young woman deftly knit a thread-like yarn into a lace patterned shawl, talking and walking at the same time. There is no way to know what i would end up with if i attempted that level of multi-tasking.
It was now pouring rain, but we were still able to find the next yarn store-- K2Tog. (Knit two together, in knit-speak.) Less than a mile down the road, it was in Albany, not Berkeley. i don't know why that makes me laugh, but it does. (Again with the "easily amused.") By this time we were tired, so i took a quick trip around the store and bought a nubby olive green yarn for a hat pattern.
Seriously, if you're not into knitting or crocheting, this is a big *yawn* of a post. But for the fiber-addicts like Martha and me? A beautiful day in the neighborhood.
Skimmer's recap: Does yarn make you yawn? Skip this and take a nap instead.
