First Quarter Review:) Warning a LONG post!
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The above was taken a week ago - it represents the f...
6 years ago
Saturday, February 25, 2006
Lambswool Boucle
This is a beautiful yarn. Very soft, wonderful texture. Bugger to knit with. Not quite true. Fairly easy to knit but picking up stitches not so easy cos of not being able to see the stitches well. Sewing was the same. I could not finish in my usual way, invisible seems, because I could not see! So it was sewn together using backstich.
I had some of this yarn a few years ago, only enough for a a couple of garments and I sold those. I then found I couldn't get anymore! Then a few weeks ago, I found a job lot of it very cheap so snapped it up.
80% lambswool, 20% Nylon. Machine washable and tumble dryable. No shrinking.
Shadows and Light
The lights were bright. The walls were bare. The furniture was grubby. The people were scary.
A young man sat in a dirty, torn up armchair. His arms were covered in deep livid scars. His face looked just as livid. He just sat and stared.
An old lady, in a filthy nightdress, with long dank grey hair, was wandering about, a thin arm raised, pulling at her hair, whilst she implored her long dead Daddy to take her home.
In the hallway, just off this main room, a man was screaming into the phone on the wall. 'The Nazi's are coming! It's a raid, a raid!' Another man, his identical twin, was trying to get the phone off him so he too could yell about the danger we all faced.
In another chair, her black filthy hair just hanging like dead seaweed on a rock, was another woman. Her face was blank, her mouth hung loose. Still. Perfectly still.
Three members of staff walked up to her. Two grabbed hold of her firmly, whilst the third pulled her hair back, so as to force her head backwards. Her mouth was forced open and an amber liquid was poured down her throat.
This place was to be his home for the next year. This place that was supposed to be a hospital, a place of safety and care. Instead, it was a place more like an ante room for Hell. Strange noises all day and night. The screaming, the garbled speech, the violence that brewed and boiled over. The staff who vented their own shit on their hapless charges. The staff who practiced their need to control on those much weaker than themselves.Or at least those who appeared to be weaker.
One very early dark morning, a toilet trip led to the discovery of a body hanging from the piping.He was only a teen, burdened beyond his understanding. And later the same week, another body. Found drowned in a shallow bath. How desperate, he thought, she must have been to have been able to drown in a few inches of water.
Thinking was hard. He too was force fed the amber liquid. Oh, not physically, just by threat.The thick sweet liquid made him gag and left a terrible foul taste in his mouth and throat. Ooccasionlly, he would be held down whilst someone pulled down his pyjama trousers and injected a substance into his buttock that burned like hell but took any fight out of him. They kept him quiet. No one wanted to hear his secrets.
His stay made him well. He kept his secrets to himself. In fact, he came to realise that his secrets were lies after all. He had made it up and what he didn't make up he had deserved.
However, secrets, real or imagined, have a habit of rising to the surface. So when after a year he was released from this place, he only had a year out before he was back. Different location, different hospital, same staff and inmates. Same horror.
And so it was like this. In and Out. If only he could accept his badness. If only he could accept his feelings were not real. If only he could accept his secrets were lies. He sunk. Deep down inside himself and he stayed there. He got out and he stayed out. He found his own medication and he kept away from the 'angels' in white coats with smiles on their faces and the keys to Hell in their hands. His own medication, marijuana and booze, kept the demons at bay, kept them locked down good and tight.
All things come to an end and so did this.
When the lid finally blew, a true angel was there to hold him. Was there to listen to his secrets. Was holding him every step of the way whilst he slowly and excruiatingly
pulled himself up thru the darkness, battling and destroying his demons on the way. Death nearly overcame him and indeed seemed preferable to this agony. Yet he was drawn upward toward the light that filled every corner of his soul, bringing forth the truth. It laid bare the truth and that in itself was very nearly all he could bear. Yet his angel trusted him and believed in him and knew he had the strength to get through . And he did. Bit by bit, over 5 years, he worked it through. This time his secrets were seen for what they were - the truth. His secrets were met with compassion and empathy and understanding.
Seven years later, he still does not take his medications. Neither his own nor prescribed. Drug free for the first time in many years, since he was 15 in fact, when he was first prescribed a mood altering substance so that no one need hear or see him. Today, he battles his demons with a clear head and he mostly wins.
He wasn't mad and bad after all.
Was he?
A young man sat in a dirty, torn up armchair. His arms were covered in deep livid scars. His face looked just as livid. He just sat and stared.
An old lady, in a filthy nightdress, with long dank grey hair, was wandering about, a thin arm raised, pulling at her hair, whilst she implored her long dead Daddy to take her home.
In the hallway, just off this main room, a man was screaming into the phone on the wall. 'The Nazi's are coming! It's a raid, a raid!' Another man, his identical twin, was trying to get the phone off him so he too could yell about the danger we all faced.
In another chair, her black filthy hair just hanging like dead seaweed on a rock, was another woman. Her face was blank, her mouth hung loose. Still. Perfectly still.
Three members of staff walked up to her. Two grabbed hold of her firmly, whilst the third pulled her hair back, so as to force her head backwards. Her mouth was forced open and an amber liquid was poured down her throat.
This place was to be his home for the next year. This place that was supposed to be a hospital, a place of safety and care. Instead, it was a place more like an ante room for Hell. Strange noises all day and night. The screaming, the garbled speech, the violence that brewed and boiled over. The staff who vented their own shit on their hapless charges. The staff who practiced their need to control on those much weaker than themselves.Or at least those who appeared to be weaker.
One very early dark morning, a toilet trip led to the discovery of a body hanging from the piping.He was only a teen, burdened beyond his understanding. And later the same week, another body. Found drowned in a shallow bath. How desperate, he thought, she must have been to have been able to drown in a few inches of water.
Thinking was hard. He too was force fed the amber liquid. Oh, not physically, just by threat.The thick sweet liquid made him gag and left a terrible foul taste in his mouth and throat. Ooccasionlly, he would be held down whilst someone pulled down his pyjama trousers and injected a substance into his buttock that burned like hell but took any fight out of him. They kept him quiet. No one wanted to hear his secrets.
His stay made him well. He kept his secrets to himself. In fact, he came to realise that his secrets were lies after all. He had made it up and what he didn't make up he had deserved.
However, secrets, real or imagined, have a habit of rising to the surface. So when after a year he was released from this place, he only had a year out before he was back. Different location, different hospital, same staff and inmates. Same horror.
And so it was like this. In and Out. If only he could accept his badness. If only he could accept his feelings were not real. If only he could accept his secrets were lies. He sunk. Deep down inside himself and he stayed there. He got out and he stayed out. He found his own medication and he kept away from the 'angels' in white coats with smiles on their faces and the keys to Hell in their hands. His own medication, marijuana and booze, kept the demons at bay, kept them locked down good and tight.
All things come to an end and so did this.
When the lid finally blew, a true angel was there to hold him. Was there to listen to his secrets. Was holding him every step of the way whilst he slowly and excruiatingly
pulled himself up thru the darkness, battling and destroying his demons on the way. Death nearly overcame him and indeed seemed preferable to this agony. Yet he was drawn upward toward the light that filled every corner of his soul, bringing forth the truth. It laid bare the truth and that in itself was very nearly all he could bear. Yet his angel trusted him and believed in him and knew he had the strength to get through . And he did. Bit by bit, over 5 years, he worked it through. This time his secrets were seen for what they were - the truth. His secrets were met with compassion and empathy and understanding.
Seven years later, he still does not take his medications. Neither his own nor prescribed. Drug free for the first time in many years, since he was 15 in fact, when he was first prescribed a mood altering substance so that no one need hear or see him. Today, he battles his demons with a clear head and he mostly wins.
He wasn't mad and bad after all.
Was he?
Thursday, February 23, 2006
Trial
I saw a Neurologist last week and I have his letter and diagnosis now. I had originally been diagnosed with Fibromyalgia, as well as spondylosis of my spine. However, I was not happy with that because it seemed to me that my symptoms were beyond the scope of FM. Anyway, this Dr agrees and he says I have a functional disorder of my central nervous system which he writes, is more disabling than most MS sufferers.! I have two friends with MS and I know they can still walk! Me I cannot walk with severe pain and using sticks and then only for a few minutes before my legs just don't work. And we won't bother to mention all the other symptoms, especially the cognitive ones! (Of course I am highly releived it is not MS as that can kill and is awful.)
The point of this is: I have to go to a tribunal tomorrow. To prove I am sick and disabled. I will be sat on a small chair in a front of a large high desk behind which will be sat a Dr , a lawyer and a 'disability rights advocate'.(The latter does not appear to be on my side-I know- I have had two aborted tribunals already). It seems to me the whole thing is set up to humiliate and intimidate. Yes I know there are fakers out there but I have seen 3 specialists and my own gp regularly now. I deserve an Oscar for managing to convince them I am ill if I am not! Besides, x rays show my spine is disintegrating, a thallium test shows my heart is sick and the nuero's test shows my central nervous system is f**ked. What more do they want? All this to get a blue badge for my car. At least so I thought but it appears it means I will get money too and they pay for my car if this goes thro. I didn't realize that when I applied, I thought I was applying for the badge.
Oh and those forms! I have an IQ of 135 plus, or I did at 15, and I could not understand the form and they ask the most stupid questions. Like how long it takes for me to use the loo! How would I know? I don't time it when I need to go! So of course my case was rejected. I have since found it was rejected because I filled the form myself. The trick is to use a professional form filler provided free by disability rights orgs. That didn't occur to me. Why would it? I assumed honesty was what they wanted. They do BUT there is still a certain way to answer these questions it seems.
When I stop thinking about the hassles and realize this neuro's letter describes me as severely disabled with little hope of improvement, it rather hits me in the guts. I have coped this last 3 years so well-I think because I just assumed it would go away eventually.
However, I do NOT let this get me down, I am still active even if thru gritted teeth and I still do what I want. Life is short and mine is not yet over. I did not struggle to survive my past in order to be f**ked over now! ;-) I enjoy myself. One of the first things I did was get rid of the wankers in my life. I stopped being so damned nice all the time. I gave up thinking I needed to put up with people. Oh I still listen, I still help when I can, but I refuse to take shit and I don't.
