Here it is, mid-November, but my front garden is seemingly unaware of the fact. These pictures were taken about a half-hour ago.This is my first year growing poppies and I am utterly charmed by how fragile they appear, yet how hardy they actually are. Every night I sit out on the front stoop for a bit, taking in the air and clearing my head before turning in for the night. There have been nights when the grass was crispy and a cautious poke at the poppy petals revealed them to be frozen solid; as delicate (I would imagine) as a glass potato chip. However, the morning dawns and they raise their cheery little heads and sing once more.Thank you, God, for poppies. I hope to grow up to be one.
My friend Arzu wrote a really interesting post today. My post is in response to her musings... you should go over and read it, otherwise this post will seem pretty random. I'm not Christian... I used to be but there were too many loose ends that didn't make sense to me. I don't really know what I am at the moment; I believe God exists in one form or another but I really don't think It cares about us on a personal level.This being said, I don't think that lessens our calling to care for one another. In the end, God is intangible; we are all we have. I think our highest purposes are found in helping others, in doing what we can to ameliorate someone else's pain.I also know that I fall short of that standard. A friend, a neighbor recently suffered a death in the family. I found out immediately but could not bring myself to cross the street to console her or to offer my apologies. I was awkward and helpless when it came to facing death in my own family when my father died a couple of years back; I was awkward and helpless when it came to dealing with her loss. Even though I loved her and knew that my silence was hurting her, I could not go over.I'd like to think that I'd be there if a friend needed me, but in reality, I'd probably be "too busy", or help out but feel put-upon and inconvenienced at the same time. How to reach the selfless spirit that Arzu's friend S demonstrated when the neighbor he barely knew requested his help?I also know that if the shoe were on the other foot, I would suffer alone and in silence rather than ask anyone for help, thereby inconveniencing them.I love the idea, the ideal, of community... where we all take care of each other. It seems like such an impossible goal, though. How do we get there from here?
As a child, I lived under different rules than my older brother. Jim was allowed freedoms I never enjoyed; stayed out late with his friends, went places I wasn't allowed to go, did things I wasn't allowed to do. At the time, I chalked it up to my parents learning from their mistakes; my brother was permitted much and was a constant social, legal and academic disaster; the way I saw it, they would never allow me the latitude to make the same mistakes. I thought it rather unfair, as I was a very different person than my brother, but of course completely at the mercy of my parents until I moved out from under their control at 17.
I developed into a strongly responsible and motivated woman, while my brother smoked dope with his friends and lived at home with my parents until his early 30's. I managed a store and joined the Army while he worked as a seasonal labourer in silvaculture and drew unemployment all winter. He has been, until very recently, purposeless and without ambition.
It was within the last decade that I realized that I was, and would always be, second best. No matter what I did, he would always come first to them. My victories, my medals, my awards, my commendations would be politely applauded and then put underneath the scanty pile of his achievements. Every success I have, every mountain I climb, I call up my mother, excited to tell her, thinking that maybe at last I will have won her affections. I tell her and she makes the appropriate happy noises, and then tells me that she has to go because she's expecting my brother to come by. She sees him every day but his visits always trump our phone calls.
I know that there's absolutely nothing I can do to change the dynamics in this relationship but it pisses me off and breaks my heart every time I get shelved for him. It probably always will.
