My Country 'Tis of Thee

Do you remember when you learned that song as a kid? I do...I sang "My Country Tizzovthee" with no clue what it meant, and I bet you did too. But as I got older, I understood the words, and the sentiment behind them.


I'm an unashamed patriot. I get choked up whenI hear our national anthem, and always have. Makes it tough when the DH and I do the announcing for the local high school football games! Living abroad as an Air Force pilot's wife just reinforced that, while it also gave me a perspective not everyone in the USA is able to obtain, seeing my country through the prism of a foreign eye. I remember after my eldest daughter was born, we went to our embassy in London to get her passport. I rounded the corner into the square where the embassy is located, and saw the huge Bald Eagle over the entry, and our flag, and tears filled my eyes. Of course, she was only a few weeks old so hormones were still askew, but I'm pretty sure it was mostly patriotism. :-)

And you know what? I bet you're a patriot too, whatever your country is. Good for you if you're a functioning, voting member of your society...you have a right to be proud. Which is why I get so angry when I hear people disparaging another's patriotism just because their political beliefs aren't in lockstep with one another.

One side says that you aren't a patriot if you don't support war. Another says you aren't a patriot if you send wo/men off to be killed for another country. I say both sides love their country, and just have different feelings about what that means.

Democrats say Republicans aren't patriotic because they don't want to take care of people. Republicans say Democrats aren't patriotic because they want big government and take choice away from people. I say both sides are patriots and want to do their best, I just agree with one over the other!

So this week when a vicious attack piece against one of the Presidential candidates was posted on one of the knitting lists I moderate, I shut the discussion down immediately and put the poster on moderation, something I do as a second-to-last resort. Not to stifle their freedom of speech, but to prevent a flame war on a forum that has nothing to do with politics. To MY mind - the only one that matters for the sake of this blog! - slandering/libeling a candidate because you disagree with them? Now that is unpatriotic. Tearing down our political process for your own hate-mongering? Unpatriotic. Smearing someone who is willing to serve our country in a largely thankless job that's underpaid and overstressed? Unpatriotic. And I don't care which candidate you treat this way, or what nobles lies you tell yourself to rationalize doing it...you are no patriot.

In this country, in any democracy, we give people a chance to speak, to believe and to act freely until that freedom impinges on the rights of others. To quote Voltaire (later also used by Jefferson) "I disapprove of what you say,but I will defend to the death your right to say it." So people have the right to spread lies and attempt to ruin reputations until it becomes actionable under law. That's the price we pay for living freely. But those of the world who force us to pay that price, to listen to their foulness, do not have the right to wrap themselves in our beautiful flag to do it.

Any person who tried to diminish another human being, for reasons of race, religion or politics...yeah, you got it. Not a patriot. Also not much of a person, in my book.

And after all, this IS my book.

Roped In

I've been quiet because my brain is too fried at the end of the day to give this blog the snarkiness it deserves. I just don't have it. We are doing a LOT of senior pictures, and praise be, the parents are ordering. Some of them big...and that means a lot of work for me. Say a kid is lucky in the complexion department - and let me tell you, at the age of 16 or 17, most aren't that lucky - and say they only have five zits. They order a four pose package, but pay to add a couple poses. They also order an eight picture folio, and a CD with 16 images...and only maybe four or five of the images for each overlap. Well, you do the math on how many blinkin' times I have to clear out those same zits. Wouldn't your brain fry too?

So to maintain what little semblance I have of what I laughingly call sanity, I've been knitting. Multiple things, but very little on my Orkney Pi. I just don't have the cajones for lace right now. What have I been working on, I hear you ask? How kind of you to take an interest.

First, some socks. Only my second pair, made out of Trekking in the Queen Kahuna toe-up on two circs method. Loving these, but I have about 2/3rds of the cuff to go.


Don't you love the color? Since I couldn't care less about these 'matching', I'm just working from both ends of the same ball.

Next is my emergency car knitting. This is the Irish Hiking Scarf, a freebie if you Google for it, and I'm doing it in the Rowan Tapestry I bought from Pat Kirkland at the RT&OF 1st Annual Hoot 'n Holler. Utterly yummy stuff that I'd recommend highly. Very soft but keeps definition.