Instead of dreaming about road trips, I take them.
I went to Oslo in Norway in 2004. I saw OSLO!!! It was hell pain wise and when I got back I was in so much pain I cried for days-I had developed an abscess on my coccyx, I couldn't walk, I couldn't lay down, I was well and truly stuffed. But so what? I went to Oslo. I drove 1200 miles, on my own AND not only that, I got caught in a blizzard which was scary and exciting.
And, get this, this is soooo amazing as I can't even get up a step ladder for fear of heights(okay so now I couldn't anyway but that isn;t the point), I DROVE over the second HIGHEST AND LONGEST bridge in the world. A 13 Mile suspension bridge between Denmark and Sweden. Before I did, I parked in a layby, talking myself into it, and whimpering like a dog! I was shit scared. Then I said 'look, just move the car forward 50 Ft. Once you have, you HAVE to go over the bridge, no turning back. So I did, I took the choice away myself. And you know? Instead of racing over it with my eyes shut, I slowed down and enjoyed it! I looked down at the sea. 83 metres high! Wow!
Last year, I went back to Sweden with John and later to Lake Konstanz. Yes, now I couldn't do these trips on my own as I am worse physically but I still do them. And yes it is me who drives. Driving is the most comfortable thing for me to do as it keeps my legs moving but not pressured. I can shift about in my seat all I like.
Anyway, I said I need to get to bed early so bye bye!
The point of this is: I have to go to a tribunal tomorrow. To prove I am sick and disabled. I will be sat on a small chair in a front of a large high desk behind which will be sat a Dr , a lawyer and a 'disability rights advocate'.(The latter does not appear to be on my side-I know- I have had two aborted tribunals already). It seems to me the whole thing is set up to humiliate and intimidate. Yes I know there are fakers out there but I have seen 3 specialists and my own gp regularly now. I deserve an Oscar for managing to convince them I am ill if I am not! Besides, x rays show my spine is disintegrating, a thallium test shows my heart is sick and the nuero's test shows my central nervous system is f**ked. What more do they want? All this to get a blue badge for my car. At least so I thought but it appears it means I will get money too and they pay for my car if this goes thro. I didn't realize that when I applied, I thought I was applying for the badge.
Oh and those forms! I have an IQ of 135 plus, or I did at 15, and I could not understand the form and they ask the most stupid questions. Like how long it takes for me to use the loo! How would I know? I don't time it when I need to go! So of course my case was rejected. I have since found it was rejected because I filled the form myself. The trick is to use a professional form filler provided free by disability rights orgs. That didn't occur to me. Why would it? I assumed honesty was what they wanted. They do BUT there is still a certain way to answer these questions it seems.
When I stop thinking about the hassles and realize this neuro's letter describes me as severely disabled with little hope of improvement, it rather hits me in the guts. I have coped this last 3 years so well-I think because I just assumed it would go away eventually.
However, I do NOT let this get me down, I am still active even if thru gritted teeth and I still do what I want. Life is short and mine is not yet over. I did not struggle to survive my past in order to be f**ked over now! ;-) I enjoy myself. One of the first things I did was get rid of the wankers in my life. I stopped being so damned nice all the time. I gave up thinking I needed to put up with people. Oh I still listen, I still help when I can, but I refuse to take shit and I don't.
Instead of dreaming about road trips, I take them.
I went to Oslo in Norway in 2004. I saw OSLO!!! It was hell pain wise and when I got back I was in so much pain I cried for days-I had developed an abscess on my coccyx, I couldn't walk, I couldn't lay down, I was well and truly stuffed. But so what? I went to Oslo. I drove 1200 miles, on my own AND not only that, I got caught in a blizzard which was scary and exciting.
And, get this, this is soooo amazing as I can't even get up a step ladder for fear of heights(okay so now I couldn't anyway but that isn;t the point), I DROVE over the second HIGHEST AND LONGEST bridge in the world. A 13 Mile suspension bridge between Denmark and Sweden. Before I did, I parked in a layby, talking myself into it, and whimpering like a dog! I was shit scared. Then I said 'look, just move the car forward 50 Ft. Once you have, you HAVE to go over the bridge, no turning back. So I did, I took the choice away myself. And you know? Instead of racing over it with my eyes shut, I slowed down and enjoyed it! I looked down at the sea. 83 metres high! Wow!
Last year, I went back to Sweden with John and later to Lake Konstanz. Yes, now I couldn't do these trips on my own as I am worse physically but I still do them. And yes it is me who drives. Driving is the most comfortable thing for me to do as it keeps my legs moving but not pressured. I can shift about in my seat all I like.
Anyway, I said I need to get to bed early so bye bye!
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Stash
This part of my stash. The rest is in a full attic and a full walk in under the stairs.I think I went a bit over the top. Maybe I'll live, fully functional, for 150 years more and I might get thru my stash. I really must stop visiting yarn shops and internet yarn sellers and Ebay!
Even with my stash, I often don't have quite the right thickness, or colour, or compositon. I think that is a legimate reason, don't you? After all I AM an artist!
I also have 15 knitting machines, about 100 pairs of Addi Turbo's, about 6 Rosewood circs and Bamboo circs too, I don't know how many. Oh, and a box full somewhere of metal, plastic and bamboo str8's.
I can't join yet another 12 step group and I am sure there isn't one for this so there! Mind your own business!
I keep telling John we need an extension. He isn't impressed. I remind him we need room for HIS stuff. You should see the amount of books he has.....elsewhere for now as we don't have room for them. He writes and is an historian and book collector(alongside his real job) so I think he should consider an extension or a biggger house. He keeps saying he'll build a separate building in the garden and move me, my dogs and yarn out here. He doesn't mean it, he loves me really.
Monday, February 20, 2006
Blast From The Past
and things were going so well.....
I got an email this morning re another list I had been a member of for 8 years but left a year ago.
I had made a dear friend on the list with whom I communicated regularly for 8 years, phone calls too.
She died June 12th 2004. She had been like the sister I had never had. A truly warm and lovely person, honest, sincere, patient, non judgemental. One of the things we spoke about was how the list we were on was not as it seemd and how she only had regular contact with me and one other person. I telephoned almost daily until two days before she died.
I was en route to Sweden the day she died. I never heard from anybody regarding this. I learned it via the list we had been on, i think, or an email sent to many people. Suddenly everybody it seemd loved her and was her good friend. To this day, no one has ever contacted me or even acknowledged the friendship we shared. I know there were tributes sent, written, devised. I found out later. Whilst I felt left out of the loop, I know that nothing will alter the friendship we shared and I know she is with me still in spirit, watching over me and the family she adored.
She was a most fantastic mother. She had her challenges and she met them face on. Her only regret about her dying was leaving her children. I cannot imagine how that was for her.
She was such a brave loving soul who knew herself well and tried her best to know and understand others. I miss her, she was safe harbour for me.
I got an email this morning re another list I had been a member of for 8 years but left a year ago.
I had made a dear friend on the list with whom I communicated regularly for 8 years, phone calls too.
She died June 12th 2004. She had been like the sister I had never had. A truly warm and lovely person, honest, sincere, patient, non judgemental. One of the things we spoke about was how the list we were on was not as it seemd and how she only had regular contact with me and one other person. I telephoned almost daily until two days before she died.
I was en route to Sweden the day she died. I never heard from anybody regarding this. I learned it via the list we had been on, i think, or an email sent to many people. Suddenly everybody it seemd loved her and was her good friend. To this day, no one has ever contacted me or even acknowledged the friendship we shared. I know there were tributes sent, written, devised. I found out later. Whilst I felt left out of the loop, I know that nothing will alter the friendship we shared and I know she is with me still in spirit, watching over me and the family she adored.
She was a most fantastic mother. She had her challenges and she met them face on. Her only regret about her dying was leaving her children. I cannot imagine how that was for her.
She was such a brave loving soul who knew herself well and tried her best to know and understand others. I miss her, she was safe harbour for me.
Sunday, February 19, 2006
How It Was done
Walking along the road. A man and his son. Every now and then, the man would hit his son across the head.
'Walk properly! Stupid!
The boy tried to walk properly, wanted his father's approval. He could see the shame in his father's eyes and hear the disgust in his voice.
No one ever told the boy how to walk properly, or even what it meant to walk properly. He had no idea how he walked and why it was wrong. Why was he different from other 9 year olds? He didn't know. He knew his father was disgusted by him and had always known it.
The boy is sitting on the floor, surrounded by his colouring books, filling in the pictures with vivid colour.
'Put it away, now.' His father demanded.
'Just a minute,' the boy replied.
He looked up just in time to see a small suitcase flying through the air at him.
He had no time to move. The case hit him in the side of his head with such force it smashed the other side of his head into the teak coffee table leg which had a carved bird head right at the spot where his temple hit.
He sat there, stunned. No tears. He stared at his father whose face was contorted with rage and hate.
His mother, laid the boy out on the couch, soothing his head with a cold wet cloth.
'See if you did as you were told, this wouldn't happen'
With these words, the boy knew he was on his own.
Later at bedtime he kissed his mother goodnight. He said goodnight to his father but did not kiss him. He never did again.
His father was proud his son did not kiss him. He was becoming a man.
The boy knew otherwise and whilst he lacked the maturity to understand what it was he sensed, he saw his father for what he was.
He also saw his mother for what she was.
In bed, he lay in the dark, afraid and wondering how he would survive. He knew his parents didn't love him. He felt the deepest shame and wondered why he was being punished so and why God hated him. He knew he was going to Hell, just as the Nuns had told him. Not even his parents loved him so God certainly didn't.
He couldn't think what he had done wrong. He just knew he was no good.
Something about him filled his father with shame and disgust and he knew that his mother wanted him to be diffferent too.
Of course, he didn't know how to be diffferent or what needed to be different. He just knew he wasn't acceptable.
In his mind, unknown to himself, he started to become whatever people wanted him to be. He shut himself, his real self, tightly away and spent his time trying to please. He acted whatever he thought others wanted.
Trouble was he never knew what that was. And with this ignorance, his fear grew. He knew that if he wasn't good and wasn't liked, he would be hurt, killed even. He already knew that could happen. He hadn't really been a child for years already but had no one to help him be an adult.
