Redemption does, indeed, have stories to tell. It is horrible and magnificent. It is unspeakable but it must be spoken. It is great and glorious, and, honestly, it is frightening. The weight of it, as overwhelming as the night sky.
Today, I saw a suffering and the suffering of Christ in a way I didn't understand before. It hurt my heart. It humbled me. It made me believe again and more. That He would die so that we could live free and strong and in peace, even as we
stand
and look holocaustal evil right in the face. Together, thankfully, because God even arranged that. And, though we retch pain and fear and uncertainty, we don't run away but instead we run to Him, knowing that we will never fall, but the city will, because He is risen.
God is so cool. I love it when He shines into the room like a neon proclamation: "This is for you, My Girl. I will neither destroy nor forsake you. Have faith."
Behold, I and the children whom Jehovah has given me are for signs and for wonders in Israel from Jehovah of hosts, who dwells in Mount Zion. Isaiah 8:18.
Patti tagged me a while back, knowing that I might be slow to answer. Boy, was she right! I went back to her blog to find the tagger post and she has written mounds and mounds, since then, and taken all of these fabulous pictures and I have done, pretty much, nothing of the sort. But, tonight is (now two days after) Thursday night and I get to knit with Patti and friends, so I thought I would try to post before I go. I promise, if you ever invite me to a tupperware party, I will be on time.
What was I doing 10 years ago?
Ten years ago my twins were not quite one and I was newly pregnant with Hannah. I was practicing law then and my lawyer friends found it quite amusing:
"Don't you know what causes that?"
"Haven't you heard of cable?"
"Gotta problem with Letterman?"
What are the five things on my list to do today?
Only 5?? Oh, let's see. Here are the first five that pop into my head:
1. Do laundry so I have clean underwear, other than my husbands, to wear to the Village Yarn tonight. "Seriously, Mother. "What would you do if you had a car accident?"
2. Make broccoli quiche and navy bean soup for dinner.
3. Make piles out of the bedlam of papers brought home from school by the children. Throw away most, but try really hard not to throw away yearbooks, pictures, agendas, report cards, or awards.
4. Begin planning for the summer. Oh, I am thinking rules and consequences, housecleaning incentive projects and the accompanying rewards, reading lists and journals, and limits on tv time. I am forever trying, and usually failing, to make structure fun. I have fun, of course; rule mongers always have great fun legislating. But, the children? They balk at their chains and rattle their cage doors. (I have no idea where they get that from : ) . And consistency, after all, is not my best maternal attribute.
5. Rejoice that Nylah's first summer class is over. B+, thank you very much. And we both learned Word 2007.
6. Oh, here's one more. I have to confess to my neighbor that I won't be able to participate in the community garage sale this weekend. I told her I wouldn't be able to, but she didn't really take no for an answer. It was too close in time to the end of the school year for me and I knew it going in. I feel bad that I feel bad. I didn't really do anything wrong. I am just not so great at saying no in such a way that people take me seriously. And that bugs me.
Snacks I enjoy.
Oh, the folly. I love all snacks. I would rather snack than eat meals. My favorite of all favorite's?? Probably chips and homemade salsa. I am such a salt girl.
These days I am having a bit of a Reisen splurge. This is a former pregnant food so it has some nostalgia for me. I used to, when I was pregnant with .... Raeah and heading home from the grocery store (about twice per week), drink a really hot, black coffee and eat nearly a full package of Nabisco Nutter Butter Patties (not the peanut shaped ones, but the ones shaped like little, crispy raviolis) and a bag of Riesens.
It was the epitome of pregnant eating. I don't know how I did it, in the short course of a 25 minute car ride home, but I do recall my jaw hurting so bad from all of the rapid fire chewing that I had to stop eating the candy somewhere just before the bag ran out. And I vaguely recall, although it is a little hazy, the near diabetic coma I would almost slip into the morning after when the state of my gestational diabetes would fail to compensate for my sweetly indulgent side.
Things I would do if I were a billionaire.
I think I would be a pretty boring billionaire. I would set up a nice supplemental needs trust for Nylah and buy her a house nearby the one I would build for myself. We could share a barn and chickens and furry things and the barn would be accessible. I would buy enough property that all of my other children would, hopefully, be inclined to build nearby as well. : ) I would fund my crazy family to the disgruntlement of my husband, but that is okay because we would likely fund his crazies as well. Then, everyone would be happy.
Of course, I would travel; first (and mostly) throughout the US then, outward, as a compliment to the art I would love to study: Italian glass and mosaics, African batik, Japanese silk, and stitching, the world around.