This will probably be for my beloved Uncle Harry, who has gorgeous blue eyes, and who surprised me at my family reunion last week with a studio warming gift of a double frame set, mounted in a free stand with pivots on each frame. Means the world to me, especially since my grandfather originally harvested the wood from my grandmother's family farm. He knows nada about this, so I'm not under any gun. Oh, and I added a fourth cable for those of you who know the pattern.

Continuing my obsession lately with nice ropey cables, I had to cast on a sweater, my first real attempt at something other than a straight blocky no-sleeve dealy-job. LOL Melanie from Pink Lemon Twist recommended a book called A Fine Fleece, saying that it was a rare book in that she would happily knit most of the sweaters in it. I took a peek, agreed, and bought it. Very classic sweaters that will never go out of style, shown in both handspun and equivalent commercial yarns. I fell utterly in love with a sweater called "Gaelic Mist" - not much of a surprise given my love of all things Celtic. It kept calling to me, and insisted I needed to pull out the Cestari DK 3 ply I'd bought at MDSW (Maryland Sheep and Wool for the uninitiated...and don't ask about the initiation. It involves Elaine, lots of sheep and a Sherpa). I got it in a forest green to match my eyes :::batting same::: and really love it. My swatch was perfectly to gauge, and I cast on both sleeves at once.

I'm THRILLED with this and how it's working up. A bit more VM than you'd expect, but nothing unwieldy, and oh, how lovely the cables are. Yes, I flubbed a couple a bit but you don't have to wear it so shut up about it. I, perfectionist that I am, can live with it and so can you. I've done this much in just about a week....a very busy week...so that's good too. I'm above the elbow now.

The green is a bit lighter than actuality in this photo. The cables repeat like this at the base of the sweater, causing a bit of a natural shaping and peplum effect. Hide a multitude of sins, it will, and I've got 'em to hide. Here's a detail of the cable - yes, one that's exactly right:

I don't mind being tied up if it's for cables like these! Or for the DH, but that's another story. ;->

Epiphany

The third definition of epiphany in the online dictionary I consulted is:

"a sudden, intuitive perception of or insight into the reality or essential meaning of something, usually initiated by some simple, homely, or commonplace occurrence or experience."

Yeah, dat. I had one yesterday, and I thought I'd share.

First, I've had a just a few true epiphanies in my life. The first time, I'd screwed up pretty well, embarrassing myself and people I cared about. You don't need details (I know you want them, but tough, this isn't True Confessions), yet it definitely was a humbling experience, which I pretty damn well needed.

The second real epiphany came during my first marriage, and it was two-fold. My beloved grandmother had died, and my grandfather was mourning his wife of 55 years. I realized that my then-husband, who had no respect and probably no love for me either, wouldn't mourn if I died. He would be relieved. That opened my eyes enough to start to stand up to his belittling with what to me became a magic mantra..."You saying it doesn't make it so."

Do you see the sheer power of that? After years of being told how worthless I was, I finally rejected being so reduced by his words by the infinite power of my will. Just because this man said it, didn't make it true. The strength of that finally got me out of a lousy marriage that had me continually walking on eggshells.

The next epiphany came when I was dating the DH. Not too surprisingly, I was a pretty defensive person. I've always been an infighter, and that's okay. But it's not okay to assume everyone is out to hurt me, and to build very high walls based on that. Finally, one day after I had jumped in his stuff for imagining he was insulting me, the then BF said he couldn't be with someone so negative. That he never wanted to hurt me, never intended to hurt me or anyone, for that matter, and my always responding to everything the wrong way was painful to him. I knew if I couldn't overcome this sad character flaw, a vestige of the abusive men in my life, I would lose the best thing that ever happened to me. Well, he's the DH, so you know how that ends. :-)

Which brings me to yesterday's epiphany. I was working on sorting out three separate orders from the lab that had come in at once, and was confusing myself. We had a LOT of orders to process last week...thanks St. Veronica! (No, I'm not Catholic, but she's the patron saint of photographers, and I'll take whatever help I can get)... so it was easy to get turned around on what was still out and what had come in.

I found myself saying out loud what that heinous little voice in my head was saying..."Oh, for pity sake, Diana, grow a brain!" or something like that. And the saying it out loud stopped me dead in my tracks.