No comfort or peace was to be found.
Until the day he discovered that eating lost of sugary starchy foods stopped the fear.
And he could carry on appearing to be the happy cheeky chappy most people thought he was.
'Walk properly! Stupid!
The boy tried to walk properly, wanted his father's approval. He could see the shame in his father's eyes and hear the disgust in his voice.
No one ever told the boy how to walk properly, or even what it meant to walk properly. He had no idea how he walked and why it was wrong. Why was he different from other 9 year olds? He didn't know. He knew his father was disgusted by him and had always known it.
The boy is sitting on the floor, surrounded by his colouring books, filling in the pictures with vivid colour.
'Put it away, now.' His father demanded.
'Just a minute,' the boy replied.
He looked up just in time to see a small suitcase flying through the air at him.
He had no time to move. The case hit him in the side of his head with such force it smashed the other side of his head into the teak coffee table leg which had a carved bird head right at the spot where his temple hit.
He sat there, stunned. No tears. He stared at his father whose face was contorted with rage and hate.
His mother, laid the boy out on the couch, soothing his head with a cold wet cloth.
'See if you did as you were told, this wouldn't happen'
With these words, the boy knew he was on his own.
Later at bedtime he kissed his mother goodnight. He said goodnight to his father but did not kiss him. He never did again.
His father was proud his son did not kiss him. He was becoming a man.
The boy knew otherwise and whilst he lacked the maturity to understand what it was he sensed, he saw his father for what he was.
He also saw his mother for what she was.
In bed, he lay in the dark, afraid and wondering how he would survive. He knew his parents didn't love him. He felt the deepest shame and wondered why he was being punished so and why God hated him. He knew he was going to Hell, just as the Nuns had told him. Not even his parents loved him so God certainly didn't.
He couldn't think what he had done wrong. He just knew he was no good.
Something about him filled his father with shame and disgust and he knew that his mother wanted him to be diffferent too.
Of course, he didn't know how to be diffferent or what needed to be different. He just knew he wasn't acceptable.
In his mind, unknown to himself, he started to become whatever people wanted him to be. He shut himself, his real self, tightly away and spent his time trying to please. He acted whatever he thought others wanted.
Trouble was he never knew what that was. And with this ignorance, his fear grew. He knew that if he wasn't good and wasn't liked, he would be hurt, killed even. He already knew that could happen. He hadn't really been a child for years already but had no one to help him be an adult.
No comfort or peace was to be found.
Until the day he discovered that eating lost of sugary starchy foods stopped the fear.
And he could carry on appearing to be the happy cheeky chappy most people thought he was.
Saturday, February 18, 2006
Unfinished and Finished
70% Cashmere 30% silk, 12/60's, done on Silver Reed 830
close up of cashmere /silk
4/15's 50% Merino 25% Cashmere 25% Silk moss stitch rib done on Brother 940 using Garter Carriage
Incomplete Aran. Knitted using 5.5mm Holz&Stein Rosewood circular needles. The yarn is Garn Studio's Alaska, 75m per 50gr. My own design.
My Stash
Completely out of hand. I have so much yarn. I will NEVER be able to knit it all up. Certianly not by hand and not even by my machines, of which I have 15.
Cashmere, silk, cotton, wool, Merino, angora, alpaca, mink, all sorts of wool. Cones and balls/skeins.
The attic is full. The cupboard under the stairs is full. The smallest bedroom is full - so full I can't even get to it all and don't know what is there. Just writing this excites me! ALL THAT YARN!!!! The look of yarn, the feel of, the possibilties, it gives me a buzz.
My head gets full of ideas, even when I am knitting up one design, I am thinking of another. Especially so when hand knitting, so much so, that i often have 3- 4 garments on the go at the same time. Machine knitting is a bit easier as I can at least finish before I start something else.
Anyway, back to this yarn. Ideally, I could get rid of the dogs, my partner and my phone and my pc and anything else that takes me away from knitting. I could lock myself in and just knit. That way, by age 150 I might just have knitted thru a quarter of my stash. Why is life so f***ing short?
Why do 24hrs pass so quickly? Why must we waste time sleeping? Going to the loo and eating and drinking. I think we should have been designed better. Self maintaining, no food, no drink, no toilet, no sleep. THEN we might have time to do what we want to do.
Oh, and of course no clapped out bodies. I used to be able knit up and sew together two sweaters in one day(machine) and still do the the dogs, play with them, walk them, watch tv, cook and relax by hand knitting.
Now this friggin disease makes me feel 87 instead of 47. I walk and move like an old person. I can't do anything for very long without seizing up. If I get carried away when HKing or MK'ing and forget to move every few minutes, I seize up and am stuffed. I have to roll myself onto the floor where I can slowly uncurl my legs and sloooowly get up on my knees, crawl to the wall and lever myself up on to my feet. If John is in, he can haul me up. Then of course my hands seize up and knitting becomes a pain. Well, a worse pain cos everything is a pain!
Which is why I ignored medical advice to quit doing what i enjoy! I did quit for 18 mths and nothing got better. I decided is I was going to hurt doing bugger all, I may as well hurt doing what i like.
The most difficult part is the muscle wasting, on my legs, excercise is difficult as it hurts and eventually my legs just give up and then I am stuffed. However, i DO make sure my legs get used. It doesn't seem to make any diffference.
Anyhow, I have just about finished putting the collar onto my aran. I have done the back and front, joined the shoulders and am now knitting on the collar. Then it is time to start the sleeves. I will post a pic later today of progress so far.
Cashmere, silk, cotton, wool, Merino, angora, alpaca, mink, all sorts of wool. Cones and balls/skeins.
The attic is full. The cupboard under the stairs is full. The smallest bedroom is full - so full I can't even get to it all and don't know what is there. Just writing this excites me! ALL THAT YARN!!!! The look of yarn, the feel of, the possibilties, it gives me a buzz.
My head gets full of ideas, even when I am knitting up one design, I am thinking of another. Especially so when hand knitting, so much so, that i often have 3- 4 garments on the go at the same time. Machine knitting is a bit easier as I can at least finish before I start something else.
Anyway, back to this yarn. Ideally, I could get rid of the dogs, my partner and my phone and my pc and anything else that takes me away from knitting. I could lock myself in and just knit. That way, by age 150 I might just have knitted thru a quarter of my stash. Why is life so f***ing short?
Why do 24hrs pass so quickly? Why must we waste time sleeping? Going to the loo and eating and drinking. I think we should have been designed better. Self maintaining, no food, no drink, no toilet, no sleep. THEN we might have time to do what we want to do.
Oh, and of course no clapped out bodies. I used to be able knit up and sew together two sweaters in one day(machine) and still do the the dogs, play with them, walk them, watch tv, cook and relax by hand knitting.
Now this friggin disease makes me feel 87 instead of 47. I walk and move like an old person. I can't do anything for very long without seizing up. If I get carried away when HKing or MK'ing and forget to move every few minutes, I seize up and am stuffed. I have to roll myself onto the floor where I can slowly uncurl my legs and sloooowly get up on my knees, crawl to the wall and lever myself up on to my feet. If John is in, he can haul me up. Then of course my hands seize up and knitting becomes a pain. Well, a worse pain cos everything is a pain!
Which is why I ignored medical advice to quit doing what i enjoy! I did quit for 18 mths and nothing got better. I decided is I was going to hurt doing bugger all, I may as well hurt doing what i like.
The most difficult part is the muscle wasting, on my legs, excercise is difficult as it hurts and eventually my legs just give up and then I am stuffed. However, i DO make sure my legs get used. It doesn't seem to make any diffference.
Anyhow, I have just about finished putting the collar onto my aran. I have done the back and front, joined the shoulders and am now knitting on the collar. Then it is time to start the sleeves. I will post a pic later today of progress so far.
Friday, February 17, 2006
The Boy Who Died Of Hate
They were about 7 years old. Friends, living in a small , very small, English village in the mid 60's.
One of them had an Asian mother and the other one had a Latin mother. This was their bond. To the other children, they were Chinky and Wog.
It had been an ordinary day, after school, going to the sweet shop.
'Hey Chinky!' they yelled and their stomachs lurched, here they come again as they saw the bullies coming their way.
What happens next is very patchy, and some of it was filled in later by adults, so we have to take their word for it.
Asian boy's watch was snatched and he gave chase while Latin boy ran behind. The squeal of car wheels. Commotion. Ambulance and police. Asian boy trapped between two cars.
Later, the police were at Latin boy's home, just about to tell his mother to come to the hospital when Latin boy walked in and went to his room. The police it seems thought Asian boy was latin boy. Asian boy was dead. Latin boy refused to speak. The following day, Latin boy was shown the newspaper. On the front page was a picture of Asian boy with the headline THE BOY WHO DIED OF HATE. Latin boy was asked if he knew who was in the picture.
'Me,' he replied.
In a very short time, Latin made his first suicide attempt. He was 7.
Today, Latin boy remembers nothing about this except for seeing the newspaper and his response to the question. He doesn't recall Asian boy, or the incident. He does remember trying to jump out of the second floor window.
Latin boy was afraid of men but he doesn't remember why. He remembers loving school, his escape. Until the day he went to school and was found his new teacher was a man. That had never occurred to him! Up until then he had only had female teachers. Now it was all changed and he was afraid. And school was no longer a safe place. Innocent children's games and explorations were not so innocent. Latin boy knew too much about such things, about what adults did to each other. Yet he doesn't remember how he knew.
Loss had already been a big part of his life, he had already lived in a diffferent country before this village. Soon he was leaving this village, going to another country. He was told they would be back and the people he loved would still be there when he got back. It was a lie. Mrs M and Mrs R and Mrs B, neighbours who were kind and loving to him would forget him, he knew it, and they did. Two years later on a visit en route to a country even further way, he was so excited to go back. His stomach ached with excitement. Then as they arrived he saw Mrs R standing waiting for them. Her tummy was huge! He knew then it was over. He had nowhere to go, his safe place was gone.
One of them had an Asian mother and the other one had a Latin mother. This was their bond. To the other children, they were Chinky and Wog.
It had been an ordinary day, after school, going to the sweet shop.
