hand eye crafts

Halloween, that is.  This comes from a mother who loathed  it, who complained loudly about having her evening interrupted by a bunch of silly children dressed in costumes. As you can imagine, I didn't go  trick or treating much --- I remember exactly two times, and one of them once spent trying to cut two simple eyeholes in a sheet so as to be a ghost.  My mother and I fought over that for some reason --- viciously.  Either she didn't want a sheet ruined or she felt I was cutting the holes in the right way and/or right place.  I threw on a v-neck sweater, borrowed some pom-poms from a neighbor, and tried to pass myself off as a cheerleader. I wondered what would happen when I became a parent, and how the event would be handled.  Our firstborn was so shy, so withdrawn, that even the mention of Halloween would put a look of abject terror on his face.  Plus, he didn't like candy that much.  Problem solved. Until secondborn.  Wh...

My clothes are aggravating me.  My skin is aggravating.  I want to rip the entire world away from me, or me from the entire world. I am angry and I am hopeless and I want to scream, but I have no idea what I'd say.  Nothing --- nothing  --- is calming me.  I have the TV on because silence is deadly.  But noise makes my skin crawl.   My son is having very serious mental health issues, but he is not sharing (and he certainly has every right to keep his business to himself.)  My daughter is all over the map emotionally.  I gave each of them until December 31st to save enough money to live on their own --- I can't imagine that either of them have even a tiny percentage of what it would cost. If they cannot pay rent somewhere else, I will allow them to live here, but there will be rent and bills and rules.  Frankly, the idea of all three of us under one roof again scares me.  We are not good for one another in a long run. ...

When I am having a particularly bad depressive day, or in this exact situation, several in a row, the feeling that lives inside me is that I am being torn to shreds.  Thoughts hurt, clothing is a nuisance, the sadness has depth, breadth and width. These are the days that make The End (as in the righting of the ship) seem impossible to see, much less imagine. I see people who care enough to get dressed, go out, keep their heads up, look others in the eye, talk , and I want to SCREAM at them "HEY! I'M DYING HERE!  And no one cares." I used to have my mother to pray for me --- now I'm not sure I even know anyone who prays.  My children are dealing with issues of their own (though they weigh exponentially on me), plus neither is of an age where anyone's world matters but their own. I am sitting on this couch right now wondering how I will make it through the next ten minutes.  That's what my life is some days.  How am I going to make it through?  W...

Ever wonder how old I am?  Really, now --- have you ever sat down and  just pondered? Well, a big box of family pictures I found at my parents' might help you. For one birthday, I received these two albums.  And my hair was decorated with a thick length of white  ropey-like-woolish-stuff. (The red one says "The Partridge Family Album."  Geez.  I gotta lay bread crumbs out for you people.) For Christmas one year, one glasses-wearing, POW-bracelet-sporting, hair-parted-in-the-middle-no-more-yarny-tiebacks, quilted-satin-psychadelic-robe Christmas, I got this: Do your math.

In high school (maybe junior high, but I think high school), my best friend spent a summer in Israel.  When she got back, she gave me this: It says "Kim" in Hebrew. All these years, I have worn this ring a lot .  First, because I adore Shari and she was kind and thoughtful enough to get it for me.  Second, because it's cool and unique.  But as the years have gone by, this has become more than just a ring to me.  It is my good luck, it is my strength, it's my comfort and my friend being right here with me.  I suppose if I were a baby, this would be about the same as my blankie. Usually, I wear gold jewelry on my left fingers and wrist, and silver on my right.  I have several other silver rings that I rotate through, but if I know a day is going to be particularly stressful or difficult, I always reach for this one.  And when I wear it, I know it.  It and my finger have grown quite accustomed to one another over all these years, an...

In Tennessee, have made one trip to the house, loaded up quite a bit of stuff --- mostly pictures and things, and see quite clearly most things, even the wanted and cherished things, will have to be left. Went to the graves and cried and asked for forgiveness.  There is no way to describe how bad I feel.

My parents' house sold this weekend.  I'm refusing to the play the could-we-have-gotten-more game because I am so drained by everything that has happened in the last year, I've got very little fight left in me. I got money out of a bank account I swore I'd never touch to pay for a hotel room for a couple of days, and am leaving tomorrow.  Hopefully, all the papers will be signed and notarized by Friday morning, because that's when I'm leaving to be back for Briton's birthday. I'll go through the house, and the cabinets, and the drawers, and the closets, and the attic one more time.  Because even though the buyer has given me 10 days after closing to remove any and all things I want, I just don't think I could go up there again.  This has got to be my goodbye trip. If it won't fit in the car, I have to let it go.  I've asked and asked and asked Briton and Hannah what they want from the house, they haven't given many answers, s...

My best friend in the whole world sent me some yarn!  Now, understand, MBFITWW is not a knitter.  But look at the gorgeous  yarn that arrived in today's mail: It's a bulky sunshiney yellow, the color coming from dye composed of onion skins!  I'd never heard of such a thing.  But it completely works. Thank you, Shari.

So, being both unemployed and chronically depressed leads to a dearth of blog material.  There simply isn't that much going on. I still spend at least an hour a day combing through want ads and applying for jobs. There's a good degree of sleeping going on --- sleep being my drugged state of choice when the cave I'm in is extra-inky-black. I am knitting.  In fact, I'm working on a bulk etsy order at the moment.  And the knitting group continues, though one member has dropped completely off the map for reasons no one can fathom. Briton is a hit in his current show, "See How They Run." Hannah has had her hair dyed an almost blinding pink. I'm watching a lot of  "The West Wing." So, move along now.  Nothing to see here.

I like jigsaw puzzles.  Except when my life is one, and pieces seem to have been blown off the table after I was just getting going good on putting the damn thing together. Looking for the pieces would take energy and focus, and maybe even a hint of concern. It was beginning to look like a nice picture --- one with radiance and warmth and hope and even a little happiness.  But now the pieces are all over.  Everywhere.  Some may be gone for good.  Do I try, as best I can, to search out those wandering pieces, and put the puzzle together, saying the holes in it "give it 'character'?"  Or do I start an all-together different puzzle, fresh out of the box? Or do I abandon puzzles.

In Washington state, there is a 13-year-old boy who wants to be a policeman.  Only trouble is, he's blind.  So his local police force let him be an officer for a day (though I suspect the relationship will last a wee bit longer.) Got a little change jangling around somewhere? Here you go.