I don't think I'm going to add the other colors to this because I like it as it is. I don't want anything that's knock-your-eyeballs-out bright because I'll never wear it. This I will wear. I'll be adding in more of the gray color of the color in the striped part too. These pictures are a little too dark because it was cloudy yesterday when I took them.
Working on the poncho yesterday, the Cap was taking pictures.
The Captain says this is the best fudge he's ever had. It has a smooth texture. The cherry flavor is very mild, which surprised me. I'd add the whole 5-oz bag of dried cherries next time (there wasn't that many left in the bag anyway). I used white chocolate chips and Ghirardelli 60% Cocoa Bittersweet Chocolate Baking Chips.
Cherry Fudge with Dark Chocolate
2 1/2 cups White Chocolate
7 oz. jar Marshmallow Cream
3/4 cup Butter ( 1 1/2 sticks)
1 cup Sugar
3/4 cup Heavy Cream
Pinch of Salt
1 Tbsp Cherry Flavored Gelatin Powder (Jello)
1/2 cup Dried Cherries
10 oz. Dark Chocolate, melted
1. Line a 9" x 9" pan with foil, leaving some hanging over edges for easy removal later. Spray with cooking spray (like Pam).
2. In a large saucepan, melt butter with sugar, cream, and a pinch of salt. Bring to a rolling boil over medium-high heat. Add cherry Jello powder, mix, and boil for 5 minutes; remove from heat.
3. Place white chocolate chips and marshmallow cream in a large bowl. Pour cooked mixture over all and mix well with a wooden spoon. At this point, my butter started separating after a bit, but it didn't affect the way the fudge turned out. Just mix as well as you can until the chips are melted. Work quickly as the mixture will start to set up. Pour mixture into your prepared pan and spread evenly. I used a paper towel to soak up any butter that separated and was pooling on top.
4. Melt dark chocolate in the microwave until smooth and pourable. Pour over cherry fudge mixture evenly. Refrigerate at least 4 hours.
The Captain made some crockpot chili, mostly to freeze in individual containers to take to work. We did sample it, and then we had some over omelets for breakfast. Yum!
I don't want to work on the poncho during the evenings when I'm in bed, so I started this doily last night while I accidentally watched three Kardashian shows in a row. That was just the channel my TV happened to be on when I turned it on, and I just never changed it. I'd work on this a while, read my Star Magazine a while, work on the doily a little more, eat some chips and have some tea, work on the doily some more, etc. This is as far as I got. The main body is an ecru or cream color. I think I'm going to love this one.
This little guy was specially-made for me, I think.
He's so adorable. GAH.
I've started a project with my new yarn. That's the collar that I had made yesterday afternoon with Hobby Lobby's ILTY. I got a few more rows done when I realized it was way too small. Why I didn't realize that from the beginning chain, I have no idea. I was just too excited and wasn't thinking. I printed out the pattern, and it was a little fuzzy so I misread the number of starting chains as 54 instead of 84. DUH.
So I started over late last night. Much better! (No picture yet though.) You've probably seen Lucy working on her cowl-neck poncho. She's about finished with hers, but I have only just started mine. I wasn't sure I wanted to make one, but now I am. It's a perfect use of my new Scheepjeswol Stone Washed yarn from Deramores. Don't you think? I think mine will look a lot different than the pattern since I'm using DK yarn (smaller stitches and more rows of colorful stripes mixed with the silvery-gray in-between, and I'm definitely making it longer with no fringe.) I'm a little excited about it.
Sam over at Betsy Makes has made a poncho using the cowl pattern, and she did a great tutorial over on her blog showing how to make the cowl neck part. She also has the pattern source listed there for you. Thanks, Sam! ♥
Look what arrived late yesterday afternoon, a full two weeks after I ordered it. I'm kind of glad I didn't wait on it to make my red doily. I like the color of the red I used better than this one for a Christmas doily. This one is more of a burgundy.