'Hey Chinky!' they yelled and their stomachs lurched, here they come again as they saw the bullies coming their way.
What happens next is very patchy, and some of it was filled in later by adults, so we have to take their word for it.
Asian boy's watch was snatched and he gave chase while Latin boy ran behind. The squeal of car wheels. Commotion. Ambulance and police. Asian boy trapped between two cars.
Later, the police were at Latin boy's home, just about to tell his mother to come to the hospital when Latin boy walked in and went to his room. The police it seems thought Asian boy was latin boy. Asian boy was dead. Latin boy refused to speak. The following day, Latin boy was shown the newspaper. On the front page was a picture of Asian boy with the headline THE BOY WHO DIED OF HATE. Latin boy was asked if he knew who was in the picture.
'Me,' he replied.
In a very short time, Latin made his first suicide attempt. He was 7.
Today, Latin boy remembers nothing about this except for seeing the newspaper and his response to the question. He doesn't recall Asian boy, or the incident. He does remember trying to jump out of the second floor window.
Latin boy was afraid of men but he doesn't remember why. He remembers loving school, his escape. Until the day he went to school and was found his new teacher was a man. That had never occurred to him! Up until then he had only had female teachers. Now it was all changed and he was afraid. And school was no longer a safe place. Innocent children's games and explorations were not so innocent. Latin boy knew too much about such things, about what adults did to each other. Yet he doesn't remember how he knew.
Loss had already been a big part of his life, he had already lived in a diffferent country before this village. Soon he was leaving this village, going to another country. He was told they would be back and the people he loved would still be there when he got back. It was a lie. Mrs M and Mrs R and Mrs B, neighbours who were kind and loving to him would forget him, he knew it, and they did. Two years later on a visit en route to a country even further way, he was so excited to go back. His stomach ached with excitement. Then as they arrived he saw Mrs R standing waiting for them. Her tummy was huge! He knew then it was over. He had nowhere to go, his safe place was gone.
Thanks Annie
This was posted as a comment . I thought written here would be more appropriate.
Few men are willing to brave the disapproval of their fellows,the censure of their colleagues,the wrath of their society.Moral courage is a rarer commodity than bravery in battle or great intelligence .Yet it is the one essential vital quality of those who seek to change a World which yields most painfully to change .If people bring so much courage to this World the World has to kill them or break them so of course it kills them.The World breaks everyone and afterwards many are strong at the broken places.But those it will not break it kills .It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially.If you are none of those you can be sure it will kill you too ,but there will be no special hurry " Ernest Hemingway as quoted in Robert F.Kennedy's notebooks .
Few men are willing to brave the disapproval of their fellows,the censure of their colleagues,the wrath of their society.Moral courage is a rarer commodity than bravery in battle or great intelligence .Yet it is the one essential vital quality of those who seek to change a World which yields most painfully to change .If people bring so much courage to this World the World has to kill them or break them so of course it kills them.The World breaks everyone and afterwards many are strong at the broken places.But those it will not break it kills .It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially.If you are none of those you can be sure it will kill you too ,but there will be no special hurry " Ernest Hemingway as quoted in Robert F.Kennedy's notebooks .
Thursday, February 16, 2006
Interesting Point
"Research
into email has shown that email authors think that their emails are
clear, unambiguous and not subject to misinterpretation. However more
than half of the time recipients actually interpret the tone or
underlying objective of the email as being different to that intended
by the sender. It's not malicious or deliberate, it's actually
unavoidable as email does not transmit the non-verbal queues that we
usually rely on for interpretation.
Email is not a clear and objective communication mechanism."
My thanks to Mary for posting this elsewhere. I think it accounts for a lot. It doesn't explain away the name calling and dowright nasty stuff but it does explain why the spats get started in the first place, those that seem to come from nowhere. There are of course those started deliberately by trolls etc but the majority do indeed seem to start for the reasons sated above in the quote.
into email has shown that email authors think that their emails are
clear, unambiguous and not subject to misinterpretation. However more
than half of the time recipients actually interpret the tone or
underlying objective of the email as being different to that intended
by the sender. It's not malicious or deliberate, it's actually
unavoidable as email does not transmit the non-verbal queues that we
usually rely on for interpretation.
Email is not a clear and objective communication mechanism."
My thanks to Mary for posting this elsewhere. I think it accounts for a lot. It doesn't explain away the name calling and dowright nasty stuff but it does explain why the spats get started in the first place, those that seem to come from nowhere. There are of course those started deliberately by trolls etc but the majority do indeed seem to start for the reasons sated above in the quote.
Self Opinionated
I had one of those all capitals emails today. The email equivalent of the green pen notes sent by loonies.
Anyway, it was rather odd. It was supposed to be an insult but in their ignorance complimented me. They called me self opinionated.
Good! I can't live according to someone elses opinions! My opinions are my own, not anyone elses! I imagine that what pisses them off is that I don't think according to their rules. How about that?
So yes, I am self opinionated and proud of it. Should a I be a sheep and only have opinions given to me? Should I only think what I am expected to think? Should I do as many do and say 'I think this way because my parents did? Or my teachers did? Or my Priest did or my Pastor or because some 'holy' book did? That way I could blame someone else. Oops, sorry, they told me to think it, it wasn't my fault.
Use your brain!
Anyway, it was rather odd. It was supposed to be an insult but in their ignorance complimented me. They called me self opinionated.
Good! I can't live according to someone elses opinions! My opinions are my own, not anyone elses! I imagine that what pisses them off is that I don't think according to their rules. How about that?
So yes, I am self opinionated and proud of it. Should a I be a sheep and only have opinions given to me? Should I only think what I am expected to think? Should I do as many do and say 'I think this way because my parents did? Or my teachers did? Or my Priest did or my Pastor or because some 'holy' book did? That way I could blame someone else. Oops, sorry, they told me to think it, it wasn't my fault.
Use your brain!
Where is Knitting Headed?
I don't think knitting will hold the amount of interest it has at present. Much of the new craze is down to 'celebreties' publisicing it and people following on from them as part of their need to be seen as 'belongin' to be 'cool'
Then there are those, like me, who don't sway with the fashion but have continued to knit uninterrupted, regardless of the trend. It is we who will keep knitting. Those who need to create. Those who have a passion.Those who are not slaves to public opinion or favour.
Why does an artist paint? Why does a composer compose? Why does a sculptor sculpt? Because they have to. Why does a knitter knit can also be asked and for those who will stick at it, the answer will be the same - I have to! It is how I create.
So I don't think the current phase will last, it will die out. But knitting istelf will not die out. As an art form it will survive. It isn't about money or what is in vogue now. It's about art and creation and as such, and becasue of such, it will survive.
(The above applies to both hand and machine knitting, imo)
Then there are those, like me, who don't sway with the fashion but have continued to knit uninterrupted, regardless of the trend. It is we who will keep knitting. Those who need to create. Those who have a passion.Those who are not slaves to public opinion or favour.
Why does an artist paint? Why does a composer compose? Why does a sculptor sculpt? Because they have to. Why does a knitter knit can also be asked and for those who will stick at it, the answer will be the same - I have to! It is how I create.
So I don't think the current phase will last, it will die out. But knitting istelf will not die out. As an art form it will survive. It isn't about money or what is in vogue now. It's about art and creation and as such, and becasue of such, it will survive.
(The above applies to both hand and machine knitting, imo)
Blaming the Victim
Supposedly child abuse is way out in the open now . As a result people have once again minimized it and shoved it under the carpet again. 'Isn't it awful?', they say.'Still, you are alright now aren't you? No? Oh well a couple of therapy sessions will fix you? No? Then grow up and stop complaining. Get Over It! Stop having it on show, put it away, I DON'T want to see it'.
Yes, we are not as caring as we like to think.
It isn't so much the physical violation that does the damage. It is the destroying of trust in oneself and others. It is the destroying of one's ability to form a reality.
THIS is what happens: you are abused. You are told that ; A) it was your fault B) it didn't happen C)that it wasn't abuse. THIS is what does the damage. Abusers know this and they use it to control their victims and justify themselves. It is very rare for any abuser to accept responsibility for their actions. They will deny forever usually.
So where does this leave their victim? Doubting. Forever. Imagine that if you will. Really try and imagine that. How will it feel to never be sure if what you see and sense and feel is real? How will it feel to have someone abuse you and leave you wondering if 1) they did abuse you 2) did you cause it 3) am I a bad person? It always comes down to that last one. Am I bad person? Imagine this: you are 9 years old. You are accosted in the jungle. You are frightened. Your abuser does what he does and blames you and threatens you. You have nowhere to turn, no safe place. Why? Because at home you also have abusers. Your head was smashed against an ornate table leg. Your mother cleans up the mess, soothing you with her voice but at same time telling it was your fault. And this happens not once but frequently. The next day you are told it never happened. When you finally have the courage to tell about the abuser in the jungle, because another child is hurt, you are punished. So you learn that to speak up is dangerous. So it happens again and again and again. And this time your abuse is recorded on film and you feel dirty and ashamed and afraid and no one protects you and you are told your feelings are not real, that you abuser is a nice man and you should be grateful he wants you and that you are appealing enough to be filmed anyway, you are 12 and really should know better, you could have gotten away if you wanted to.
So you then become an adult. An adult who believes everything is his fault. Who is unable to see the bad in others. Who doesn't understand boundaries or the word No. So the abuse continues. You hit me, I apologize. You want sex, I don't, who wins? You do. Sex becomes the only way of communicating. Sex becomes love. Abuse becomes love. And all the while, you live in a nightmare. A nightmare of confusion,. What is real, what is not, of tremendous fear, a nightmare you can't awake from. And on top of this, you are also told God hates you and you will burn in Hell for being you.
Until you discover booze or drugs and you are released from hell. For a while. The cruelty being that this friend is just another abuser. Makes you feel good at first and slowly but surely turns on you, bringing you even further down. And people turn their backs and blame you and judge you and forget all about the who's and wherefores. It is easier to blame the victim and always will be. Or at least it appears that way. In the long run the it costs us all. High crime rates. High suicide rates. High fear rates.
Burying our heads in the sand and blaming the victim has got the world where it is.
