It's Not Knitting, But. . .

How cute is this?

Sometimes, you see things that almost make you wish you had another baby.

Almost.

I've a dark, dark feeling we're going to lose Hershel tomorrow night.

He is so, so far and away my favorite.

Speaking of Hershel, look what I bought myself from etsy:

There are scarcely words to explain how happy this makes me.

You Must

Go see this film if you haven't already.  Astonishing.

"All is Lost."

This Happens Every. Single. Year.

I start Christmas shopping, as I've said, when I'm doing my son's birthday shopping in October.  Some things I buy even earlier, as both my children tend to ask for things that must be shipped.  All well and good.  I get my little list going of what I've bought for whom, and the holidays are off. . .

Inevitably, those things I buy early disappear.  As in, I hide them, and then forget where they are.  Honestly.  I've found Christmas-intended gifts up to two weeks after Christmas.

This year, what's missing (so far) is the only thing I've bought for my son's girlfriend.  With it (I can only assume;  maybe there are two lost things) are some little things I bought for my children's stockings.  This is maddening because their stockings are all but impossible to fill.

Today, as I was working on the back for a sweater I'm knitting, I realized I didn't know where I had put the finished front.  

Who DOES these kind of things?  I spent almost an hour looking for that danged thing.  I was almost to the point of just chucking the back, and giving up on the whole idea, when one more possibility came to mind.  Behind.  The.  TV.

So the sweater is still on, but I've got to come up with something else for the girlfriend.

As One Does

 Daughter was in town Thursday, and, as I took her back to her place, she and I had a lengthy discussion about meeting celebrities.  We've both had occasion to meet several, so part of the chat was about whom we thought we could meet "well" --- as in, not look or act like a total fool.  Even though I am 53 years old, there's at least one I doubt I could handle:

Being in the same place as Redford?  Overwhelming.  He's been such a huge presence in my life for so long, and for so many reasons, I know I would fail mightily at keeping my composure.

We also talked a lot (a lot) about how celebrities might smell.  Don't judge.  Cologne, after shave, soap, detergent:  we were very specific and quite adamant about our conclusions.  And, just for the record, we agreed on everybody.

(Also for the record, and along these lines, this fact has come to me just today.  One of my would-love-to-meet-think-I-could-handle-it men does NOT wear after shave):

This Day

How very different things might have been.

Well. . .

Seems if I don't have a prompt, blog posts are few and far between around here, huh?

Those are the "fruits" of the Depressive Life.  There's nothing exciting happening day-to-day, and there's no drive to make something happen.

I was due to leave tomorrow for a few days in Myrtle Beach, but my son's life is unraveling a bit right now, and I'm letting him have the trip.  He seems to need it more than me.  I can wait for another Groupon offer.

Kinda Fun

I don't know how many of you are on facebook, but there is an application there called "What Would I Say?" which generates random statuses for you.  They're nothing more than random copy and pastes of your prior statuses, but some can be pretty entertaining:

Just an extraordinary program --- "Stealing Lincoln's Body from Under a Ceiling Fan." 

Blues. And Blacks and Creams and Reds.

Hard to believe it's been almost two weeks since my evening with Mr. Laurie.  Anyway, here are Hannah and I in our "in-case-he-sees-us" best:

?

31.  Smile

Possible Knitters' Hunks if chosen by men only?

http://www.buzzfeed.com/summeranne/the-hottest-male-celebrities-according-to-straight-guys

Sign

30.  Sign

A Few

29.  Your Favorite Thing

My favorite thing is peace of mind.  Which I do not have right now.  Which I do not see on the horizon.

I don't see Christmas.  I don't really see Thanksgiving.  I've put the worst knives away.

Another Sense

28.  Smell
Gardenias
Play-Doh
Grilling Beef
A Fireplace Fire
Crayola Crayons
My Daddy's Cologne
Leather(Especially In A Barn)
A Clean Baby
Freshly Mown Grass
Cedar
Original Jergen's Hand Lotion
White Shoulders Perfume
New Tennis Balls
Christmas Trees

Number

27.  Number
Do I talk about numerals or feeling more numb?  The numbness, the absence of feeling, of caring, are overrunning everything right now.

But my favorite number is "12."

Yes

26.  YES
Unfortunately, it's been mostly "no" around here for the past couple of months.  No energy, no motivation, no purpose, no results from either medication or therapy.

Everyone's lives, ideas, concerns, stories, questions come before mine.  When I begin to speak, people don't look at me --- they look at their computer or their phone or their watch or something on a wall.  When I stop talking (usually withing 10 seconds of beginning, because I see what's going on), it takes them a beat or two to realize I've even gone quiet.  Then there might be a "Hmmmm" or a "Yeah," which demonstrates that they heard not word one.  If I get the occasional, "I'm sorry --- what?"  I'm too disheartened to repeat myself.

Yesterday, I was ready to have a come-to-Jesus therapy session, full of tears and helplessness and the story of how, when slicing bread for toast in the morning, the thought of pulling it across my throat jumped into my mind.  Before I got very deeply into the story, but was crying buckets, her phone rang, and she had to go.

I'm used to getting pushed to the back of everyone's line.

Twenty-Five

25.  Sunday Morning

"Sunday Morning Coming Down"

Well, I woke up Sunday morning 
With no way to hold my head that didn't hurt. 
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad, 
So I had one more for dessert. 
Then I fumbled in my closet through my clothes 
And found my cleanest dirty shirt. 
Then I washed my face and combed my hair 
And stumbled down the stairs to meet the day. 

