hand eye crafts

Having a monumentally bad day.  Inside, I'm screaming, "What is the point of going on?"  Keeping it inside is setting off waves of panic attacks.  And if I type about it anymore, things will get worse. So let me type something that I found the other day.  A while ago, the magnificent Stephen Fry published a book called  The Ode Less Travelled , which helped its readers write all different types of poetry.  I found my workbook from when I read the book, and am rather fond of the following. We were called upon to finish "Fry's Ballad," which began thusly (my contributions in bold): Now gather round and let me tell The tale of Danny Wise: And how his sweet wife Annabelle Did suck out both his eyes. And if I tell the story true And if I tell it clear There's not a mortal one of you  Won't shriek in mortal fear. For Annabelle was fair of face, A comely shape and size. She won young Danny with her grace, But everything was lies. Her...

Apparently, some parts of Georgia got snowfall today.  Nothing here.  Completely unfair. One week out from my acupuncture treatment.  I've had a headache every day (but two) since.  I'm doing as much as I can with the new dietary requirements, but can't, and really don't plan to, switch over wholly.  More fruits and vegetables, not a problem.  All the fermented stuff?  A bit more problematic.  And, as much as I try, I just cannot  drink the amount of water she suggested.  I'm drinking more than I used to, but not near as much as I'm "supposed to."  Did you know each person is supposed to drink, in ounces, half their body weight in water every day.  Not that 8-glasses-a-day rule.  That's outdated and uncool. Some random sentences generated by this artist's book I'm following: "A stitch is dropped --- the sweater won't be born." "The fan spins clockwise, moving air around." "From nose to knees, ...

When I was in middle school, high school and college, I was a fervent writer of poetry.  In high school, my best friend and I would compile our poems into compilations "books" and exchange them with one another.  She, being an excellent artist, illustrated a lot of her pages.  Mine were can't-draw-anything-but-a-balloon bare.  Those were some of the best days of my life --- the two of us encouraging each other, sharing these words that we wouldn't let anyone else see. As I said, I wrote all through college --- even making The National Poetry Review  at one point.  But somewhere along the way, I just sort of stopped writing. Last week, my therapist gave me a copy of The Artist's Way  by Julia Cameron to leaf through.  I had had a copy when I was going through my SARK /self-help book extravaganza after Dale died, but, like almost all those titles, I gave/threw it away. The book guides you through a 12-week "path" to opening, or re-opening...

I don't make New Year's Resolutions.  I've never had a life Plan, Five-Year or otherwise.  My life has always just sort of happened.  Not entirely, of course --- I did set my cap and my jaw for a few things along the way.  But mostly, I've just dealt with each day as best I could. Still, I find myself looking back over this month as it ends and being proud of keeping some promises I made to myself.  I continued with the Alphabetical Authors run, knocking out "R," "S," "T," and beginning "U." And, I took myself out of town.  For the last couple of years, I've been aching to travel.  Big, airplane-y, meet people I only know online travel.  But, still unemployed, Travel has to be smaller, smarter.  One place a month.  The bed and breakfast I began with was ideal, and a wondrous start that made me want to keep going all year.  In fact, my February destination may already be chosen. But that's for another month. ...

Lorette, The Knitting Doctor , told me to give my confounded shrug one more go, then ditch it and move on.  That's just what I'm doing, and, so far, so good. Very cold here today, but no ice or snow.  Grave disappointment. Since it was such a freezing, grey day, and since I'm still trying to stay out of harm's way in the house, I've spent all day in my room, knitting, reading, watching movies.  I think the last time the Alphabetical Authors project was brought up, I was on "Q" --- Daniel Quinn's My Ishmael.   "R" was Lisa Rogak's Dogs of Courage.   "S" was Cain , by my beloved Jose Saramago.  It's a slim book, yes, but I read it in one sitting.  Saramago's stories and his words transport me.  This time, it was no different. Right now, I'm reading Boots On the Ground By Dusk , by Mary Tillman.  Her son, Pat, a former NFL player, joined the Army Rangers after 9/11 and was killed by friendly fire.  Only it took t...

New favorite book.   Wish I weren't working on two things already. A couple more Christmas pictures: The traditional top-of-the-stairs-before-opening-presents photo. Hannah wasn't having any luck explaining Christmas to Klunk, so she turned the job over to the big brothers.  (Note Klunk's Fair Isle turtleneck.) GET IT? Finn's favorite toy.  He has scarcely let go of it, save for an adventure or two with the "baked potato" on the left.