I'm closer now to the end of the semester than the beginning. It's been a rough go; two profs are giving us massive assignments on the assumption that a) we know more than we do; and b) we have all the time in the world to work on them. Either one of those assignments was enough to make me weep, and trying to excel at both at the same time had me considering dropping a course. All I can say is that I'm glad the Student Success Specialist took the week off that she did, because I'd be down a course right now.Both of the assignments are finished, one to perfection, the other a bit short of that mark, and breathing room has been gained. I think I can make it to the end now with a full course-load intact.I also get the sneaking suspicion that this is like the punchline from that old adage "if you're not scared you're not paying attention." There's another (group) assignment on the go now, which I think will get quite nasty towards due date. We'll see. I accepted an offer for my first co-op work term. I had originally thought that working for RIM might be my optimal co-op job, until I saw the FINTRAC placement. As sexy and cool and hip as RIM is, I think FINTRAC tops it (inasmuch as it is possible for a Federal Government department to be sexy, cool and hip.) I applied on Monday, was told on Tuesday that I had an interview on Thursday at 1330, and I had been offered and accepted the job by 1600 Thurs. These people waste no time.It will be a challenging job, no doubt;I'll be doing largely UNIX based coding, which I am good at but by no means an expert. I feel that it will benefit my career arc as a whole to sharpen these skills, so I'm up for the challenge. I'm really quite excited about working there for my first term, and I think I have something else interesting nailed down for the second work term.I usually have a lab on Wednesdays, but it's in Web Programming, and our Prof has switched to electronic assignments rather than checking them in lab. This means that I essentially have the day off... okay, not off, exactly. It means that I can do schoolwork at home in my PJ's. (yay!)Off to make a pot of tea and plow through a few hours of coding goodness. I hope November's treating you well thus far.
This one's for all my fellow fiberphiles.This is a simply beautiful bride photo, no? Check out that dress.Wait a minute. Notice a certain resemblance between the dress and the bride's companion?You're right. Glory of glory, a wedding dress made of fleece.Click on the picture to admire other lovely photos of it (and her) and read the story behind her amazing gown and how her and her husband met. No matter what's wrong in your world, you'll feel a little better after you read it, I swear.
Mum Linda and I compared notes last weekend, and realized we were both out of steam in our work-out routines. Seeing how she's in Lacombe and I'm in Ottawa, you wouldn't think there'd be much we could do to motivate each other, but with a little bit of scheming, we came up with a plan to keep us honest and engaged in our work-out routine.Between the two of us, we agreed that our ideal week was comprised of 180 minutes of cardio in whatever form we desired, 120 minutes of strength-training, and an hour of yoga. We also agreed to cut the "whites" out from Sunday to Thursday... no white flour, pasta, rice, or sugar. Friday evening and all day Saturday are "within limits" treat days. Red wine is unlimited, with the caveat that for each glass, we perform 100 crunches or equivalent ab exercises.Last week was technically the first week of the challenge, but it was messed up due to Thanksgiving, and besides was absolutely a horrible week for me on almost every level... evil school assignments/exams met up with personal turmoil etc etc. It was not the week to begin such a serious undertaking... much therapeutic eating was required, and schoolwork left not much time for heading out to the gym.However. It's Sunday night of a new week and I declare the games open. I took some time tonight and set up a mini-gym in the basement.Although my "real gym" is only a five-minute walk away, I need to change, don winter clothes etc etc... a simple 20-minute cardio break during studies becomes an hour-long event when I have to leave the house. This looks like a much better option, and it also buys me guilt-free TV time! I can now watch Glee and Grey's Anatomy while virtuously working out. I love me some multi-tasking.
A dear friend, persistent commenter, and in fact the reason that this whole blog even exists has just been handed a death sentence: lung cancer, with multiple mets to the brain. Although we're a part of each others' daily online lives on Facebook and through our blogs, we've only seen each other twice in the three years since we moved to Ottawa from Kingston. That's actually an improvement... when we were in Kingston, we really didn't know each other at all, just *of* each other; my husband being the common link. (She was his daughters' day-care provider for many years.) It doesn't matter, though. We've found that face-time is nice but the lack of it doesn't stunt a friendship from growing.And now, she's been given 4-12 months to live, and I can't think of much else these days. It feels so unfair... she's so young, so big-hearted, and beloved of so many. I suppose it's a reminder that it's all so very random. I am so sorry, Miss V. Whatever has happened to anyone else
Could happen to you & to me
And the end of my youth was the possible truth
That it all happens randomly.
~Indigo Girls, The Philosophy of Loss
As compared to the first two semesters, this one started slowly. The first few weeks trickled past, and there was a little homework, but nothing to make me wish I could knit time, as happened in the first two terms. The words "This is going to be a light semester!" may have crossed my lips.