I would order a custom wheel from Mr. Golding. With a matching loom. : ) And probably one from Betty as well. These would likely be my biggest splurges.
I would buy a new van every few years because car repairs are the bane. And, okay, I might sneak a little test drive of a Jag. I probably wouldn't buy one. Unless it was a good purple. No, even then. I wouldn't buy one. Really. There are hungry babies in the world. Give, give, give.
I would thank God for the money, every day, knowing full well that having a billion would not even touch the real problems that haunt a life.
5 people that I would like to learn more about:
Carolyn. I know her well, but I would still like to learn more.
Channyn. I so doubt she can surprise me after the mutual redneck revelation.
Diana, Patt, Norma and Ruth. Oh, Wait. They don't have blogs. Oh girls, please, get busy.
But, Laura does and Christye, too. You're it, girls.
And, just to be different, I am adding a question: what one thing would you like to learn this summer? I seriously need to get up to speed with my children, so this is my ambition.
I thought if I put up a little Pink Floyd, it would encourage me to visit my own blog and maybe, actually, write something. But, it didn't. Oh, I visited, and I enjoyed the Pink, but, after that, there was nothing. I don't know why the words have been so unusually few. Probably, life has just been busy.
Nylah finished two semesters of college with two perfect A grades, despite one major abdominal surgery and two onerous neurosurgeries. She is quite a girl. If that was not enough, she also reclaimed her God given ambassadorship and changed the heart of professorial naysayers. If she only understood her gifts and that she is so specially chosen.
I bought a sofa. Yes I did. Quite awhile back. It is a little over 8 feet long (!) and it has a matching chair. It is very vintage and very cool, green and blue, in the same colors I had already planned on painting my walls. And, I got it for a song. How could I resist? Here is a sneak peak.
There is bad news, though, about the sofa. My children tell me it smells. Like cat pee, they say. I didn't notice any smell when I bought it, which tells you a little bit about my life, if you want to know the truth. : ) I will confess this: it is also a factor of middle age; not only do your eyes go blurry, but your nose also sags dimly ineffective with each passing year. But, on closer inspection, after the sofa was jimmied down the stairs to my basement studio and after my husband, sounding so much like my father (except for the Pakistani accent and lack of Italian profanity), said,
"... when we leave this house, the sofa stays. I am never bringing that sofa out of the basement. Never." To which I smiled sweetly. He looked at me if I was a camel; I eyelashed up to him, so he would think I was agreeing with him.
Anyway, on closer inspection, I did notice an unpleasant odor. I am certain it is not cat pee, but it is pee. Sad on so many levels, including the minor level of inconvenience that such a smell found its way into my new craft room. But, Barbie insures me that anti icky poo is miraculous in innovation, so I am hoping it works on sad, vintage ... ick. If not, the sofa will probably have to go. : )
I am mere days away from painting my first craft room wall. Really. It is nobody's fault that it wasn't done months ago, as I had hoped. Life is big and busy and more important than a painted craft room. And painting has been a goal of gigundus trickle down effect; lots of other things have gotten done, in order that the first wall might have a prayer of paint. The only thing I know, for sure, is that the children are coming home from school in less than four weeks and if I don't get it done, they will think the room remains their playroom and it will, consequently, never get painted. That would be bad, because ownership, though I am all about sharing, has changed hands.
And, in other news, my heart has met Betty Roberts and her wheels. Thanks to my friend, Tina, a Betty wheel is officially now a matter of prayer. Because it wouldn't seem right to just save money for it.
I have not been knitting. Talked about being blogged down. I am stuck somewhere in the last 25 % of the second 5 foot long i-cord for the Kiss purse. It might kill me to finish it; I have to practice the Carolyn half hour rule: if you do anything for a half an hour per day, it will get done. She is so smart. I have a had a few nights of therapeutic washcloth knitting, but I have purposefully not started a new project; that is the good news. But, like I said, I have not been knitting, which is very bad news. Nor have I been tending to my Ravelry friends. It is very sad. And I am trying to get back on track. My Mandy is having a baby, for pity's sake. Get knitting, Deenie.
And speaking of friends, I have made some new ones at Thursday night knitting, courtesy of Village Yarn and Fiber. There are Norma and Ruth, whom I just love. And Evelyn and Laura, a collective encouragement in mothering and daughtering ... not to mention knitting. And Patti and Channy N. Quinn. All very nice girls. And newcomers every week. It is pretty fun.