Here's another picture of Ollie laying on the glider on the porch yesterday. He must have been a little chilly and had his legs all tucked up under him. See the heart shape on his side in the butterscotch color? Yep, he's a sweetheart if I ever saw one. I love him so much it makes my heart feel too big for my chest.
I love the way the angels lit up from within from the flash.
It makes them look ethereal and mystical and beautiful.
They only did that in this one picture I took of them.
I think my REAL angels loved it and showed me so.
I have no idea why this one picture is showing up more pinkish than red. I couldn't fix it no matter what I tried! Beats me.
I threw it over a stool in my dining room for this picture.
Pattern: "Penny Lane" from the book Absolutely Gorgeous Doilies by Patricia Kristoffersen
Thread: Artiste #10 in Poppy Red
Hook: 1.75 mm
Size: 15.5 inches, blocked
Notes: This is the easiest PK doily I've made so far. There wasn't a bunch of special stitches or a lot of added texture on this one, which she is known for. I STILL HAVE NOT RECEIVED THAT THREAD ORDER FROM KNIT PICKS!!! I'm sending them an email. Boooooooo, Knit Picks!
I'm pretty sure it's a flower that's gonna bust out any day.
This is the tallest shoot, and it's awful thick at the top!
Is it a flower? Is it? What do you think?
Here they were back on December 2nd.
Can you believe how fast they come up?
I've added water at least every other day, sometimes every day.
They really suck it up.
On the RED doily front...I was just about to finish the next-to-last round last night and start the last one when I noticed an error in the prior round. It was a bad one. I tried to fudge it several different ways, but it just looked shitty. So, like the Paperwhites, sort of, I sucked it up and ripped out two rounds. I managed to get one round re-done before I stopped for the night. Today and tonight I will hopefully get those last two rounds finished and have a BIG RED Tah-Dah! for us all. I can't wait to see how it looks on my mantel.
All I have to say about the last few days is THANK YOU. I hope you're not worried that my blog is going to turn into a big whine-fest, look at me and how horrible my life was, feel sorry for me, love me, give me attention, wah, wah, wah. It's not. When all is said and done, I've had a pretty happy life, and I'm lucky and extremely grateful to be where I am today.
My skeleton closet was bursting at the seams, and I was unable to keep that door shut and locked for one more minute. Now that I've made some room in there -- and it's a big closet -- I am able to securely shut that door again and lock it up tight, and that's the way it's going to stay. Everything has escaped that needed to. The rest will stay where it's supposed to be.
Next year will be full of new beginnings, and we're very excited for what lies ahead!
If you haven't read my previous post, go read it before you read this one.
When I was 16, I got pregnant with a long-time boyfriend's child. (I say long-time, but really, how long could it be at 16 years old? It was less than two years.) Barely more than children ourselves, we were shocked and mortified. Neither of us had ever even considered pregnancy as a consequence of our actions. Why, I don't know. We were both above-average, smart kids. We struggled and suffered with the decision we had to soon make. We both knew if we were to marry and have the child, there was not a very good chance that we would have a happy, successful marriage and family. My boyfriend, Roger, was set on a 4-year college degree at the very least, and likely longer. He had big aspirations of being a successful, Wall Street stock market guy.
His parents were very different from mine. I didn't dare let my parents know what was happening. I'd rather die than have them know because I knew they would not have a reasonable reaction. They couldn't handle a little sass or a messy room without going completely insane, so I knew a pregnancy discussion was out of the question. So his parents knew what was happening and what our decision was to do about it. There was no screaming and yelling (or beating), just level-headed discussion about the situation we'd gotten ourselves into and what our options were. We made the decision to terminate the pregnancy. We both felt it was the right thing for us to do, and I still believe so today.