I'd smoked my mind the night before 
With cigarettes and songs I'd been picking. 
But I lit my first and watched a small kid 
Playing with a can that he was kicking. 
Then I walked across the street 
And caught the Sunday smell of someone frying chicken. 
And Lord, it took me back to something that I'd lost 
Somewhere, somehow along the way. 

On a Sunday morning sidewalk, 
I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned. 
'Cause there's something in a Sunday 
That makes a body feel alone. 
And there's nothing short a' dying 
That's half as lonesome as the sound 
Of the sleeping city sidewalk 
And Sunday morning coming down. 

In the park I saw a daddy 
With a laughing little girl that he was swinging. 
And I stopped beside a Sunday school 
And listened to the songs they were singing. 
Then I headed down the street, 
And somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringing, 
And it echoed through the canyon 
Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday. 

On a Sunday morning sidewalk, 
I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned. 
'Cause there's something in a Sunday 
That makes a body feel alone. 
And there's nothing short a' dying 
That's half as lonesome as the sound 
Of the sleeping city sidewalk 
And Sunday morning coming down.

Huh?

24.  Hear
The house has been very quiet since I returned from the weekend in Atlanta.  All the clamor and excitement and applause needed to be followed by a little quiet.

There are still noises, though --- don't get me wrong.  There are clawed paws on the hard floors, and the snurfle of Rupert as he sniffs for just the right napping spot.  There are cars going by outside, and the wall clock is ticking, but it's about as quiet as it ever gets around here.

I don't know when the difference between "listening" and "hearing" became clear to me.  They are so vastly, deeply different to be used so interchangeably.  One of my mother's favorite taglines was, "Do you hear me?"  Of course, I did, but I now know she wanted me to listen to her.

One of my great, stomach-churning fears when I was little was loud noises.  Air raid drills were still being run when I was in elementary school, and that day used to fill me with such dread, I would beg not to have to go to school.  The siren went off at noon on the first Wednesday of each month, and I watched that clock with horror when that day came.  Once, I worked myself into such a state that I was sent to the nurse's office.  My teacher called my mother, who told her that it was my fear of the siren.  My teacher could not have been sweeter or more understanding or more comforting.  But I was so embarrassed, I can still feel the pain today.

Sometimes, all you do is hear, and it can send you in all sorts of directions that you may not even need to travel.  Listening, though, will almost always give you clear maps and better understanding.

Church

23.  Sacred
Well.  Having engaged in some liturgical dance at the Altar of Hugh Laurie Sunday night,

(is that right?)

let's think about "sacred."  Oddly enough, "church" or "worship" are not what come to mind when I hear that word.  Rather, I think of quiet.  Stillness.  Sitting with oneself and one's soul, letting your mind and your heart go to important, essential things.

"Sacred," to me, is the relaxed awareness of what is good for me.  Of what calms me.  Of what stirs me, but not to a frenzy.  It is the peace that envelops me when I let everything go, and that keeps me, even when I try to, from thinking.  "Sacred" doesn't go fast, or make you doubt.  It says to you, "See?  You can be still."

Midday

22.  Midday
Most middays, I'm trying to decide what to do with the rest of the day.  Today, I was dropping Hannah off after our big weekend.

And then driving back to Athens, still in a Hugh Laurie haze.  What a remarkable night.  The best part was watching him so obviously loving the music and enjoying playing it.

Gifted.

Twenty-One. Three Weeks of This Already?

21.  Something Old
An aging copy of a favorite book:

With a new addition:

This would be Mr. Wilson signing:

This would be Mr. Wilson with my son:

Briton told him "You made my mom really happy."  Good manners, sweet gestures --- old-fashioned, but wonderful.

And tonight, another old crush:

Take Two

20.  Taste

Yep.  Again.  I double and triple-checked.  

But first to your personality.  The three words that you feel when you imagine the color "white" are supposed to show your feelings about Death.

Huh?  Did it work?

Hey, I only administer the tests, I don't write them.

Relaxing in a hotel after a day of "The Walking Dead."  Don't have my camera USB cord with me, so can't post any photos for a couple of days.  But, man, it was fun.  I got to talk with Scott Wilson twice, which was my primary goal.  Briton and I were supposed to get a photo with Andrew Lincoln, but his session was late in the day, he was late to it (anything involving him was a jam-packed sell-out), and there were lines upon lines upon lines of people.  500?  600?  Neither Briton nor I had eaten anything all day, and standing in that crowd, in that heat, for, well, it looked like it was going to be forever, just wasn't in our cards.

I'll try to tell you more about the day tomorrow.  It was a remarkable amount of fun, and there's still Hugh tomorrow night!

And I do have something for "taste" --- delicious lobster ravioli for our post-convention meal.

Absence of Color

19.  White
When I was teaching, my favorite chapter was the one on socialization --- explaining how the groups to which we belong impact who we are.  The process extends into the form our individual personalities take (though how deeply it reaches is the source of much debate.)

During that chapter, I would give my students personality tests, some serious, others not so much.  One that was always a favorite involved imagining colors, and writing down three words describing how you feel when you do.  One of the colors was "white."

Go on --- you can think of three words if you'd like.  Mine are always along the lines of "still," peaceful," "beautiful," "calming."

Now, if you'd like to know what your three words indicate about you, you'll have to tune in tomorrow.  I will do my dead-level best to have an entry, but, be forewarned, I'm meeting Scott Wilson and Andrew Lincoln tomorrow, as well as stealing glances at other "Walking Dead" cast members, so I can't pinky-swear to anything.