We all have that little voice. Along with the music always going through my head, there's a running commentary. Sometimes it has my mother's voice, the voice that never yells but tells me I've disappointed it. Mom was great at the skillful manipulation of emotions. Sometimes it's the ex...usually when I've made the serious error of looking at my nude self in the mirror...telling me how fat and sloppy I am. Occasionally, it's a more cheerful voice, which is usually the DH. But most often, it's my own voice. And I scold me. Shamefully, terribly, unendingly. Apparently, very little I do is good enough for me.

So the epiphany? I realized that if another family member, or a friend, had the temerity to speak to me like that, I'd rip off their lips and make them kiss their own ass! So why in the name of all that's holy do I allow ME to do it to myself? I know better. I do. I know garbage in, garbage out. I've listened to the Power of Positive Thinking and found much of the logic in it to be sound. I know I feel better when I think good thoughts. So why am I denigrating myself from within?

The first step in the changes I've spoken of, you, my gentle, intelligent readers (both of you), will have noticed is the insight part of the definition of epiphany. Once we can see, we can change. So, my little voice, you are now on notice. I'm listening with the front part of my mind, and I'm on to you. I will not let you talk to me in a way I wouldn't permit from anyone else. I will change.

One day at a time.

Powdering My Nose

I'd like to take you on a little journey with me. We're going to the land of euphemisms, which by the way is a mini-tribute to one of my heroes, George Carlin. He enhanced my love of language in all its glory and its failings.

These euphemisms are probably only exceeded by the ones for death. We're visiting the ladies room, the W.C., the loo, the restroom, going to powder our noses, the little girl's (or insert occupation) room, to spend a penny, Damas/Sheilas/Chicks (depending on the theme of your restaurant), or the bathroom although it holds no bath. Frankly, my dear, we're headed for the public toilet. Even that's fun, because let's face it, this is not something you do for the public's entertainment, but it merely indicates that anyone may void themselves there IF they are the right sex to pass through the door.

Okay, yes, I've entered a men's room. I was desperate, it was a one-person facility, and you all won't tell on me, right? I've also, in my distant youth which seems more distant daily - but then it would, wouldn't it? - cleaned a men's room, and exercise in humility THAT is. BTW, much of what they do is open to the male public, but stern macho rules dictate thou shalt not peek at another's pecker. More euphemisms.

But our point today is a visit to the women's side of things, more precisely, the women's side of things once it is built. I open to your perusal my theory that there is not a women's toilet facility that I have been in in multiple countries that was designed by a woman.

"Oh, surely you jest!" I hear you cry. I do not jest, and don't call me Shirley. (rim shot) Let's pay our little visit and see if you don't agree.

First, you push through a door you need to be able to bench press 95 lbs. to move, just to be slapped in the face with blistering heat or freezing cold, depending on the time of year. If it's summer, there goes your makeup...and men wonder what takes us so long. If winter, well, there are parts of my body that I must expose that are deeply resentful of me baring them to the elements. You rush into a stall, praying the former occupant has been tidy (okay, not a man's fault, but geez, ladies! I'm just sayin'!) and turn to close and hopefully lock the door.

To what end, I know not. The stall door has a huge credibility gap between it and the divider walls. Anyone wishing to can see right in. And then there's the huge under-the-door space. God forbid you didn't wear your best underwear, because if you really need to drop 'em to do what you need to do, everyone will be noticing you wore your holier-than-Sunday drawers.

You complete your action(s), and reach for the paper. Assuming there is some, it's usually locked behind the secondary section of the dispenser, and moving those is akin to Sisyphus pushing his rock up a hill...it keeps snapping back. You finally get a few flimsy squares, and try to adjust your position to use it. BAM! Your knees slam into a) the sanitary disposal unit, b) the paper dispenser or c) both. What idiot thinks it's a good idea to place these right at seat level about a foot in front of your throne? Only a man who's never dealt with those sharp metal corners gashing his beefy thighs, that's who.

Wincing and biting back unladylike comments in case children are present, you go to wash your hands. The soap dispensers are mounted at the back of the sink, which cuts into your pelvis or stomach as you reach heroically for the skin-drying crud they provide. You look down to find that you would appear to have had an accident before reaching the toilet, because the sink is, of course, wet everywhere. You wash your hands like mother taught you, and look for the towels/hot air. They're almost always several steps away, leaving you dripping on the tile floor for others to break their necks. You reach them, and realize you have to reach UP to use them. Water runs down your arms inside your sleeves. So much for drying off!