You know from reading my last post that I was the only child left in my parents' home. One day I was hiding behind the garage door when my father came home from work. I thought it hilariously funny to jump out and scare him as he walked in, and that was what I was planning to do that day. I heard his car come in the garage and was ready when he opened the door. I jumped from behind the door and yelled, expecting to scare the crap out of him and have a good laugh. Instead, he looked at me, his green eyes boring through me, and his expression was not a good one. I immediately knew something was terribly wrong. My mother was in the kitchen just a few feet away and in full view of both of us.
Daddy: "Sit down at the table, I want to talk to you. You too (speaking to my mother).
Oh, shit. (A girlfriend of mine knew what I was going to do and told her mother, who in turn told one of the deacons at our church, who in turn called my father and told him.)
Daddy: "I don't know how to ask this, so I'm just going to come right out with it. Are you pregnant?"
Me: I shook my head yes. I don't remember if I actually said yes verbally. I was in panic mode. All the blood was in my feet and my heart started pumping wildly. I look across the table at my mother and saw the look of horror on her face.
Momma: "After all we've taught you!" That's really what she said.
Me: "What are you talking about? You've never mentioned sex to me, EVER!"
My daddy got up from the table and walked about 30 feet away to the kitchen window.
Daddy: "Where were you when this happened?
Me: "Daddy, that doesn't matter."
Daddy: "You were a couple of pigs, rolling around in the back seat of a car!"
I can't give you anymore direct quotes from there. I don't remember exactly, but I do remember being called a "Whore" and a "Pig" by my father. I was asked by one of them what we were planning to do about it, and I told them of our plans to terminate the pregnancy.
Daddy: "I won't pay for it!"
Me: "I didn't ask you to pay for it. Roger is taking care of it. This has nothing to do with either you you. There was no reason for you to know any of it."
I don't remember any conversation after that. I just remember going to my room and shaking and crying and wondering if he was going to come and beat the shit out of me. I'm sure he felt like he couldn't with me in that condition, but I know he wanted to, badly. I have no doubt that's exactly what he wanted to do.
Later that night, I took a shower and tried to pull myself together. As I finished my shower and opened the bathroom door to go back into my room, my mother was standing directly in front of the door with that familiar look of anger on her face.
Momma: "How could you do this to your father! He's out there in the garage crying! I've never seen him cry like that before! You think you're a sexy little bitch, don't you, running around here in your short-shorts!"
I stopped listening at that point and pushed past her, went into my bedroom and closed the door. I hurriedly dressed, my hair still dripping wet from the shower, and grabbed $70 I had saved and hidden in my closet. I came out of my room and didn't see either of my parents, and I ran out the front door. And I ran and ran and ran.
I stopped at a complete stranger's house to ask if I could use the phone. A man answered the door and saw my disheveled look and tear-stained face. "Can I please use your phone to call someone to come get me?" He graciously agreed and asked me if I was okay and if there was anything he could do for me. I said I was okay and he led me to the phone. I called Roger's mother, and told her where I was and asked her if she would come and get me. She readily agreed. I left and hid on the porch of a nearby church and waited for her.
Long story short...I stayed at my boyfriend's house for three days until my 17th birthday. Thank God it was only three days away. I was afraid that my parents would force me to go to a girl's home and have the baby and give it up for adoption. That's what they wanted me to do, and they could have forced me to at 16 years old. But, in Texas, when you turn 17, you are considered an adult and can't be forced to do anything. I had called my parents during those three days to let them know I was okay. They asked me to come home, but I refused and told them why and that I would come home after my birthday.
That's what I did. I don't know why I remember that it was a Wednesday, but I do. I went home in the late morning hours and both of my parents were there waiting for me. I had no idea what to expect. They were both completely calm. I remember standing in the middle of the living room with both of my parents' arms around me, and me with mine wrapped around them.
Daddy: "This is the way it should be. We'll deal with it together as a family."
They asked me if I would agree to go to a well-known place in the Dallas area called Buckner's Childrens Home, an orphanage. They wanted me to agree to go speak to a counselor there about having the baby and giving it up for adoption. I thought it was a reasonable request and the least I could do was go listen. So I did. It did not changed my decision. I told my parents there was no way I could have a child and then give it up and never know what happens to it, and there was no way I wanted to have the child and keep it at 16 years old. I remember them not being happy about it, but I don't remember exactly what was said.