And as you crawl your way to peace, you learn to trust and you open up to some people who then use what they know to dismiss you, your feelings, your perceptions. You don't have anything valid to say any more., If you disagree with them it is because you are damaged and not because you have a valid argument.
It is very easy to isolate, stay in your hole, and it takes enormous effort, 24/7 to not to that, to continue to search and grow and find peace.
Yes, we are not as caring as we like to think.
It isn't so much the physical violation that does the damage. It is the destroying of trust in oneself and others. It is the destroying of one's ability to form a reality.
THIS is what happens: you are abused. You are told that ; A) it was your fault B) it didn't happen C)that it wasn't abuse. THIS is what does the damage. Abusers know this and they use it to control their victims and justify themselves. It is very rare for any abuser to accept responsibility for their actions. They will deny forever usually.
So where does this leave their victim? Doubting. Forever. Imagine that if you will. Really try and imagine that. How will it feel to never be sure if what you see and sense and feel is real? How will it feel to have someone abuse you and leave you wondering if 1) they did abuse you 2) did you cause it 3) am I a bad person? It always comes down to that last one. Am I bad person? Imagine this: you are 9 years old. You are accosted in the jungle. You are frightened. Your abuser does what he does and blames you and threatens you. You have nowhere to turn, no safe place. Why? Because at home you also have abusers. Your head was smashed against an ornate table leg. Your mother cleans up the mess, soothing you with her voice but at same time telling it was your fault. And this happens not once but frequently. The next day you are told it never happened. When you finally have the courage to tell about the abuser in the jungle, because another child is hurt, you are punished. So you learn that to speak up is dangerous. So it happens again and again and again. And this time your abuse is recorded on film and you feel dirty and ashamed and afraid and no one protects you and you are told your feelings are not real, that you abuser is a nice man and you should be grateful he wants you and that you are appealing enough to be filmed anyway, you are 12 and really should know better, you could have gotten away if you wanted to.
So you then become an adult. An adult who believes everything is his fault. Who is unable to see the bad in others. Who doesn't understand boundaries or the word No. So the abuse continues. You hit me, I apologize. You want sex, I don't, who wins? You do. Sex becomes the only way of communicating. Sex becomes love. Abuse becomes love. And all the while, you live in a nightmare. A nightmare of confusion,. What is real, what is not, of tremendous fear, a nightmare you can't awake from. And on top of this, you are also told God hates you and you will burn in Hell for being you.
Until you discover booze or drugs and you are released from hell. For a while. The cruelty being that this friend is just another abuser. Makes you feel good at first and slowly but surely turns on you, bringing you even further down. And people turn their backs and blame you and judge you and forget all about the who's and wherefores. It is easier to blame the victim and always will be. Or at least it appears that way. In the long run the it costs us all. High crime rates. High suicide rates. High fear rates.
Burying our heads in the sand and blaming the victim has got the world where it is.
And as you crawl your way to peace, you learn to trust and you open up to some people who then use what they know to dismiss you, your feelings, your perceptions. You don't have anything valid to say any more., If you disagree with them it is because you are damaged and not because you have a valid argument.
It is very easy to isolate, stay in your hole, and it takes enormous effort, 24/7 to not to that, to continue to search and grow and find peace.
Sunday, February 12, 2006
Puppies
Knit stuff
This is a yarn I picked up cheap in Germany. It is made by GGH(or is it GCH?). It is a superwash yarn. I am knitting on 3.75mm Addi Turbo circulars. Two rows of 1x1 rib and two rows of garter stitch, alternating. Very easy to knit.The drape of the yarn is very good. I started with 6 rows on 3mm, then 6 rows on 3.25mm, 6 on 3.5mm and then into main body.
This is one I have just designed and started. I have not knitted a rib. I just cast on and gone straight into the pattern. The yarn is Rowanspun Aran and I am using 5mm needles, bamboo circulars.
I have completed the front and back of this work. The design is mine. The yarn is Alaska made by Garn Studio's. I have used 5.5mm rosewood circular needles.
12th February 2006
Sleep had been difficult to come by. Sleep was something to fear. If he closed his eyes, the blackness would envelope him and the demons would take him away, drag him down to eternal damnation. He may have been only 19 but already he knew he was damned.
"Demons possess you, ' his brother had said. "You are not one of the chosen. You are evil! The Bible says so. Those books you read, they are possessed by demons. Demons stop you believing. All the trouble you have caused, your time in the mental hospital, all caused by you and your unbelief. YOU have let the demons in! You are possessed! The Demon of Smoking! The Demon of Homosexuality! The Demon of Unbelief! Honour Thy Father and Thy Mother! Pray for you soul! Only Jehovah can save you!"
It went around and around in his head. His brothers words. His stomach burned with fear, his chest constricted so he couldn't breathe. Yet somehow, he moved. He had to get away. He has washed his hair and now that it was wet, he was searching through it, with the large mirror in front of him, using his fingers to pull and separate, looking to see if he had the mark of Satan on his skull. The number of the Beast. Frantic, he pulled his hair this way and that way, trying to get a clear view. The mirror became a wall of flame and out of the flames leapt a vicious animal, teeth gleaming, as it roared toward him. He had never felt such terror. He scrambled to his bed and lay there on his back, praying and holding the Bible open across his body. It didn't work. He leapt up again and pulled some clothes on. He called to his father for help. Even in this state he was taken aback that his father had reacted the way he did. He did as he was asked! No argument, no fists flying, no scorn, no abuse. He just did it!
The drive he then took was taken in silence, his father mute, and he just about holding himself together. Everywhere he looked, he could see demons. Rushing by, whooshing up to the car window. He was willing the car to go faster, faster, please faster, get me there! Would he make it in time? Was it already too late ? Was he damned? Would Jehovah save him?
Before the car had come to a halt outside, he had jumped free of it and with all his strength, he pulled open the doors of the Kingdom Hall.
"Please, help me! Save me! Get these Demons away! I am sorry, please help me! Help me!" He collapsed on the floor, holding his stomach as if he had been punched. His breathing was rapid, he was drenched in sweat, was pale as can be and his eyes darted wildly.
At that moment it was if he had left himself. He saw his brother staring at him. The look on his brother's face was that of mortification. Yes! He was ashamed! There was no pity, no relief that his words had finally gotten thru to him, no thanking God his brother had been saved. Instead he was mortified at what his brother was doing. He was looking around at the others and then at the Elders who had come over to see his brother, still on the floor shaking and begging for help. They didn't pray! Instead, they talked about calling an ambulance, how the young man prostate before them was obviously disturbed and needed medical help!
In that moment of sheer terror, when he had been lifted out of his body , he could see! They were frauds! All of them! His brother was a fraud! His brother was embarrassed and ashamed! His brother didn't really believe at all! It had all been a sham! Instead of rejoicing at his brother's turning to Jehovah, he was standing there wishing they didn't know that this wretch was his brother!
Later at home, he watched fearlessly as the carpet undulated in front of him, crawling with insects. Was amused by the pictures on the wall talking to him. He lay on his bed, still terrified of the future but now knowing he had no need to fear demons other than those in human form!
Eventually he slept. When he awoke, something had changed within him. He had begun to take the long route to his own salvation. Oh much more suffering was to come, much more fear and doubt and the total aloneness and devastation that would almost destroy him but lead to his rebirth had yet to come. But this was the beginning of his road to peace.
"Demons possess you, ' his brother had said. "You are not one of the chosen. You are evil! The Bible says so. Those books you read, they are possessed by demons. Demons stop you believing. All the trouble you have caused, your time in the mental hospital, all caused by you and your unbelief. YOU have let the demons in! You are possessed! The Demon of Smoking! The Demon of Homosexuality! The Demon of Unbelief! Honour Thy Father and Thy Mother! Pray for you soul! Only Jehovah can save you!"
It went around and around in his head. His brothers words. His stomach burned with fear, his chest constricted so he couldn't breathe. Yet somehow, he moved. He had to get away. He has washed his hair and now that it was wet, he was searching through it, with the large mirror in front of him, using his fingers to pull and separate, looking to see if he had the mark of Satan on his skull. The number of the Beast. Frantic, he pulled his hair this way and that way, trying to get a clear view. The mirror became a wall of flame and out of the flames leapt a vicious animal, teeth gleaming, as it roared toward him. He had never felt such terror. He scrambled to his bed and lay there on his back, praying and holding the Bible open across his body. It didn't work. He leapt up again and pulled some clothes on. He called to his father for help. Even in this state he was taken aback that his father had reacted the way he did. He did as he was asked! No argument, no fists flying, no scorn, no abuse. He just did it!
The drive he then took was taken in silence, his father mute, and he just about holding himself together. Everywhere he looked, he could see demons. Rushing by, whooshing up to the car window. He was willing the car to go faster, faster, please faster, get me there! Would he make it in time? Was it already too late ? Was he damned? Would Jehovah save him?
Before the car had come to a halt outside, he had jumped free of it and with all his strength, he pulled open the doors of the Kingdom Hall.
"Please, help me! Save me! Get these Demons away! I am sorry, please help me! Help me!" He collapsed on the floor, holding his stomach as if he had been punched. His breathing was rapid, he was drenched in sweat, was pale as can be and his eyes darted wildly.
At that moment it was if he had left himself. He saw his brother staring at him. The look on his brother's face was that of mortification. Yes! He was ashamed! There was no pity, no relief that his words had finally gotten thru to him, no thanking God his brother had been saved. Instead he was mortified at what his brother was doing. He was looking around at the others and then at the Elders who had come over to see his brother, still on the floor shaking and begging for help. They didn't pray! Instead, they talked about calling an ambulance, how the young man prostate before them was obviously disturbed and needed medical help!
In that moment of sheer terror, when he had been lifted out of his body , he could see! They were frauds! All of them! His brother was a fraud! His brother was embarrassed and ashamed! His brother didn't really believe at all! It had all been a sham! Instead of rejoicing at his brother's turning to Jehovah, he was standing there wishing they didn't know that this wretch was his brother!
Later at home, he watched fearlessly as the carpet undulated in front of him, crawling with insects. Was amused by the pictures on the wall talking to him. He lay on his bed, still terrified of the future but now knowing he had no need to fear demons other than those in human form!