I know not what vengeful homework god I pissed off when I said that, but I'm really, really sorry and I'd like to know what I can do to make it right. You see, I only have 24 hours in the day, and by the time I get the lab and assignment and study for that little midterm in web programming, read 300 pages in that utterly bone-dry Systems Analysis textbook and study for that exam, read 100 pages of online design papers and design a coffee machine in Java (I kid you not), and finally code a massively complex (or so it seems to me now) and completely unintelligible application in C#.... well, you see, there's not a lot of time for the little pleasures in life. Like sleeping. Or enjoying a stable, balanced mind.
Which I don't have at the moment so it's just as well I have no time to enjoy it.
Anyhow. You get the point. I profusely apologize for the sin of hubris. Not that it will make much of a difference, because I can't be un-smoted... unsmitten?... but I have been properly put in my humble meek place again. Thanks for the helpful reminder.
I envy and hate my step-daughters.
Not for their age and potential. Not for all the money in this week's lotto jackpot would I subject myself to the vagaries of being a young hormone-ridden teen girl-child, and as far as potential, well, I don't think the life I carved for myself lacks in any aspect. I've done what I set out to do and I have no regrets about my trajectory.
Instead, I envy them the loving, doting father they possess; my husband. I envy them his presence in their lives, his active interest in all they do, and his obvious love and concern for them. I envy how he spoils them rotten with attention and material goods. I envy them the chance they have to express their love and thankfulness for all he does.
I hate them for their uncomprehending reception of his largess. They accept his love and attention and gifts and devotion to their well-being as if it simply is their due, and no thanks is required. They have no idea of the sacrifices and care he takes on their behalf, and if they knew they wouldn't care. It's simply his job, you see. I hate them because they won't realize what an amazing man their father is until they're much older, and maybe he won't be around for them to tell him how they appreciate him. I hate them for the words that may remain unsaid; that should never remain unsaid.
I hate them because they're me at that age, and I hate myself for not saying what I should have to my father before he died. I always thought there'd be more time... more time to get to know the man he was; more time to tell him what he meant to me. I hate them because they don't understand what a wonderful life he's given them. They've never known want, or pain, or hunger, yet they think their spoiled little self-obsessed lives are sooo hard. I hate that they let him slave on behind the scenes in complete self-abnegation, without recognition, aside from the occasional kiss on the cheek.
Somehow, for him, this is enough. Not being a parent, I don't understand how it can be, but he is content and is quite puzzled at my indignation on his behalf. I can only hope that my own father took his own kisses on the cheek as payment in full for all his efforts on my behalf.
You probably didn't know it, but August was the Month of Noro, at least in my world. That entrelac scarf I began for my mother-in-law charmed me so much that I marched to the yarn store for more Noro for another scarf.These have been done for a short while now; actually long enough that I got to show them off at this month's knitting guild! These are the first things I've knit that I felt good enough to show off in public. This weekend I finally got around to blocking them, so I thought I'd show them off while they're on the wires, and then maybe get other pics of them in use.The one I made for my MIL:The scarf I made for myself:Side by each:The "bonus" hat I made, reclining (blocking) gracefully in a soccer-ball:I soaked the knit-wear in hair conditioner for a half-hour before I soaked it in... well, Soak. Noro's eye-sizzling colours come with a price: the yarn is as disappointing to the fingers as it is pleasing to the eyes. For a wook-silk-mohair blend, it isn't as soft as it should be, so I'm trying to encourage the yarn to bloom. I'll know when it's dry if it worked or not.I am determined to clean my WIP pile before I cast on something new. I need a fresh start, and rather than burning a pile of aborted and defective knitwear on the rear lawn, I've decided to wade in and finish what I've started. For instance, I've pulled the cuff off a pair of socks that I knit for hubby; the top ribbing became rather floppy and needed a cuff re-do, so that's my travelling project at the moment. At home, I've finished one sleeve of the long-suffering Rainbow cardigan and have begun the second sleeve. I'm also re-knitting the angora liner for mum's mittens; they felted horribly last winter so I'm re-knitting them a third larger, pre-felting them and sewing them in. They need to be to her soon, as winter is soon to close on Alberta (not to mention the rest of us.)The burning desire to cast on something new and pretty should keep me sufficiently motivated to burn through my WIP's, at least for a while. :)