My mother ended up going with me the day of the procedure, along with Roger and his mother. My mother had told me my daddy didn't want her to go or have anything to do with it, but she wanted to go anyway and did. Neither of my parents ever spoke of it again.
My parents never went back to our church again. I always felt their concern was totally for themselves and their reputations. What would people think of THEM? What would people say about THEM? How did all of this reflect on THEM? They never considered the 16-year-old girl who was pregnant and scared out of her mind. I still swear that aspect never crossed their minds. Or maybe it did, but they didn't express it to me.
They forbade me to see Roger again, which I, of course, ignored and saw him anyway. There wasn't anything they could really do about it. I'm sure they knew that and several months later, they told me to bring Roger over to the house because they wanted to talk to us. He came over and they gave us the "wait until you're married" speech and allowed us to openly see each other again.
Less than a year later, we had broken up, graduated from high school, and I got a full-time job at Texas Instruments and moved out of my parents' house permanently. Less than a year after that, I was married to my first husband, who is the father of my two sons. We married about 6 weeks after meeting. My parents refused to give their blessing and did not attend the marriage ceremony at the Dallas County Courthouse on April 6, 1979. I was 18 years old.
This will be the last of posts such as this. Back to your regular programming. It felt good to write it all out.
So I had a little outburst earlier, eh? I stand by every word! Y'all know I don't talk that way very often, but occasionally I do let some f-bombs fly around here and let my temper get the best of me. I'm not apologizing for it at all, but I do recognize that it was said in anger, and I try not to post when I'm angry. It just doesn't work sometimes! You all know it isn't just because of the silly pattern thing, right? No? Well...
I come by it honestly. (That seems to be one of my favorite things to say lately.) I get it from my mother. I'm just like her in that regard. I have a mouth like a sailor and I'm not afraid to use it. We girls (I have two older sisters; no brothers) grew up with the anger and the yelling and the cussing and terrible name-calling by my mother. She'd have a look of serious disgust on her face as she yelled and screamed about inconsequential things. Maybe we didn't do the dishes to her liking, or we slept too late, or we chewed our gum the wrong way in church. In the case of not cleaning the kitchen to her liking, we were "lazy and half-assed everything." In the case of the gum-chewing, "I was watching you and you were chewing like and old cow chewing her cud." And it wasn't said to be funny. She was serious and completely disgusted. You'd swear she hated you in those moments. And the cuss words were her specialty. It was a regular thing around our house with her. She was always angry.
My father was not a screamer, a talker, or a cusser. He'd just beat the holy shit out of us, usually for something that didn't even involve him. It would be something my mother told him we did while he was at work, usually snapping back at her when we got tired of her screaming and demeaning and hurtful words. Or it would be that we dared to show emotion. Emotions were not allowed at our house, at least not for us girls. We couldn't show anger, or frustration, or even happiness at times. I can't tell you how many times we got repeatedly slapped in the head for giggling too much. We couldn't laugh at the dinner table without annoying one of my parents.
I remember one time my sister and I were in my sister's bedroom with the door closed playing. I was 10 years old and my sister was 14. This was the last time I remember my mother physically punishing me. She kept coming in the room and tell us to quit making noise and laughing. We were playing with a tape recorder and making silly recordings of ourselves giving the weather report like on the TV or the radio. We couldn't control ourselves from laughing. It's not like we were screaming or squealing or anything like that...just two little girls giggling and playing.
She finally burst into the room and starting swinging one of my dad's Air Force uniform belts wildly while she screamed at us for making too much noise. As she was hitting me, one end of the belt came loose from her grip and the belt buckle hit me on my bare thigh. She just kept on swinging. I had a big, bleeding, open gash on my leg along with the bruises left from her beating. That was the last time she "spanked" me -- that's what they called it -- and I use that term loosely. Make no mistake...they were beatings.
