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...

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...

My self-promise to take myself on a trip each month has begun a scant 20 minutes from Athens, at a Bed and Breakfast. Only for two nights, but away, and comfortable, and, perhaps most indulgently: a noise machine that can make it sound like I'm by the ocean.  ABSOLUTE HEAVEN. This is the room I'm in: However, I'm the only guest in the house, so I've wandered around and looked at all the rooms.  Already picked out the one I want when/if I come back. The bed is so, so comfortable --- I've knit in the parlor and read on one of the porches --- I've taken as much advantage of being alone while meeting my three goals: napping, knitting, reading.  It's been a good couple of days.

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...

Upon completing Until Tuesday  this morning, I am now exactly halfway through my Authors' Alphabet. The book was touching and funny, as expected, but also rankling, as the author described the treatment of troops by the Bush White House both during and after their deployments to Iraq and Afghanistan.   My next book may be a sort of cheat, as there are two authors.  But, the lead writer's last name begins with "N," so I'm forging ahead with Abraham Lincoln: The Observations of John Nicolay and John Hay. Knitting continues apace.  The third Wingspan was much, much shorter than I wanted, and anticipated: It is also decidedly none  of the colors shown in this photo, save the gold.  It is a deep, rich plum and a velvety maroon and an emerald green.  So much for natural light. . .  Also made this top-down shrug out of some pale pink tweed worsted: Too small for me, I'm afraid.  Suppose it will go up on etsy. Still awfully, ...

After starting with what, to my mind at least, was great success, my Alphabetical Authors Reading Project sort of fell off a cliff.   When last we spoke of this, "K" was the letter, and Mike Kim's Escaping North Korea  was on the nightstand.  It was a difficult, harrowing read --- well written, but so tough.  The kind of book that you put down not wanting to pick up again, but knowing that you will.  Because, while you can't believe that human beings can be that cruel and vile to one another, you also can't believe that human beings can withstand so much and never lose an ounce of dignity or hope. So, "L" has come up.  And I'm going to sort of cheat this time, by reading a book I've read before.  (Which, with the exceptions of Charlotte's Web  and To Kill A Mockingbird , I never do.)  It will be Yeah, I know.  It's been a while since we've seen him, talked about him. . .  But good crushes die hard.

It isn't that things aren't happening in my life right now, because they are.  But there isn't anything really lyrical or poetic about them, so I don't write. Having Hannah here has made me appreciate living alone.  I ADORE Hannah --- would do, go, say anything/anywhere for her.  But her things are all over the house.  And we seem to always want the big TV at the same time.  And when she watches a movie, she doesn't (usually) want me in the room with her. I get so lonely sometimes here by myself, but I also get very protective of my time when I'm used to it being my own, and it suddenly isn't. My reading pace has fallen off a cliff.  I got through Lloyd Jones' Mr. Pip  in a breeze;  it is easily the best of the novels I've read so far.  I'm back to non-fiction now for "K": Mike Kim's Escaping North Korea .  Scary, scary stuff. Knitting is hit or miss.  I've begun and then ripped out at least a dozen things because t...

Got out and ran errands early this morning so that I could get back and watch The Masters coverage.  I drove through Augusta on my way to Folly Beach;  a beautiful place.  I think I went through when all the flowers and shrubbery were at their blooming peak, as it has been so warm around here.  It certainly looks more green than accented with bright colors on TV. (Some golfers appeal more than others.) Now knitting on 5 different things, as I have been assured a spot in a local artists' market in May.  My request went in months  ago, and I pretty much thought they'd decided against me when I never got a response back. Then, all of a sudden, I get an e-mail this week asking if I still wanted them to hold a place for me.  Gotta get busy. Wrapped up A Prayer for Owen Meany  a couple of days ago.  Tearful ending, but a bit of a slog to get there.  "J" is Mister Pip  by Lloyd Jones.  I can already tell it's going to fly by compar...

Doesn't Yoda look just darling in my Lacey ruffled scarf?   A closer look at the color and ruffles: Today has been a relax on the couch, knit, read, watch movies sort of day.  I never wanted for company, either  --- Madeleine, Finn and Finn's Hound were particularly constant companions.

Which means I've begun my next book, worked a lot on a new knit jacket. I'm also waiting for my son's girlfriend, as we have a date to go yarn shopping, then probably have a bite to eat, and come back here to knit/crochet. What's up with you?

Hebetude.  Lassitude.  They've all settled in at Chez Dean, and the animals and I are helpless to take up arms against them.  We're all just rather lying about, shuffling from room to room only when absolutely necessary. And yet, despite the torpor, I finished the other "beach" sock, wrapped up a Noro scarf I had also been working on at the beach, and finished Gentlemen and Players  (which contained quite a twist, let me tell you.)  I'll be casting on a dishcloth at some point today, and have already begun the "I" book: John Irving's A Prayer for Owen Meany , which I began once, but did not finish.

