hand eye crafts

Many years ago, my parents and I were at my grandparents' house for Christmas.  It was a special one, as my aunt, uncle and cousins from Illinois were visiting, something they couldn't do very often.  My cousins, 3 girls, had brought their record player and some records, one of which was this:
I was 6, but I fell in love with Davy Jones looking at that album cover.  He was my first celebrity crush.  The first in a long line that continues to this day, 46 years later.
It's hard for me to believe Davy has died.  As one of my friends said, we have to think of him as still young, so we won't feel so old ourselves.  Lots of us are very sad about this --- seems I wasn't the only one who fell for "the little English one."

Somehow, and my mother and I had several conversations about it, my parents instilled self-confidence in me.  She didn't remember any specific plan or goal, but all my life, I have believed in myself.  The message got through somehow, and it stuck.
Until these last couple of years, as my rock-bottom and rock-bottom-er depression have led to me question my coping skills.  And discussions in therapy and at home have uncovered issues which have utterly knocked the pins out from under my morale.  It seems I have committed massive mistakes, was apparently blind to issues that were going on with my children which have caused each of them tremendous pain.  And lack of self-confidence.
So what do I do?  Heal myself first, I suppose, though the mom drive is urging me to take care of them instead.  But one of them doesn't want to discuss any deep, serious issues (blocking all useful things that might be done), and the other won't talk about anything personal until I get back into bet…

A dear, true friend lost her father last night.  It had been a very difficult last several months, and she is all over my heart today.
Hannah is home for half of her Spring Break.  The Usual Apocalypse broke out the first night.  Briton didn't even come over yesterday.  What have I done, or not done, to make this family shatter like this when we're together?  

Finished Eight White Nights a couple of days ago, and have chosen my "B" author:
This experiment is going to have me reading tons of fiction, I think, which I don't usually do.  I enjoyed Eight White Nights, I suppose --- I read most of it when I was sick in bed, so it's a little unclear whether I would have read it so steadily if I'd been up and around.
I already know my "C" book --- it's in my own collection.  And is non-fiction.

Of all the (insert all kinds of negative adjectives here) things that have happened to me in the last year, year and a half, one of the oddest is going on right now.
I can't knit.
Of course, I can knit and I can purl, but I cannot knit.  I've tried socks, shawls, hats, socks again, and I lose count, I drop stitches, I can't follow a pattern, I forget where I am in a pattern. . .  It is driving me crazy.  My depression is as bad as ever, and one of the handful of things that could ease some of the pressure has abandoned me.
I don't even look for jobs anymore.  I'm assuming there's still nothing out there, but even if someone offered me something right this minute, I couldn't do it.  I'm in no shape.

Our 2011 Knitters' Hunk, in case you needed reminding:
Christine SamsFebruary 19, 2012
Sam Neill. Photo: Anthony Johnson LIAM NEESON tears up when he hears Eva Cassidy sing Danny Boy. Toni Collette's No. 1 album is Neil Young's Harvest, while Neil Finn's favourite tune is Elton John's Your Song. The actor Sam Neill, who is starring in the US television seriesAlcatraz, has convinced his famous friends to compile Top 10 lists of their favourite songs before publishing them on his website. The pastime has taken on a life of its own among Neill's celebrity friends, with goofy pictures and passionate compilation lists from stars including Sir Ian McKellen (who lists his No.1 as When I'm Cleaning Windows by George Formby) and Stephen Fry (whose eclectic list is topped by Herb Alpert and his Tijuana Brass'sSpanish Flea) as well as Willem Dafoe and Marianne Faithfull. ''One of the things I do on the website now, when I've got downtime in my trailer, old f…

There has always been a wee little problem with my birthday being so near Valentine's Day, but most people who cared a whit about me could figure out a way to get it handled.  At a store to buy a birthday card, they'd pick up a Valentine's one, too.   I would know that they were glad I was born, and that they loved me.
This year's birthday was nice, though, looking at it from a distance, a 52-year-old woman spending her birthday with her son's friends is a little peculiar.  And maybe sad.  
Then came Valentine's Day.  Do you know what I got?  Not a card, not a note, not a flower, not a candy, not a balloon --- NOTHING.  It was never even mentioned.  I sent cards, but got nothing in return.   And I am deeply hurt by it.
I've let a lot of occasions go in the last 20+ years, trying to smile through the "ooops"es and the "we spent our money on things for ourselves and anyone else but you"s.  But I am officially sick of it now.  How much plannin…

And though that photo of Sam is enough to fulfill all kinds of needs, I also got:
a cookie basket from my glorious twin. The best sugar cookies in there you can imagine.

A killer Yoda (complete with birthday ribbon) from Briton and his girlfriend. And

uh-huh --- that's right.  Go on and be jealous, on account of my little girl.

Daughter got her good-looking guy pictures, and I just found this one.  It serves double duty as a reminder of who our 2011 Knitters' Hunk is as well:

Today is reserved for sleeping all day.  I decided yesterday that that would be my best course of action.  Any periods of wakefulness would be spent on the computer, or knitting, or just waiting to fall back asleep.
My other plan involves reading.  I'm almost done with a delightful book called The Elegance of the Hedgehog, and was thinking about what to read next.  I came up with the idea of going to the library or bookstore and, starting with authors' names that start with "A,' just working my way along the shelves until I found something that looked interesting.  I wound up with Eight White Nights by Andre' Aciman.  You can read a synopsis here.  I'm not sure how long I'll stay with this plan, considering how many unread books we have around here, but it seems kind of fun.  I'll let you know how it goes.

Knitting isn't going very well --- I can't keep up with stitch counts or patterns.  Don't know if it's due to the medicine changes (…

Told you she met all these folks: Is she insanely photogenic, or what? Oh, and as for the three big stars She had photos made with them last year, but did manage an autograph and personal time with Misha Collins (he's the one on the right.  And he is criminally good-looking.)
She had a blast, needless to say.

Daughter in Nashville this weekend meeting these people:
But, really and truly, these freckles aside, it's mainly about
We both know it.  She'll cop to it one day.  In the meantime, I go on knitting my sad little gray shawl on a rainy day while she breathes Supernatural air. . .

Didn't mean for a week to get away before I got back here.  It hasn't been the pleasantest one, but, given my "state," I suppose that's to be expected.  
There's been a major medicine overhaul, the efficacy of which is still unclear.  There have been spontaneous crying jags, and not much eating, and days where the only thing that has gotten me out of bed was the need to take out the dogs.
And yet, I'm still here.