Neither of my parents EVER apologized for anything they did or said. It was all in the name of punishing us and giving us discipline. "Spare the rod and spoil the child" was an often quoted scripture. Yes, they were at church every time the doors opened professing to be Christians with their perfect little family.
I remember telling my daddy that we all feared him, and I told him this more than once. His response was always the same. "It's not fear. Its respect!." How wrong he was! It WAS fear. Fear of physical and verbal abuse.
My oldest sister, and the one who suffered most at the hands of my parents because she had a very strong personality and was unwilling to accept their treatment, left home at 17 years old before graduating from high school. She ended up graduating, she said because she knew my mom and dad didn't think she would do it and she wanted to prove them wrong. My oldest sister is 6 years older than me, so I never really knew her growing up. Mostly all I remember is her fights with my mother and the beatings she would endure once my father got home. I was 11 when she left home for the last time.
My other sister, who was the one I feel suffered the least at the hands of our parents (except for my mom's verbal abuse), also left home very soon after graduating at 18 years old. She married a guy she knew she didn't love and, within a few months, moved to Italy. (Her husband was in the Air Force.)
That left me at home as the only child beginning at 14 years of age. I was 15 or 16 years old the last time my daddy beat me with a belt. I pissed in my pants while he swung the belt. He beat me because I got mad because my mother told me I couldn't go to my girlfriend's house "just because she said so." I went into my room and slammed something down on a table and my father heard it. He burst into the room and started swinging that belt. I always thought he enjoyed it a little too much. I always felt he got something out of it...some kind of pleasure or feeling of control or dominance or something. He claims he was severely abused as a child by his father, and I don't doubt that, but you'd think he wouldn't want to duplicate that behavior with his own children, but he did. We never did anything serious enough to justify a beating like he doled out. What could be THAT bad? Maybe hurting a child or stealing from an old woman or getting arrested for something? That was never the case. It was always for "talking back" or not minding or leaving the house without permission -- nothing that warranted the beatings and shaming we received.
I also remember that after a lot of the beatings, my mother would come into my bedroom after a few hours with a glass of water and some aspirin for me to take to help with the pain. She'd act all remorseful, but she'd never outright say anything. Just the act of trying to help after the fact made her feel better, I guess. I have no idea. I always thought that was weird...so she did have some kind of conscience and realization that it was wrong.
Weirdly, except for a few years after my oldest sister left home, we all still loved our parents and wanted their approval. We still do. Me and my other sister that had children (two boys each) did not ever even consider keeping our children away from them because we knew they would never hurt our children. Being a grandparent is MUCH different than being a parent.
All of this is to say when my son told me he "was not comfortable with me keeping his daughter because of the way he was brought up," AFTER she was born and they had accepted gifts and money from me the entire time his girlfriend was pregnant knowing full well what he was going to do to me, I was totally floored. Neither of my boys had ever once mentioned anything about their childhood to me, NEVER. I had never treated either of my children as I had been treated as a child. Yes, I cussed and yelled sometimes, like nearly every parent, but it wasn't over the top or anywhere close to being abusive. And they NEVER received beatings. They were swatted on the behind with our hand or a hairbrush, but that was it. The time I used the hairbrush was when my son took a rock and scratched all over the side of my brand-new Camaro in the driveway. I think I swatted him twice and the handle broke off the cheap-o hairbrush I had used, you know, one of those paddle-type brushes.
I believe that most of my sons' problems with me is because I left their father AND THEM when they were 6 and 8 years old. I had begun drinking after I told my husband I wanted a divorce almost two years earlier. He begged me to stay, so I did. Nothing changed except that we rarely saw each other because we worked opposite shifts, he during the day and me at night. I was aware that he had girlfriend(s). It was brought to my attention by my sons that after I would leave for work at night, my husband would take the boys and go meet his girlfriend at a park or an apartment or wherever. Can you imagine being told that by your four-year-old? Also, a lifeguard at the pool I'd always take them to asked me if I was the boys' mother because their father was always there with another woman. I'd come home from work early and find a woman in my house, and I'd show up at his softballs games only to find one of his girlfriends there. It goes on and on. We both lived separate lives and had relationships outside of our marriage during those last two years. It was no way to live and certainly no environment in which to raise two children.