Eventually he slept. When he awoke, something had changed within him. He had begun to take the long route to his own salvation. Oh much more suffering was to come, much more fear and doubt and the total aloneness and devastation that would almost destroy him but lead to his rebirth had yet to come. But this was the beginning of his road to peace.
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
I Was Promised 10"
I am most disappointed. The weather man promised me 10" and all I got was about 1"! Still better than nothing, I guess. I just love snow.
This is my new Aran. Decided I didn't like the previous one so i frogged it and came up with this one instead. Much prefer it. Haven't yet decided if it will be a modified drop or a raglan....
These are Nechung's pups, the hand reared ones, now 5 weeks old. The first two are girls. Below are Finty's 6 pups that are 23 days old. There are 7 photo's cos I couldn't resist the first one!
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
dark nights
If you look carefully you will see there are 6 puppies, 4 girls and 2 boys. They were born between 5 and 6am Monday Dec 5th. Very quick, trouble free birth. Not bad for a first time mum.I finally got to bed last night, but it did not go well. Nigthmares about the past again. Okay, so they are not so frequent now but really this shit never goes away. I don't really know what i dreamed of but it wasn't nice and I awoke sweating and cold and had to put the light on and leave it on. Whatever I dreamed of caused me to think of a traumatic police interview I went thru about 10 years ago. I had to sit and tell a perfect stranger, a police man, what a teacher had done to me. This teacher was a child pornographer. Now I had never told anyone this stuff, just my therapist. Not even my partner. So here i was feeling completley unsafe and humiliated having to tell my story, in intimate detail, to this policemen, of whom i was afraid anyway. At the end of it all, he told me that i would not be called as a witness as I had no credibilty. I thought he was telling me he thought I was lying. No he said, he knew I wasn't lying. But because I had a breakdown and spent time in hospital, I would not be considered a credible witness by the courts. So, folks, if you are going to abuse a child, make sure you damage them plenty so they can't testify against you. I never did find out anything about this : is the guy still out there abusing children? Is he dead? He must be quite old now. Are his films and photo's plastered on sick net sites? Are people getting their jollies looking at me being abused? That bothers me tho I mostly am successful in not thinking about it.
One thing I am successful at tho is having a good, happy and productive life. They didn't destroy me. They tried to, my father in particular, who couldn't stomach my good nature. I was a source of shame for him. How could he have produced this child who wasn't agressive, who didn't want to be like him? Who saw his father for what he was? How that must have enraged him! He kept going on and on about being a man. Real men beat up and bully defenceless children it seems. A man to be pitied. He lost so much.
Sunday, December 04, 2005
Pups
These are 10 days old. Bottle reared. Mum has no milk. We have 1 boy and 1 girl that are dark sable and the two lighter ones are also 1 boy and 1 girl.
They are fed every two hours with a milk formula. Mum is looking after them well, so at least I don't have to lick them to make them poo and pee!
Two hours between feeds goes very quickly.
They now weigh 11oz, 120z, 13oz and 14oz! The boys are the heaviest. They have also now go to the stage when they start to crawl toward me as soon as I open up their varikennel. Very quiet and content pups. Mum is excellent and doesn't mind me intefering at all. This is her last ever litter and she will be speyed now and live the rest of her life on my bed.
This litter combines the best American/French and British lines. Hopefully, I will have something good to keep from these.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
In Gere(Richard that is)
Above is a raglan sweater I made. The yarn is 50% merino, 25% Cashmere and 25% silk. 4ply weight.Well, dear people, I would recommend you all go out and buy yourself a SAD light and then you'd have no excuse to bitch and moan and feel miserable. Yes, friends, it WORKS! People who know me have said I look well, not pale anymore(no it doesn't tan-wouldn't have that -skin cancer
you know- also don't want my skin to age any faster that it is - you should see what happens around my eyes when i smile-mmm.maybe I ought to switch off this light after all). John said it definately works. How do you know, I asked? Before you started using it, he replied, you were a miserable ****. What could I do but laugh and inwardly plan my revenge?
The world is full of wankers who want puppies. Honestly, they can't even make an inteliigent enquiry, why do they think they could raise a puppy? 'Ow much are ya Poodles?' one silly cow asked. 'I don't have Poodles' I reply. 'what 'ave you got and ow much?' 'I can't help you.' I said, 'and thank you for calling.' Maybe I am just getting old but I resisted saying 'fuck off'.
Oh and the spam one gets now(are you old enough to remember spam sandwaiches. makes me retch just recalling them). I get these ones from Princess IThink Youra Gulliblewanker and i am the widow of the late Prince Youra Tosser and I need your help to get millions of pounds from a Swiss Bank Account and I will make sure your receive 20% of said millions for helping me do this. So kind of them to offer, I think. NOT! They must think I have the IQ of a gnat. Come to think of it, they obvioulsy are retarded if they think this works.
Then there are those that offer me penile enlargement. What i want to know is this: who's been talking?
Oh and we have a little fun over on UKH. Oh yes, troll season is upon us. This particular one names herself Chrissie (I'll withold the surname) and it turns out the name belongs to a woman who authors knitting books. Mmmm...unique marketing skills-join a list and insult your potential customers. Now either this Chrissie person was the real one and if so she should go and seek help. Or she was a troll using a psuedonym knowing it was kntting related-in which case he/she ought to seek help.
Trouble is Trolling works because so many people seem to love getting irate and upset about emails. Like I used to. yes, I used to when I was green and new to this PC and net lark. Gosh, I got so upset sometimes that if my PC gave me access to the BUTTON, none of us would be sitting here now. Since then, I have calmed down quite a bit, had therapy, and now just stay drunk. Quicker and easier than trying not to get upset. Okay, so you are thinking 'no wonder his memory is crap'...well you may be right but hey this is my life and if I want to drink all day and night it's my business so push off. Anyway, back to the Trolling. I guess it's what some people do when they can't cope with being drunk all the time...like living in the real wordl...only for those who can't cope with drink or drugs...
Sorry about that last paragraph, just kidding. Me drunk? No never. Those were the days. Nope, I just get thru my days on fresh water and food. I've become really virtuous. No vices. Not many anyway. I still smoke, very little. But that is it. Don't even **** anymore. Too knackered.
Richard Gere. Now hasn't he grown in appeal? I think so anyway. Never thought much of him till he started going grey. Just saw him with Ms Sarandon in Shall We Dance?. Lovely film. VERY romantic. Aaah, there I was engrossed in this film, imagining him sweeping me off my walking sticks and carrying me ..well a couple of feet till his back gave out....still one can dream. It got me thinking that just my luck, now I am crippled, that he or Mr Jackman would come a knocking and I would just have to say no, sorry,.....
This reminds that in July it is our 25th anniversary. John and I that is. My original thought was I'd go out with him till someone rich and famous came and swept me away...well that was almost 25 years ago and i am still waiting...tho of course it is too late now....whilst waiting I discovered what love really is and that my heart had been captured and now doesn't want anything to change...he showed me what life was meant to be.
Friday, November 11, 2005
SAD and Forgetful
This is Solo, now 8 weeks and 3 days old. He may be leaving home very soon.Knitting-I am knitting a wasitcoat in a brown oiled wool I bought in Heidelberg. I am using 4mm needles and garter stitch. Using Addi Turbo Circulars and knitting it all in one piece, till I get to the arm holes. Obivoulsy, as this is a waistcoat, it is not joined and knit in the round!
On the machine, I have almost completed a navy blue ragaln, using 50% Merino, 25% cashmere, 25% silk yarn. 2/15's weight, used double knit on the Brother 940. I have used the garter carriage for the ribbing as I prefer the way the gc does the ribbing.
I forked out a fair bit of dosh for a SAD light. No the light is not sad, nor crap design. It is a light which simulates daylight so that one's pineal gland does what it would do if it were sunny - ie makes one feel alive again. At least that is what it is supposed to do. Independent research says it does. It gives out light at 10,000lux(very bright) and one sits in front of it so that the light gets to one's eyes and thus to one's pineal gland. This ought to prevent one from becoming a vegetable in winter which I am apt to do. My gp suggested I was a SAD sufferer and I must admit to thinking it was claptrap. However, my medical history does indeed show that over the last 30 years all my serious health issues, including hospitalizations, have occurred in winter and my hypo phases have occurred in the spring/summer. Last year was especially bad. Only my dogs kept me going. I got so bad I could barely move and my stutter came back. However, I still didn't think winter and lack of light had anything to do with it. Not so sure now. Hence the light. Oh, I could have moved to live within 30deg of the equator-the only known cure - but.......
Scans suggest I may be inundated with about 15 pups! Now that is 60 little boooties to knit! I shall be very busy in about 10 days time right thru to about March. Maybe I WILL move to the Equator ...or John will.
Simply Knitting arrived thru my letter box. This time the free gift was really useful for me - 2006 diary. My memory is appalling and I need to write things down - like my name or the dogs'- or I forget. Trouble is I also forget where I put my diary or I forget to read it. I asked John if he would put up an idiot baord next the fridge so I could write things up on it or rather stick post it notes on it for reminders. He just looked at me with that look on his face, as if to say 'poor thing' . At least that is my interpretation. It probaly means '' why the f**k am I still here?'. So he took me out to the kitchen and showed me the fridge. On the wall next to it is an idiot board and it has been there for almost 7 years....
I have been known to go out the house and get into my car still in my night shirt....or I have stood at my house front door pressing the button on my car key and wondering why the friggin door won't open!
I do a fair amount of public speaking. I always forget what I am talking about . People think it is part of my method. It isn't. I literally forget what I am talking about. And very frequently, well all the time really, I start to talk about one thing and just take a diversion onto something else and confuse myself. Again, it is thought to be part of my method and I get very good feedback and people say they get much out of my talks. Glad they do. I daren't ask them what they get tho cos I haven't a clue!
Friday, October 28, 2005
Afterlife
Despite the cliches and typically arrogant prig, the pysch in it, this show is really entertaining. Loads of inaccuracies about what mediumship is and how it presents itself, but it is still a good show. I like Lesley Sharp First saw her in a program about a women's footy team.
There is another show, again entertainign, but ignorant about mediumship, is Medium, which if I recall is on Beeb 2. An American crime show I guess but with a twist. I don't find the main character sympathetic at all. However, it is worth watching if one bears in mind the claptrap about what mediumship is and how it works.