And, finally, if you must know, I have become a little addicted to all the YouTube art instruction videos. There are so many good ones, so many talented artists sharing their skills. I just love that. The videos of Jessica Wesolek prompted me to enroll in her online art journal class. So much fun and lots of techniques to learn; it was a fun 21 days. I highly recommend her video classes.
One particularly fun assignment me allowed me to articulate an idea that has recently come and come again and refused to leave. Sometimes in life you cannot deny that a decision needs to be made. This truth manifested for me this year. And, it wasn't easy, but it was necessary. An idea and a decision, a long time coming, has been embraced. And, with God's help and blessing, I will.
I spent the weekend thinking about God and how grateful I am for Easter and for my salvation, now 8 years old, to His great plan. I thought an awful lot about Beth, who is now rejoicing from Heaven with God Himself. How wonderful for her, but how sad for her family and the rest of us. She will be missed.
And I thought a lot about Hannah, who had the audacity to hit 9 on Easter morning. My Hannah Joy. Such a nice girl.
Easter brought the renewing of traditional egg coloring. Daddy, long worried about Pagans creeping in, outlawed egg coloring awhile back. Probably, I would say, about 8 years back. But, this year, he surprised us and let us frolic in Paas and hardboiling and invisible white crayon. And it was so fun. I think, it was the first time that my littles ever colored eggs.
And once the eggs were done, I was left with 8 glasses of remnant color and I was suddenly overwhelmed. I knew that the dye should not be wasted and I ran off to secure 8, 40 yard, skeins of wool yarn and, before the children could say,
"Can I eat my egg?"
... I had the empty glasses filled up, one skein for each.
And they looked so pretty.
In a flurry of activity, I microwaved each lot, admiring each resulting skein. The colors, fresh and spring. I really loved the brown, both on the egg and in the yarn. A pleasant Paas surprise.
My impatience caused me to almost ruin the whole affair when I cast the little skeins irresponsibly into the dryer. I thought, if I kept the air at a moderate temperature, and watched them closely, I could avoid felting. Let's just say: it was a good thing that I was watching them closely.
In the end, though, all was not lost. And Easter morning, amidst hardboiled eggs and birthday cake for breakfast, I began to knit. Then, after breaking away quietly and joyfully for church, I returned to knit again. And into the night.
It is freeform knitting, in the tradition of Kay Gardiner and Ann Meador Shayne. I have been re-visiting this book and enjoying the liberation they tout, because they write about it so well. This little patternless project, is destined to be a tubular pillow cover, and - if it is big enough - perhaps a chaser for my blustery basement window.
I assure you, though, this pillow is has nothing at all to do with Pagans; it, and I, are far removed from that. It remains just a practical and efficient knitting project between Mr. Paas and I; the start of a new Easter knitting tradition.
Well. We have been good and sick, a couple of times, then we were just plain sick. Now, we are good. It is an amazing life, sometimes felled, sometimes full. I try to appreciate every day, acknowledge every blessing, and rise to the challenge of every crisis and then run with joy.
(subtitle: No. You can't take a picture of my incision.)
Sometimes, though, I think all that God asks us to do is to rise and stand. And it is enough because it is all you can do.
(subtitle, after much pleading: You are such a sick pup, Mother.)
But, I have been knitting. There was a final re-do of baby Truman's hat and one for his sister, Molly. So fun to do.
And there is the KISS purse, knitted with vengeance through two neurosurgeries and the waiting game in between. There was one particularly bad day (of knitting, not neurosurgery). And it was all about taking out rounds and rounds of stitching and then knitting them wrong again. And, finally, I thought I had it right and moved forward only to realize, on completion, that it had still been all wrong.
I thought about leaving the errors in, as a reminder of roads traveled, but then decided against it. God corrected His perfect girl and so I should at least take the time to duplicate stitch my mistakes. I am well reminded without them hampering up my knitting.
And my little girls have been needlefelting like little wild women. I can't stop them.
a cat on a bed:
a dog:
a scarf for Memphy:
a ferret on a wallet:
a wee bunny:
and a landscape:
There's no containing the talent, nor the entrepreneurial spirit, contained in these girls. That's good, too.
The family has been circulating germs. My sweet Zakariah's germs turned right into pneumonia; he had it the worst. Zak, like a good boy, shared with, among others, me. So, I have been a bit pounded down. I am sure that I will be better soon.
I thought my desk aptly demonstrated how it is when Momma is sick. Kinda messy.
Starting from left to right, knitting first. Oh, knitting helps. Especially happy wool knitting with two colors, one variegated. I practically wiggle in my seat waiting for the color change; it is grand motivation indeed.