I left with only a suitcase of clothes and my car on December 23, 1988. I filed for divorce and had joint custody with him as managing conservator at my request. In essence, I left my husband AND my children. I felt it was the best decision FOR THEM at the time. It was the most painful experience in my life the night I left my children and told them goodbye. My heart felt as if it were ripped from my body. My alcohol consumption gradually got worse and worse. I was a high-functioning alcoholic. I was a police offer working the night shift with no possibility of getting a day shift. (I never drank before or during work in case you're wondering!) I didn't feel I could properly take care of my children during the day and get enough sleep to do my job safely, get them to school and everything else that goes along with raising two kids, and also be gone to my job at night. I had my kids every other weekend when I was able and also on certain holidays. Working at night 5 days a week and having Thursday and Friday nights off did not allow me much time with them, especially when they were in school during the week days. There were also times that I cancelled my weekend with them altogether because I needed the sleep or I was sick or, honestly, I just wanted to drink and not feel anything.
I eventually quit my job and moved to Boise, Idaho, basically trying to run away from my problems and guilt over my children. This was the worst time as far as the alcoholism. I drank heavily when I was off work, but I still was able to work at my job at the Sheriff's Office as a police and fire dispatcher. You had to work two years in that position or in the jail before you could become an officer there. That lasted six months, and I wanted to come home. (During that six months, I had flown my children out to visit for a week.)
Once I got back "home" to Texas, I immediately moved in with The Captain, who I had previously dated. He was so good to take me in after I had dropped him and married someone else and moved away! I had nowhere else to go, no job, and no money. My drinking was completely out of control. I made a couple of suicide attempts with prescription medicine and alcohol. I was a mess. The Captain saved my life more than once and stood by me while I got myself straightened out, which took about two years total -- relapsing and getting sober, relapsing again, getting sober again, etc.
With my husband's support and by the Grace of God, I was finally clean. I lost all taste and desire for alcohol, which remains still today. I drink alcohol maybe once or twice a year now, and then it's not but one or two drinks or beers max, no problem. I probably shouldn't even do that if I stuck strictly to the rules of being sober, but I do.
Anyway, my children have taken it upon themselves to be judge, jury, and punishers with me by not allowing me to have my grandchildren (now two little girls) or have any kind of relationship with them. My son with the two girls has told many lies about me to his baby-momma and her family (why you would even need to make it sound worse, I have no idea). We had a good relationship, the best it had ever been, in the couple of years leading up to his relationship with this girl and during her pregnancy, and then BAM! He lays all this shit on me and blames his bad behavior (a family violence arrest and God knows what else) on ME. Everything is my fault. I cannot be trusted with a child. He has embarrassed and shamed me and outright lied about me. I know this because I spoke to his girlfriend's mother on the phone and she told me things he had said about me. On top of all that, he used me for what he could get knowing all along that he was going to pull this shit on me after his child was born.
I take full responsibility for not being the parent I should have been and not being there for my sons when they were children. I have apologized more than a few times. I have tried to talk to both of them about it all, but I never get the truth about how they feel from their own mouths.
I don't know what else I can do but live my life well, as I have for the past 20 years. TWENTY YEARS, but I still must be judged and pay for my mistakes when I was 24 years old? I have lived with the guilt and the regrets for long enough. I refuse to live that way any longer. It's not up to my sons to punish me. God will deal with me when the time comes about all that.