There is another show, again entertainign, but ignorant about mediumship, is Medium, which if I recall is on Beeb 2. An American crime show I guess but with a twist. I don't find the main character sympathetic at all. However, it is worth watching if one bears in mind the claptrap about what mediumship is and how it works.
DLA Doc
My consultaion with the DLA govt Dr went well. He took one look at me and wondered why he was there. He said he would fully support my claim and wondered why there was any doubt as to my condition.
I now also have x-ray evidence showing the disintegration of my spinal column at the neck and the lumbar region. I now have 4 diagnosed diseases. That sounds bad but it isn't really and could be much worse. Although I suppose I could be more concerned about the heart disease, I am more concerned about the spondiwhatsit. That could see me not walking at all. However, that isn't the case now and I don't think about it.
For now, I can still do much of what I want to do. I do not like being dependant. I can't just go and buy the dog food, for instance. Have to have John with me to carry. There are quite a few things that I can't do, like get undressed or dressed without help-mainly shoes. I love boots but have given up wearing them cos they are just too difficult. Housework. Now that is something else I can't do. Don't you pity me? Isn't it awful not being able to do housework? ;-) Not that i ever have. I have always done the minimum and now have a good excuse for not doing it at all!! With taking care of the dogs, keeping them clean and tidy, and making sure we don't pong of dogs, and with my knitting and reading and tv watching and pc time, i just don't have the time or energy for cleaning house. Perhaps i ought to get in a woman who does. Maybe there is a support group somewhere for people whose OCD takes the form of cleaning. I could go there and find someone or two or three to come and clean....(now don't get your knickers in a twist I know only too well how OCD affects people and it is serious and having grown up with the cleaning OCD I know it causes grief. My own OCD didn't extend to cleaning tho.....)
Anyway, speaking of tv watching, I find I have to be very choosy nowadays. Not time to watch just anything so i only record the important more high -brow stuff. Like Neighbours. I missed a whole week of episodes whilst we were away cos the Sky box thing failed. And it was a week of juice, I gather. Now Izzy has disappeared and well, I doubt karl killed her. Maybe Susan? ;-) It couldn't have been Paul-he is a changed man.....very believable don't you think?
Also we tend to watch most of what we want on dvd. We are on the 6th series of The West Wing which is EXCELLENT. So well made and acted.
Then we have 4 series of Six Feet Under to watch. And the first series of Desperate Housewives which has to be the best thing I have seen on tv for many years, if not the best thing ever.
As I only get to watch these whilst John is here, we only watch at the weekends. So i am watching Ali McBeal from the beginning. I didn't really see it when it was showing, just caught the odd bit. Anyway, I think it is very funny. I am one of those people that rarely laughs out loud at comedy but this show makes me LOL every episode. They are very funny people and I think they behave and think like any 12th step person would. They are like a bunch of addicts-food, drugs, booze, OCD whatever. Very funny.( I don't mean the characters are addicts - just they behave like such)
Unlike Sex In The City( or as an older firend calls it Sluts In The City). I tried and tried with this show. Okay the sex and rude bits were interesting(don't often see naked men on tv shows) but really, I thought all of these women were just plain dull and soooo self centred and not very likeable. Okay the one who had sex with anything in trousers was funny and likeable becasue she didn't seem so serious even tho she appeared totally self absorbed but in a funny way. The other 3 were just so damed serious and full of selfish angst.
It seems I ought to enjoy Will and Grace but i don't. All sorts of reasons. Mainly I find the characters annoying and again very self centred. I object to the lead role , a gay man, being played by a str8 guy. What, no gay actors? I also object to yet again having gay characters portrayed as hopeless and unable to commit and find love(Will) or promiscuous(the other guy whose name escapes me). Oh it's Jack. I just want to slap him. Karen? I was going to say there are plenty of drunk women like her but what is she? str8? Gay? Bi? Just nuts? A terribly selfcentred cow anyway. And as for Grace-she needs to grow up and realise the world does not revolve around her. Okay, I know it is supposed to funny and the character quirks could indeed be very funny but it just doesn't work. The people are obnoxious and the whole thing is offensive.
Frasier was my favourite comedy. Clever and funny. And yes, the two main characters, Frasier and Niles were self centred prigs but they were drawn well and the comedy was there. They weren't so obnoxious that you wanted to turn off. It was fun to see them dig their holes. Also, this could have been a great gay show. It was except that F and N were not gay. Other than that everything about this show was gay. F and N were typical of a certain type of upper class snobby gay man. The campness of the whole thing, the very witty and caustic comments. Very funny. I wonder if the actors knew they were playing gay men of certain type ?Pity it has closed now.
I now also have x-ray evidence showing the disintegration of my spinal column at the neck and the lumbar region. I now have 4 diagnosed diseases. That sounds bad but it isn't really and could be much worse. Although I suppose I could be more concerned about the heart disease, I am more concerned about the spondiwhatsit. That could see me not walking at all. However, that isn't the case now and I don't think about it.
For now, I can still do much of what I want to do. I do not like being dependant. I can't just go and buy the dog food, for instance. Have to have John with me to carry. There are quite a few things that I can't do, like get undressed or dressed without help-mainly shoes. I love boots but have given up wearing them cos they are just too difficult. Housework. Now that is something else I can't do. Don't you pity me? Isn't it awful not being able to do housework? ;-) Not that i ever have. I have always done the minimum and now have a good excuse for not doing it at all!! With taking care of the dogs, keeping them clean and tidy, and making sure we don't pong of dogs, and with my knitting and reading and tv watching and pc time, i just don't have the time or energy for cleaning house. Perhaps i ought to get in a woman who does. Maybe there is a support group somewhere for people whose OCD takes the form of cleaning. I could go there and find someone or two or three to come and clean....(now don't get your knickers in a twist I know only too well how OCD affects people and it is serious and having grown up with the cleaning OCD I know it causes grief. My own OCD didn't extend to cleaning tho.....)
Anyway, speaking of tv watching, I find I have to be very choosy nowadays. Not time to watch just anything so i only record the important more high -brow stuff. Like Neighbours. I missed a whole week of episodes whilst we were away cos the Sky box thing failed. And it was a week of juice, I gather. Now Izzy has disappeared and well, I doubt karl killed her. Maybe Susan? ;-) It couldn't have been Paul-he is a changed man.....very believable don't you think?
Also we tend to watch most of what we want on dvd. We are on the 6th series of The West Wing which is EXCELLENT. So well made and acted.
Then we have 4 series of Six Feet Under to watch. And the first series of Desperate Housewives which has to be the best thing I have seen on tv for many years, if not the best thing ever.
As I only get to watch these whilst John is here, we only watch at the weekends. So i am watching Ali McBeal from the beginning. I didn't really see it when it was showing, just caught the odd bit. Anyway, I think it is very funny. I am one of those people that rarely laughs out loud at comedy but this show makes me LOL every episode. They are very funny people and I think they behave and think like any 12th step person would. They are like a bunch of addicts-food, drugs, booze, OCD whatever. Very funny.( I don't mean the characters are addicts - just they behave like such)
Unlike Sex In The City( or as an older firend calls it Sluts In The City). I tried and tried with this show. Okay the sex and rude bits were interesting(don't often see naked men on tv shows) but really, I thought all of these women were just plain dull and soooo self centred and not very likeable. Okay the one who had sex with anything in trousers was funny and likeable becasue she didn't seem so serious even tho she appeared totally self absorbed but in a funny way. The other 3 were just so damed serious and full of selfish angst.
It seems I ought to enjoy Will and Grace but i don't. All sorts of reasons. Mainly I find the characters annoying and again very self centred. I object to the lead role , a gay man, being played by a str8 guy. What, no gay actors? I also object to yet again having gay characters portrayed as hopeless and unable to commit and find love(Will) or promiscuous(the other guy whose name escapes me). Oh it's Jack. I just want to slap him. Karen? I was going to say there are plenty of drunk women like her but what is she? str8? Gay? Bi? Just nuts? A terribly selfcentred cow anyway. And as for Grace-she needs to grow up and realise the world does not revolve around her. Okay, I know it is supposed to funny and the character quirks could indeed be very funny but it just doesn't work. The people are obnoxious and the whole thing is offensive.
Frasier was my favourite comedy. Clever and funny. And yes, the two main characters, Frasier and Niles were self centred prigs but they were drawn well and the comedy was there. They weren't so obnoxious that you wanted to turn off. It was fun to see them dig their holes. Also, this could have been a great gay show. It was except that F and N were not gay. Other than that everything about this show was gay. F and N were typical of a certain type of upper class snobby gay man. The campness of the whole thing, the very witty and caustic comments. Very funny. I wonder if the actors knew they were playing gay men of certain type ?Pity it has closed now.
This N That
Another rainy day today. Great fun with the dogs! Newspaper down in kitchen and hallway. Yesterday the temp was in the 70's. I have my doubts about global warming. Having read about and seen tv docs about climate change over the centuries, it would seem to me that this is normal. One doc about the history of Europe showed us just how much our land and climate have changed. Why, just because we now live as we do, with our cities etc, do we think that nature will not carry on doing what it is doing? Do we not relaise we live in a finite world? Yes, we need to do something about our pollution but I don't think that will stop nature's changes.
My aran sweater is about to be frogged. I have decided it isn't what I had in mind. I am going to so something with more cables and no DMS and with modified drop shoulders I think.
You'd think the way scientists go on about what we eat and drink and smoke or not, that if we followed their advice, as contradictory as it is, that we will live forever. When are we going to accept death? We have got to the point now that we blame ourselves for dying. That whatever our diesease is, we are to blame. Heart disease, cancer, MS, a host of diseases of the body, all are caused by us, either by bad behaviour, bad thinking or just plain badness. Or it is direct punishment from 'god'. So we have science on the one hand blaming us 'scientifually', the self righteous religionists blaming us and a vengeful God and the New Age pratts telling us we were not good enough and if only we thought right and forgave right and went around with a stupified smile on our serene little faces, we would not get sick and die. They all live in cloud cockoo land. We DIE. All of us do. We cannot avoid it. It is the only thing we can be certain of. We will die. Life is terminal.