Next, tissue. Toilet tissue when the fairer runs out. It's better than a sleeve, if you know what I mean.
Then, plenty of fluids and plenty of chocolate. That's what is in the tins, in case you can't make it out. Wegmans had these great little tins of dark chocolate. And, so for 2.89, I bought one and snuck it casually in my purse, hoping my children wouldn't peak before I had a chance to indulge. And I ate one piece every day, just like a good girl*, for 8 straight days.
But, when I went back to Wegmans, I saw that my little tins were being discontinued and I panicked. All decorum gone, with a price heavily slashed to $1.79, I bought every one of the 8 tins in aisle 12. And it was all I could to control myself racing in and out of every other aisle to coddle every tin in the store. I thought that would probably be a little excessive as would driving to another store to check out their collective aisles. But, sure enough, next time I went back, all tins had discontinued themselves. Bummer. Now, my stash remains at 7 and I am trying to savor them, but it is hard when you are hacking and it feels like your head exploded five minutes ago. Chocolate seems to be in order. You know?
There's sweet pea handcream and a friendship bracelet. And, sheep, of course.
There's a Cast On hiding under an overdue library video: Scooby Doo's Spookiest Tales. And behind that, you probably can't make it out, there is a set of Grey's DVDs. If I had time, between sick (and unsick) children, I would surely take year two for a spin. It was a good year. But, then I would have had to watch year 3, too. Oh, Denny.
And way in the distance, you will see all of the work that needs to be done. The desks that hold papers upon papers and books and yarn and ugly socks and who knows what else. All waiting for me. The only way to keep the desks cleared is to remove them, which I will do soon. But not until the bookshelves beyond the desks are cleared and moved away from the wall so it can be painted.
But, not tonight dear. I have a headache.
*And, oh. The funniest thing I have heard in a long time. Courtney. She thinks I am a good girl. No, she really thinks it. Cracked me right up.
And I know that if my Linda Ann or Barbara Jean are reading this, they are laughing like crazy, too. You all stop. I could be a good girl. It is possible.
I am happy to say that I knitted a sock. For me, it is a monumental accomplishment.
In fine tradition, it was a sock of process more than product. At the bitty bottom, I do not like anything the sock. It is an ugly little sock. : )
Though it fits, relatively, which is a milestone, my ankles are honestly not (quite) that fat and the sock has not a prayer of staying up, which will annoy me permanently. I needed a simple pattern, granted, but this one was dull, even for me.
The yarn was lovely but not wool. A big part of what I love about socks, especially in February, is the warmth and comfort. Cotton: not so tactile and warm. I don't know what I was thinking.
I am pleased that I successfully followed the pattern to the end, which is always big for me. This was the first time I ever knit with this yarn weight or size 2 needles. Though my knitting is not perfect, I am encouraged that, as long as I ALWAYS wear my glasses, I can knit with finer yarns if I set my mind to it.
I did manage to negotiate turning my heal well, with only minimal discomfort. I am no longer afraid of that or dpns. The decreases went pretty well and the kitchenered toes had moments of silver glory.
I just don't think I can bring myself to knit the second sock. If it were only a matter of second sock syndrome, which I clearly have, I would force myself to comply. But, in the end, I just don't like the sock or the yarn in any wearable regard. And there are so many other things I would rather knit.
I wish I could be a product girl. My mother is a product girl. In the course of three short months, she, with the help of her friend, Barb (who was taught to crochet by my mother 25 years ago), crocheted 6 blankets for my family. That's two blankets per month. One every two weeks, all during the hey day of the Christmas season. One queen and five twins. No kidding.
Momma is a wild woman of product. I, seriously, appreciate that. And we all love our blankets.
But, I get so bogged down by process. I love the process part - I am practically married to it - but sometimes swooning over incompatible color lots or aluminum crochet hooks is not worth the wait in product. Even fussing about the glories of wool and natural fibers, to the embarrassment of Red Heart and other sundry acrylic, loses its punch if it means you don't have something to work on and never get anything done.
Since Christmas, I have embarked on simple two color knitting. I am quite enraptured with the process. And, towards that end, I completed Truman's hat. Well, actually, two. Neither of which are perfectly acceptable to me, though. One is a tad too small, the other slightly too large. And each has a few stitches which are just not quite right. Those stitches bother me, greatly, and I just can't bring myself to send either to such a perfect boy. So, a third hat beckons, if I could just find a store that would sell me the right sized needles.