On top of all that, I have now become estranged from my entire immediately family over this. After explaining how my sons have behaved and knowing what they are doing to me, my sisters and parents say they support me, but they continue to have relationships with my sons and granddaughters against my wishes. My mother and father invite them over for dinners and have relationships with MY granddaughters while I do not. How am I supposed to react to that? What message is that sending my boys? At best, it's tacitly saying that what they are doing to me is okay. They will stand by and let my children treat me like total shit as if nothing has happened.
My parents are old. My mother is 79, and my father is 81. When I ask my mother why they refuse to stand behind me, my mother says they are too old and they don't want to live what little time they have left without seeing their grandsons and great-granddaughters. What about me, their daughter?
The last time I talked to my sister that lives here on the phone, she made it a point to tell me that she "talks to my kids all the time." What am I supposed to say to that when it's exactly the opposite of what I want?
The last time I communicated with my other sister was via email, and she proceeded to tell me how my family thinks I'm mentally ill and need professional help! OH MY GOD. Seriously? And she said it was wrong of me to ask them not to have relationships with my sons just because we had "a disagreement." OH MY GOD AGAIN! A disagreement? Really? She says my reaction is not normal. What is a "normal" reaction when your son tells you that you are not trusted with your own grandchildren?
What do I expect from my family? I'll tell you EXACTLY what. This is what I expected they would say to my sons, or something along these lines:
"You're my grandsons and I love you with all my heart, but I will never love anybody more than I love my very own daughter. My loyalty lies with her. It always has and it always will. I hope the two of you work out your differences soon. Until that happens you and I won't be able to have as close a relationship as I'd like us to have."
Is that wrong of me? Would you not expect your parents to stand with you and support you in this way?
Sometimes I feel like I can't take all of this emotional torment one more day, one more hour, or one more minute! It's too much! And besides, it's too late. If my family didn't have the response I wanted and didn't even consider it, what is left? It says a lot about how they feel....no, it says it all.
This is my opinion, my life as I saw it, and absolutely the truth. There are plenty of details and events that have yet to be told, but it just wasn't feasible to put every detail here. I have tried to be fair and tell you the truth about my own transgressions, faults, flaws, or whatever you want to call them. I realize there may be people who saw these events in a different way from a different perspective. I've just told them as I remember them and as they affected me.
I would like to add that my parents provided very well for us girls. We didn't want for anything materially, and there were moments when my parents were loving and normal people. I know there are much worse stories and experiences people have had growing up. I'm not whining. I'm simply stating what portions of my life were like...MY experience.
I'm all talked out. I'm not sure how I'm going to feel about comments or advice or opinions or anything else in regard to this post. I will publish your comments and read them all, but please don't expect a response from me. I'm not even sure how I'm going to feel about putting all this "out there" when I wake up tomorrow. But here it is, and I will not remove it.
I made this last night in a couple of hours watching the football game. I had to make it when I found it online. It's a graph-only pattern, and you can find it HERE.
It looks pretty hanging in the window.
I used Elmer's Gel glue to stiffen it after I blocked it.
Do you like my fancy Christmas Lights?
It's just a string of lights stuffed in a mason jar with a hole cut in the lid for the cord to run through. I told you it was fancy! It just makes me happy to see it sitting there on the counter all red and glowy.
We had baked pork chops last night for dinner.
This is them after I breaded and browned them in a skillet.
Then they go in the oven to bake and hour...
Then you pour a simple gravy over them and bake for another 30.
I put their beds out on the porch to air out a little...stinky dogs.
He jumped up there and made himself comfortable.
Edited to Add: If you ever want a pattern you see here, please email me or leave your email in my comments section so I can communicate with you. I have no problem sharing a pattern I may have that you can't find because it's out of print or just unavailable or you can't afford to buy patterns...AND I don't need a lecture from anyone telling me I shouldn't do so! Hoard your own patterns and don't worry about mine! Once I buy it, I can do what I please with it. Oh, and fuck off.
You'll notice all of my patterns are free. Use them! Share them! Sell them! Print them off and take a big ol' shit on them! I don't care!