The good news is that we survive it! Huh? Survive what? Death of course. Our bodies die and rot away but we do not. And it doesn't matter who you are, whether or not you are perceived as good or wicked, you cannot cease to exist. And no, there is no vengeful judgemental god waiting for you to either place you on a pink cloud and give you a harp or throw you into a firey pit. Nope. As in this life, where our thinking determines to a certain extent our life experience, so it will be in the non physical world although our thinking will be all there is so therefore our surroundings will be exactly as our thinking dictates. If we are negative and self centred I hardly think our surroundings will be heavenly. However, whatever our sprititual state, progress is ALWAYS open to ALL. There is no point of no return. There is no line for you to cross that will forever leave you in darkness. No. Progress is always open to you - and it is up to you to choose it. You can either face the light and work toward it or you can turn your back and walk the other way. It is up to you. However, if you turn your back and walk the other way, no matter how far, you will always be able to turn around.
We all will have to face ourselves. The good, the bad and the indifferent. we will feel how we caused another to feel. We will feel the joy, the peace, the relief we brought to others. Conversely, we will also feel the suffering we brought others. What better justice is there?
It is strange to me that whilst people talk of God, even religion, or spirituality, people ignore the real evidence that we survive death. They balk at the idea or are embarassed by it or even think one is loopy to believe it. Yet, there is so much evidence out there. John and I have made a study of this for almost 25 years. Niether of us doubt that we survive death. And no, the evidence is not the stuff you see on Living TV, the psychic mumbo jumbo crap, which has been edited and most of it just plain insulting. However, there is genuine mediumship and it takes place daily all over the world. Along with it is the misguided 'mediumship', the fraudulent, the poor mediumship, the ego trippers. It is up to you to sift thru it and not just dimiss the whole thing as crap. Every day people are receiving confirmation that we do indeed survive physical death.
Keep your mind open, always.
The only unforgivable sin is that of a closed mind. A closed mind cannot be reached and thus it's sin(error) cannot be corrected.
My aran sweater is about to be frogged. I have decided it isn't what I had in mind. I am going to so something with more cables and no DMS and with modified drop shoulders I think.
You'd think the way scientists go on about what we eat and drink and smoke or not, that if we followed their advice, as contradictory as it is, that we will live forever. When are we going to accept death? We have got to the point now that we blame ourselves for dying. That whatever our diesease is, we are to blame. Heart disease, cancer, MS, a host of diseases of the body, all are caused by us, either by bad behaviour, bad thinking or just plain badness. Or it is direct punishment from 'god'. So we have science on the one hand blaming us 'scientifually', the self righteous religionists blaming us and a vengeful God and the New Age pratts telling us we were not good enough and if only we thought right and forgave right and went around with a stupified smile on our serene little faces, we would not get sick and die. They all live in cloud cockoo land. We DIE. All of us do. We cannot avoid it. It is the only thing we can be certain of. We will die. Life is terminal.
The good news is that we survive it! Huh? Survive what? Death of course. Our bodies die and rot away but we do not. And it doesn't matter who you are, whether or not you are perceived as good or wicked, you cannot cease to exist. And no, there is no vengeful judgemental god waiting for you to either place you on a pink cloud and give you a harp or throw you into a firey pit. Nope. As in this life, where our thinking determines to a certain extent our life experience, so it will be in the non physical world although our thinking will be all there is so therefore our surroundings will be exactly as our thinking dictates. If we are negative and self centred I hardly think our surroundings will be heavenly. However, whatever our sprititual state, progress is ALWAYS open to ALL. There is no point of no return. There is no line for you to cross that will forever leave you in darkness. No. Progress is always open to you - and it is up to you to choose it. You can either face the light and work toward it or you can turn your back and walk the other way. It is up to you. However, if you turn your back and walk the other way, no matter how far, you will always be able to turn around.
We all will have to face ourselves. The good, the bad and the indifferent. we will feel how we caused another to feel. We will feel the joy, the peace, the relief we brought to others. Conversely, we will also feel the suffering we brought others. What better justice is there?
It is strange to me that whilst people talk of God, even religion, or spirituality, people ignore the real evidence that we survive death. They balk at the idea or are embarassed by it or even think one is loopy to believe it. Yet, there is so much evidence out there. John and I have made a study of this for almost 25 years. Niether of us doubt that we survive death. And no, the evidence is not the stuff you see on Living TV, the psychic mumbo jumbo crap, which has been edited and most of it just plain insulting. However, there is genuine mediumship and it takes place daily all over the world. Along with it is the misguided 'mediumship', the fraudulent, the poor mediumship, the ego trippers. It is up to you to sift thru it and not just dimiss the whole thing as crap. Every day people are receiving confirmation that we do indeed survive physical death.
Keep your mind open, always.
The only unforgivable sin is that of a closed mind. A closed mind cannot be reached and thus it's sin(error) cannot be corrected.
Sunday, October 23, 2005
Chipolata ordeal
This is tilly and her son, solo, now almost 6 weeks of age and very cute. Not a very good pic but the digicam ran out of juice so I'll have to wait to try for a better one.We just got back from our trip to Germany. We had a 4 hour delay at the Chunnel and got into France at 5.30pm . We then drove to Namur in Belgium where we stayed the night. The following day we drove to Lake Konstanz, on the German, Swiss, Austrian border. We drove thru Luxembourg and France to get there. Our hotel was very nice and we had a suite, bang in the middle of Konstanz opposite the railway station.
Spent the Monday walking around Konstanz, with me using the w/chair too. It was cold and I had to buy some thermal long john's! Very thin tho and comfy to wear. I only found one yarn shop and it wasn't very interesting.
The following day we drove to Lindau which is a beuatiful island town on the lake. Couldn't use the chair there at all cos the streets were cobbled and that made it hard forJohn to push and was too painful anyway for me as it juddered all the time. John has the patience of a siant. I walk really slowly with my sticks and so he does too and he is 6ft 1" so that makes it harder. After Lindau we drove to Oberstaufen. This involved driving up high thru the mountins along winding rounds with local people right behind me driving fast! Yet the roads were narrow and there was no barrier between my car and falling off the edge! I drove very slowly around blind bends etc much to the annoyance of these pratts who still wanted to drive at 60mph!
However, the scenery was beautful. I really adore German architecture(and Austrian), the houses are wonderful. The valleys and mountians make your jaw drop. I bought a jacket and 2 waistcoats and 2 shirts, all Austrian/German Landhaus style(traditional).
Although we had intended to stay until Thursday, i decided we should leave Wednesday and head for Heidelberg. I did the right thing. The weather turned nasty. We stopped off at Rottweil(where the Rottweiler dog hails from). There is where the rain started. We got to Heidelberg at 7pm and it was still wet and I had been driving all day.The report said the rain was staying till the weekend. We were lucky, the next day the sun shone all day and we spent it walking around Heidelberg-a beautiful city. Cobbled steets again so no chair.
I went from Friday to Wednesday without having a poo and I tell you, I was fit to burst. I felt so bloated and horrid. Of course the pain killers, codeine, bung you up. So i stopped taking them after Monday and trebled my does of laxitives. Still no joy. Finally, I decided I would eat foods I am allergic to-namely wheat. So Tuesday, i did precisely that. I was expecting pain and to feel sick. No. I did get a cramp and then finally
I managed a movement but it was a rather pathetic attempt at evacuation. All that effort for a hard chipolata. So I took more laxative and the next day ate more wheat. So Thursday in Heidelberg after much panting and pushing, I managed another hard chipolata. I was not feeling good. I was bloated, hungover from the wheat and now getting very uncomfortable.
Friday we drove home, or rather to Calais. 500miles thru heavy rain and wind. Hotel was again very nice and we even went and visted Cite Europe which was just another mall really. I threw all sense and caution to the wind and we bought food to eat in our hotel room-I bought bread rolls, wholewheat! I felt stuffed afterwards and was really looking forward to having the runs I always get if I eat wheat. Did it work? Of course bloody not! By the time we got on the Chunnel the following morning, I felt pregnant and really wanted to off load. Driving up the M20, not more than 20 mins into Engalnd, I could feel the earth begin to move and I had to stop rather qucikly at the Maidstone service. Aaaahhh-reflief at last. Still no runs but at least I dumped a good load this time and did so several more times that day.
Today of course I feel like shit, hung over, weak and tired and knowing the next few days will be tough as I detox.
Did I buy some yarn? Of course I did. I bought some oild wool for making myself a Landhasu style jacket, cardi. These are made in garter stitch.
It is always a let down to come back home after a drive around mainland europe. Back to crap food, crap service, being ripped off. Our supermarkets are appalling compared to the mainland, expecially France and their Carrefore. Our m'way service staions are a total rip off, appalling food at very expensive prices served by usually miserable gits who don't know what they are doing. The m'way services on the mainland are sooo different. good service, good prices and very good food. I don't know why in the UK we put with such crap and bad service. I think it is because we don't like to 'make a fuss' and so we allow ourselves to get trodden on. I really can't believe how bad our supermarkets are and that we put up with it. Bad service, very limited choice and high prices to boot.
If I were rich, I'd go and do my weekly shop in France!
Sunday, October 02, 2005
Busy Busy Busy
What a weekend! I had to drive at the last minute 420 miles return between 7pm and 3.15am last night to take one of my bitches to be mated. Why so sudden? Well, i realised she was close to ready and today I have to pick up John from Heathrow as he returns from a business trip. Tomorrow, he would not want to drive to take the bitch and nor would I since I am having to drive 200 plus this evening. So I left Finty with her beau and will collect her next weekend, hopefully well and truly shaggged and up the duff. 
This is done on the passap E6000 using OX/N. The yarn is wonderful. A 2/15 weight. 50% Merino, 25% Cashmere and 25% Silk. Makes a medium weight sweater.
This is another 100% Cashmere. I really like this colour called Lovat which is a green heather mix.
This is done on the passap E6000 using OX/N. The yarn is wonderful. A 2/15 weight. 50% Merino, 25% Cashmere and 25% Silk. Makes a medium weight sweater.This is another 100% Cashmere. I really like this colour called Lovat which is a green heather mix.
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