hand eye crafts

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.

I'm good in a crisis.  In times of extreme emotion, I have the willingness and the ability to keep people calm, to do the things that need to be done. My problem is, once the crisis has passed, I collapse.  Emotionally and  physically.  Depending on the type of crisis, it will usually be more one than the other, but I rarely emerge from a period of intensity without some sort of suffering. Today, for instance, I have a pounding  headache.  This after the beach trip followed by a weekend of Hannah being at home, which always --- ALWAYS --- includes a cataclysmic fight between her and Briton.   All that to say this: my nervous breakdown/extreme depression, when one stops to think about it, follows a number of crises/trying times: Dale's death/raising Briton and Hannah Daddy's death Mama's declining health and death Losing my job/dire financial straits. I go all the way back to Dale's death because, yes, he died 14 years ago, but the crisis ran throug...

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...

I do not drink coffee.  Yet coffee houses are, generally, places that I like.  Ironically, my two favorites (one old, one new) both have canine-inspired names.  There's Fido , near Vandy, in Nashville (the old) and Lost Dog Cafe , (the new), in Folly Beach.  (Although, I got the best white hot chocolate ever from Black Magic Coffee in Folly Beach.) I do not remember ever having been to Charleston.  After going yesterday, I know I would  remember, as it is so pretty.  (At least the parts of town I drove through.)  Just for an example, look at the stunning Charleston Bridge: The reason I went into Charleston was knit.   An internet search had shown 3 yarn shops within easy driving distance of Folly Beach --- one which sounded more like a needlepoint store, two which were definitely knitting-heavy.  Knit. was the nearer, so I stopped on my way back.  And, OH. . .  Just OH.  It was a fantastic find, if only for the ...

I saw two things I'd never seen before: In South Carolina, female  prisoners on highway-side trash pick-up and in Georgia, a turkey in flight.  Right in front of my car.

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...