You attempt to adjust your clothing and makeup in the appalling fluorescent overhead lighting that makes you look like you just joined Dracula's harem, and give it up as a lost cause. Turning, you realize that the same stupidly designed door stinks for leaving, too. You just washed your hands, and now you have to grasp a door handle and yank on it, knowing full well that it's crawling with germs.

I dream about a restroom designed by a woman...you could really rest there. Several cozy chairs in front of a softly lit makeup mirror. Stalls with doors that show no more than your shoes, and lock securely. Sanitary disposal units behind the seat level. Soap dispensers mounted at the front of the no-splash sinks and towels/dryers below elbow level. Proper climate controls, and air freshening.

You may say I'm a dreamer. But I am willing to bet - I'm not the only one.

Code of Conduct

My new skew on living...

"Live your life in such a way that when your feet hit the floor in the morning, Satan shudders & says...'Oh shit...she's awake!!' "

I shall ignore all those who say this is nothing new.

Sweet 'n Sour

I'm a pretty firm believer that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Eastern Philosophy calls it yin and yang. So I'm never surprised when something good is balanced by what Stephen King refers to as a "swift rush of sh*t to the heart."


The sweet - I told you about the lovely prayer shawl my friend and recent house guest, Kristina, made as a gift for me. She knit it as she knew my father-in-law was passing, planning to bring it as a hostess gift. For those of you who knit, it's Alix's Prayer shawl, with Kristina's modification of the edging. I thought you should see such a wonderful gift, so I turned to a guy I know who slings a pretty mean camera. First, the full shawl.

Then the detail at the tip where you can see some beading. Isn't it elegant?

I feel very lucky to have such a generous friend.

Then the sour - we do a lot of sports team work. One of the items we offer are really nice trading cards. These look very much like the real thing you get for pro players. A bit pricey, but they cost us a good bit more than some other things we carry.

So today we get a voice mail from a man complaining that his son's cards only have the kid's name and team...no coach name, no height, etc. Our receptionist gets the message, and being a resourceful woman, she pulls the order envelope before bringing it all to me. Lo and behold, the dad hadn't filled out the section of the form that tells us what to put on the trading cards. We always try to call, but if we don't get an answer, either immediately or to a message we leave, well, we have to get the order off.

He had left two numbers, and I called the first, which was also on the envelope. I got THE WIFE. I tell her, very simply, I'm sorry, but they didn't get other stuff on their cards, because they didn't provide that information. She instantly got belligerent with me, demanding replacements. Um, no...the order form clearly states that they are responsible for filling it out, and we're not at fault here.

Now, understand, I am the bulldog in the business. The DH very sweetly tells me not to deal with upset clients. He knows I can deal with anyone being reasonable, but that I have this very odd expectation that people will behave logically and courteously. When they don't, they can pretty much count on not getting around me. They just won't. I own terriers for a reason.

Doofette tells me that if I won't give her replacements, she wants a refund. Nope, not our error, we're not refunding money on a personalized product...and let's face it, if it's a picture, it has to be a personalized item, doesn't it? Then she tells me we didn't call. We did, I inform her, perhaps having children in the house, one of them got the message? She quickly called me a liar in all but the word. She tells me they've bought pictures from us for years, and I should therefore show more courtesy and have called them.

Oh, really? You've been filling this same form out for years and you still #*($^# it up? Why not just tell me your IQ is 60???? and lady, we DID call. She says her cards had a misspelling last year, and we replaced those. Of course we did, I said, it was our error. This year it is their error, so who do they think should be responsible for that?

Now she's not even letting me get a full sentence out, and boy, is she yelling. If we did call, says she, we should have kept trying. I point out that with literally thousands of orders, we cannot keep calling day after day to try to pin a parent down who didn't fill it out correctly. I also mention some parents don't fill it out because they either don't know, or don't wish to list things like height and weight. "I can't believe that!" she says, implying yet again that I'm lying. Naturally, this makes me ever so much more willing to roll over and play dead for her. Not. She follows this up with telling me I should have pulled his brother's envelope to get more info, in case it was filled in (she apparently doesn't know!). I point out that with thousands of kids, I have no way of knowing if the kid has a sibling, and that his stats wouldn't be the same anyway. Duh.