So remember when I told you I ordered the red yarn on Sunday night? I got a message from Knit Picks on SATURDAY saying it was shipped. Seriously? Six days just to get it out the door? Screw you, Knit Picks! I put on my shoes, stuffed my hair in a bun, and drove to Hobby Lobby and bought a skein of red thread so I could start my Christmas doily. Never again, Knit Picks! Your products are not THAT good!
While I was there, I picked up these angels for the mantel...
And this cute dog I couldn't resist.
I spent a good while with my plants this morning telling them how great they are doing and what miracles they are. They love that attention.
And my Paperwhite soldiers are reaching, reaching, reaching still.
It's amazing how much they grow in a single day.
My little buddy watching me at my desk.
Speaking of buddies, these guys have become the best of friends on my counter.
Mutt and Jeff, Opposites Attract, and all that stuff.
Thanks for all your comments lately. Y'all are sweet.
By the way, I've noticed that when I comment on your blogs using my cell phone, which is a lot lately, I'm showing up as just "Pam" with a link to a blank Google page. If you see that, it's me. I'll try to sign in the comment part with "Pammy Sue" so you'll know it's me. I don't know why it doesn't recognize me on there and link back to my blog, but it doesn't. Believe me, I've tried to fix it a dozen times. Samsung phones are just NOT easy to figure out. I'm going to get a new iPhone when I can find one without having to pre-order it, and I can hardly wait. This has not been a fun experience switching from an Apple product to an Android. Ugh.
Yes, two boxes of Christmas decoration came down from the attic a couple of days ago. This and a small, pathetic-looking Christmas tree was all I put out so far. Oh, and a wreath on the front door that I bought last year. I love the reindeer I bought last year at Target. My sister got me the lighted Christmas village several years ago. It's my favorite decoration, and if nothing else makes it out of those boxes, this always does. It's so pretty to look at with all the moving, glittering, color-changing lights.
Here you can see part of the little cheap-o tree that sits on the counter. My momma gave me a little box full of tiny dog ornaments one year to decorate it with. I love these too.
I'm still waiting on the red thread from Knit Picks so I can make a Christmas doily and decorate the mantel. They are really dragging their feet on getting my order to me. Two days after I placed my order, I got an email saying, "We're preparing your order for shipping...". WTF? Could they BE any slower? It's four little balls of yarn, for Pete's sake!
Can you tell I'm whiny, irritable, sad, pathetic, and a complete JOY to be around lately? I hate it when I'm this way. Just typing that made me cry. I'm serious. Good Lord! I need to get out of the house. I can't even remember the last time I went outside these walls, except on the back porch, which I think was on my birthday back on the 2nd of November when I sat in my pajamas in a rocking chair for an hour or so. Yikes. Has it really been that long? I refuse to even walk out to the mailbox 50 feet from my front door. Why, you might ask? I have no good explanation. I just don't want to.
Want to see some hair?
That was an abrupt change of subject and mood, wasn't it?
Isn't this ombre hair beautiful? I absolutely love it. Mind you, I would never dye my hair this way because I'm a 54-year-old woman, not a 24-year-old girl, but I still think it's just gorgeous.
A blast from the past!
I made this granny throw back in May of 2012.
I gave it to my Aunt.
I get a lot of emails and questions about it still (It's on Ravelry and Flickr too).
When I went to that page, I started reading and came across THIS POST, and it made me laugh (the part about the medication). There's also a baby picture of Fletcher at the end that made my heart melt (Sammi too).
Look at the Paperwhites!
They are growing like gangbusters!
So fun. Will I really have flowers?
We'll see together!
I just sneezed and it reminded me of my grandmother. When we'd sneeze, she'd always say, "Skat!" Hee-hee! I do that all the time now too. I love you, Granny. I have a lot of her recipes, and I think she's around me sometimes when I cook, and I always talk to her. She was a great cook, and she loved it when people talked about how good her cooking was.