I also made a little tea cozy. It is quite sweet and I enjoyed the checks immensely. The result is okay (read: imperfect), but the process was not what it should have been for me. I think I would like to try it circular, with different wool, and a little tapering garter stitch at the base.
In the end, I remain fairly stuck in process, evading product perfect. I think there is a life lesson here.
A long, long time ago, and in what seems like a place far away, this blog used to be about fiber and knitting. Oh, other things, of course, but there was a fair amount of stitching and spinning going on. Not so much in recent days; there has just been too much angst, I am here to tell you.
Christmas, though, is a time of inevitability for me. Inevitably, there is joy. (Heart stealers, beware: a mood can be taken, but joy is immovable without permission and mine wasn't granted.) Inevitably, I cook waaayy too much food, wait too long to shop and wrap, and, inevitably, there are too many presents.
But, can you really have too many presents? I guess not.
And every year, long about the day before Christmas Eve, when the stress of not having everything done and perfect is at its height, I play a little game where I promise myself that next year will be different.
You've played before, right?? : )
That I will not do the very thing that brings that familiar Christmas stress and has the potential to be a joy-stealer. And, I start dreaming a little dream about how I will schedule the already upcoming next season, and plan my present buying with fiscal reason, and thrift my way to a new set of Christmas dishes for 12 (or, in ambitious years, 40 to serve the extended family). This year the dream was so vivid that, in my haze, I took the time to, actually, map out a 12 month schedule for 2008!!
Misty understands. It is all about being above the fray.
And, somehow, it is the oddest thing. Every year, the dream brings me a little calm in the midst of the chaos. A little bit of imagined control. And, somehow, with that peace comes a blessed second wind. A burst of energy that could make the nest of an 8 month pregnant woman look a little slack. Or, at least, it keeps me steady for the next few days.
This year, like many years, the wind brought an inevitably new knitting project. Because starting a new knitting project on the day before Christmas Eve, when you have a million things to do, seems perfectly reasonable to you, right? Even if it adds an indulgent, but unnecessary, trip to your local knitting haven, which was sadly closed when I got there, and then a necessary detour to Joann's to buy some yarn and the right size needles, which they didn't have ... you get me, right?
I thought I could make a little hat for my new little sweet cousin, Truman, and that - maybe, just maybe - I could get it done in time for the Christmas Eve celebration.
This is where, even, I thought I heard real life startle into my dream but - you know how it goes - nothing could deter me.
I am nothing if I am not determined.
And so I started Truman's hat, which necessitated learning how to knit with two colors. It was a complete surprise to me that I could do it. My only problem was that the circular needle that I was using was old, aluminum, and with very long tips. Additionally, the needles were a tad bit too small for the stitches I had casted on. Every stitch was painful pulling and pushing. Not fun.
So, bravely, like the girl in the dream, I headed back to my needle basket where I knew there was a set of wooden dpns in the size I needed. And - can you believe? - now I have the beginnings of a sweet little hat. And, even though it was not ready for him on Christmas Eve, Truman - sweetest pea that he is - let me hold him anyway.
Last year, I discovered my love for Christmas music and found this version of O Holy Night and put it on a sidebar so I could listen whenever I wanted. A showing for one year is nice, but two years makes it a Christmas tradition. I love this song and the way Mariah knocks it out.
If I had only one wish - I mean, aside from salvation and world peace and what not; If I had one purely selfish wish, it would be that I could sing. I do, but - really - I shouldn't. Honey, that's why the music stays so loud. But, oh. To have a voice that could do the kinds of things that Mariah does with hers, that would be just fine.
I have many merry compulsions, ask any one who knows me. : ) A relatively new Christmas compulsion I seem to have is buying sheep ornaments. This is one of my 2007 additions:
Isn't she cute?? I love the bird on her head, the dreamy look in her eyes, and her wild little angelic dress. So like Momma.
Holy ground: I recognize it every time. It shakes and shines and, suddenly, I know where to go and Who will take me there.
Thank you, God, for blessing me with the extraordinary in the ordinary. I see You and - with bare feet and a heart broken by joyful amazement and awe - I know that I can do nothing but follow You.
And so it was, when Moses held up his hand, that Israel prevailed and when he let down his hand, Amalek prevailed.
But Moses hands became heavy; so they took a stone and put it under him, and he sat on it. And Aaron and Hur supported his hands, one on one side, and the other on the other side; and his hands were steady until the going down of the sun.
So Joshua defeated Amalek and his people with the edge of the sword.
Waiting for fall. 