Of course, I know she's really mad at the husband, who filled this out, and thinks his mistake should be subsidized by us. Oddly enough, I don't agree. Buy a clue. They're on sale at Wally World. Doofette tells me the cards are way more expensive than anyone else charges. Possibly so...they're also nicer. If she felt they were too expensive, I comment, I'm surprised she ordered them.

Unable to answer that, she then threatens to go to the boards of every league we're on and badmouth us, informing me that she "has a lot of pull." So do we, I respond, given that we donate back a substantial portion of our earnings from the league to them as a fundraiser! She orders me to call her husband's cell phone, "As his message told you to to begin with." No, he gave us TWO numbers and I called the first one he listed. If he wants to talk to me, he may call me, I tell her, as we're obviously getting nowhere and I have work to do. She says the envelope probably was filled out, and I tell her she is welcome to come in and take a look. I then politely say goodbye, and hang up.

There's a full moon tomorrow night. I say no fair on her getting a head start.

Barrel of Crafters

The first annual Rustic Tarts & Old Farts Hoot 'n Holler took place this Sunday, and if I do say so myself as hostess, it was a blast. Our friend Kristina (BeadNTat in the blog list) came up Wednesday from East TN, and stayed till today. She brought me a stunning shawl in my favorite purple that she had knit and beaded for me. To say I was overwhelmed is an understatement. Friday we celebrated DH's dinner at our favorite Chinese restaurant, then Saturday, the crafting fun began.

Saturday was World Wide Knit In Public day. Several people were coming in early for RT&OF, and we met up at Cracker Barrel for dinner. Both before and after the meal, we sat in the rockers out front and knit away, much to the interest of passers-by. We chatted until we were about out of light, and went our separate ways until the next afternoon.

Sunday morning brought the advent of one of my favorite people, Elaine, and her wonderful DH, Ken. Elaine had generously brought me some of her angora/wool blend rovings...absolutely scrumptious! Since I was taking my Louet Victoria to the Hoot 'n Holler, I packed the roving up to go with us. We piled stuff into the cars and headed to the studio to set up.

Our front porch is very shady, but we set up a canopy over it all to make sure people would stay comfortable, and added a fan to the mix. We lucked out with a gorgeous day and low humidity. Folks, food and fiberous things began arriving. Elaine and I were spinning, others were knitting, and Betsy showed us some sprang and naalbinding; wish I'd had more time to watch! The incomparable MMario was there, showing us several of his designed shawls. The Artemis he designed at my nag -um, gentle suggestion - is simply glorious. I actually gasped when I unfurled it. Many Orkney Pi shawls were there, and Eugenia (who brought her darling friend Jane) had one of her own designs that was so comfy looking. Mary, who brought her DH Martin, had just finished MMario's QAL that is famous across the Web. The lovely work of Cathy and Noreen made the rounds and I appreciated just how far I have yet to go in knitting.

And then Pat arrived, fresh from TNNA and with sugar-free chocolate, and let us swarm all over her van like she was the Queen Bee and it was our new hive. :-) I walked away with some semi-clear clogs to show off hand-knit socks, four balls of Rowan Tapestry (any recommendations for a pattern?) and some Trekking and Noro sock yarns. Oh, the yummy-ness! I am pretty sure I heard the unmistakable sounds of yarngasms, and I tried not to look too closely. Knitter's etiquette, doncha know.

Speaking of yummy, we had quite a feast for the potluck too. I won't be ashamed to admit that I had seconds of Mary's Citrus Salsa, and Betsy's Banana Trifle. I even got to do a wee bit of singing with MMario, and I was in my element. Okay, I probably don't match the skills of those he's accustomed to singing with, but I had fun.

In fact, I think we all did. What was supposed to be a 1-6 event lasted to almost 9, and I was delighted to have it so. This will be an annual event, but so as not to collide with Father's Day (what day isn't???), it will be the first Sunday in June from now on.

Now here is where I should insert photos...took place at a photo studio, with professionals in attendence - and we didn't take a single shot. Not one. Zip. Too busy playing host, I guess. Yeah, dat's it.

I'm so embarrassed.