Yesterday would have been my mother's 83rd birthday.  How hard it was not to shop for "just a card" (what she inevitably told me she wanted each year) and not reach for the phone to make the Happy Birthday call. Finished the sock I began at the beach: Just a fluke, really, that that was the sock yarn in my bag, but the turquoise and lime and pink are very beachy colors.  Working on the second one now. Up to "H" on my Reading Alphabet.  Quick update for those of you scoring at home: "A" --- Eight White Nights  by Andre Aciman "B" --- Keeping the House  by Ellen Baker "C" --- Scent of the Missing  by Susannah Charleson "D" --- Falling Man  by Don DeLillo "E" --- War Journal  by Richard Engel "F" --- The Fry Chronicles  by Stephen Fry "G" --- All I Did Was Ask  by Terry Gross "H" --- Gentlemen and Players  by Joanne Harris And, yes, "I" has been chosen. Made hotel reservat...

It would be hard to overstate what these four days here have meant to my mental health.  I cannot remember the last time I was this relaxed, unharried, dare I say it, happy .  I've walked and walked and thought and prayed and meditated and just been still and listened to the water. The realization that tomorrow I have to go back to Athens starts a churning in my stomach, and all my pills immediately imprint on my brain.  While here, I've had to force  myself to take them.  I'm recording little slivers of videos to have when I get back, so that, 30 or so seconds at a time, I can be back here again. What I may need, this experience tells me, is to travel.  With what money Mama left me, I can take the occasional little outing.  And, honestly, into the marrow of my spine, I am certain I ought to buy myself a house on a beach. Some of what I've done here, I'll do when I'm back in Athens.  I've knit a lot.  I've read a lot.  But I've also g...

I am in Folly Beach, SC.  The pier you see on the right above is the same one that was on the left of the photo in the last entry.  As you may be able to tell, it is a cloudy, gray, rainy day, but that didn't keep me from taking a walk on the sand already.  Found several lovely shells and 2 feathers.  Feathers are practically sacred to me, so to find them my first day here, I take as a sign that I should be here after all.  That and the fact that my room number is a series of my lucky numbers. The drive wasn't too bad.  About 5 hours.  The GPS directions diverged from my written Mapquest ones quite noticeably;  I don't know which would have been faster or easier, or which I'll use going back. The hotel and the strip leading up to it are awash with people.  AWASH.  Who knew Folly Beach was a Spring Break destination?  I suppose anything ending in "Beach" qualifies.  Though I don't want to deprive myself of any local color, or ...

Several weeks ago, my therapist "assigned" me the task of leaving the house every day.  It was to at least get me out of bed and showered and interacting with someone --- however briefly --- instead of staying secluded day after day after day. I must admit, it's difficult to find places to go every day.  I'm not much of a window shopper, and there aren't that many no-money-required spots around here.  I will also admit that I haven't gone somewhere each day.  But I'm sort of making up for it with a trip to a beach next week.  After over a year of pinching and squeezing pennies, the insurance money from Mama's life policy has given me some breathing room.  And I'm being wholly, entirely selfish by giving myself a 4-day vacation.  It may be wasteful and reckless, but I am looking forward to it and counting on it making a difference mental-health-wise. Otherwise, I've had one more drug added to my regimen, and my psychiatrist and I have begun di...

1.  Why does ribbing take so blasted long to finish? 2.  And why do designers call for twisted rib, when you can rarely tell the difference anyway?` 3.  My girl crushes are Olivia Wilde, Sara Hess, Rachel Maddow and Rashida Jones. 4.  Why is the saying that money doesn't grow on trees?  Why not stalks?  Or stems?  Or directly out of the ground? 5.  I should start a list of the song that are in my head when I wake up each day.  Thursday, it was "Wanted, Dead or Alive."  Yesterday, "Another Saturday Night."  Today, "Horse With No Name." 6.  Still, if I have a free moment and don't have anything pressing to do, I think, "I'll call Mama." 7.  Knitting is still a chore --- I'll start a project, think things are going fine, and then find a mistake serious enough that makes me want to unravel the whole thing.  And start something else. 8.  Repeat #7. 9.  The only thing I've finished in several months is a simp...

Glad to know I'm not being a fuddy-duddy about Vogue Knitting .  It seems others out there are also put off by the density of patterns and photos.  Do you think there's any chance they'll change for the simpler? Nah. Finished Falling Man  Tuesday.  I don't know anything about Don DeLillo;  this is the first book I've read by him.  I found it hard to follow.  Speakers weren't always identified, which is a problem in a book written mostly in conversation.  The clearest passages were the ones about the terrorists, making them the easiest to read and follow. What's next?  (I know this Alphabetical Program of mine is prime dinner table conversation.  "Primaries?   Primaries?   Who cares about the stupid primaries --- the real question is what "E" author is Kim going to pick?")  Well, here you are: A favorite reporter and a return to non-fiction.  I already have "F" chosen, and know what I would like to read for "G," i...

My next book.  I have to say I was a wee bit disappointed with the book about the search and rescue dogs.  Not that I didn't enjoy it, but it was mostly about the handler getting and training her dog, rather than stories about actual searches.  There was, though, a chapter on the search for remnants of Columbia , which was shudder- and tear-inducing. "D" is also for "Dog-induced Disaster."  There are 5 cats in this house, and who causes this headache-producing mess? I've been sitting here for an hour at least, trying to calmly work all the knots and tangles out.  I've given up. If the cardigan I'm making with this yarn comes up this much yarn short, well --- I did all I could do.