Three Paragraphs

Since coming face-to-face with the monumental task of clearing out Mama and Daddy's house, I've been on a bit of a crusade around here.  I'm trying to get rid of my clutter/things that I can't imagine either Briton or Hannah wanting once I'm gone.  This morning, I came across a box filled with photos, cards, etc. that were being saved for decoupage.  It was fun going through the box, winnowing out the ones that didn't strike me as it seemed they once did.  But now, I want to decoupage!  And Hannah said something last night about wanting to go to Michaels. . .  Must use all my self-control not to buy anything.  After all, this is still the year of my not having a job.

And I have discovered some ugly, ugly truths about someone close to me.  I'm at a loss as to what to do, but know I shouldn't do anything until I've calmed down.  What this person doesn't seem to realize is that, yes, lying = not telling the truth, but, also choosing not to tell the whole story = not telling the truth.  And while my temperament might appear easy-going a lot of the time, one thing that I cannot, will not, abide is being lied to.   I'm not stupid, you know --- I can put things together pretty quickly, and I know when they don't add up.

My knitting is coming along apace.  I've got about half of one sleeve to go on a sweater for myself, and, now that the Christmas deadline is gone, I've started --- again --- on a sweater for Briton.  Ongoing are wash/dish/cloths out of leftover cotton and a rippled blanket from leftover worsted.  Too, though I'd avoided spinning until now (I didn't need another hobby, with more boxes of supplies laying about), Roxanne has sent me a drop spindle and a shopping bag of roving, so I'm going to have to figure the process out.  I want to enjoy it, but not too much, you know?

Christmas Wrap

Nice day here yesterday --- how was yours?

Among the presents I received:

Could those be ANY cuter????*  You should all know how I feel about Yoda by now.  And Maleficent is my favorite Disney villain.

Also got some lovely smiles and hi-jinks from these two:

Oh, yeah, and Thor.  What a guy.

 I must admit to having some very sad moments.  After we had opened all the gifts and sort of settled into the day, I realized that it was the time that I always called home to wish Mama and Daddy Merry Christmas.  And now I have no one to call.  And we have no "second Christmas" to go to. . .  For me, at least, things were very glum on and off all day.

But, I did do some Christmas Day knitting.  Not on either of these things, mind you.  These were finished some time ago:

 One of the other socks made of Norville Serenity yarn, and

a Noro shawl.

I certainly plan to do a great deal more knitting today.  Once I clear all the dirty dishes out of the sink, that is!  ;]

Enjoy the rest of your holidays!

*The answer, of course, would be "No."

Random Thoughts

Going to leave this tab open all day, and just record some of what crosses my mind.  Would that be okay with everybody?

Why, thank you.

It is my Favorite Day of The Year.  Christmas Eve is all about baking cookies (at least in our house) and excitement and being finished with all the rushing about and that marvelous anticipatory quiet and stillness that descend after the sun goes down.  Christmas Day can sometimes disappoint.  Christmas Eve never does.

Proof of the use of an Amazon gift card*:

 (Below "Bringing Up Baby is Saramago's memoir.  When I finish with his novel, All the Names, either that, or the letters to the President book, will be my next read.)

One of our Christmas Eve rituals is cookie-baking.  I'm also baking a breakfast casserole and a coffee cake for tomorrow, so there'll be more kitchen activity than usual.  We also always visit a live Nativity scene one of the local churches has, then come back to open one gift each, then watch "The Muppet Christmas Carol."  

Mama, Daddy and I didn't really have any Christmas traditions, unless you call me having to pull these off Daddy's feet after a tough Christmas Eve at the store one:

 Each year, when we go to the Nativity scene, I wear these in honor:

Inside the boots will be a pair of handknit socks --- made from Deborah Norville's "Serenity" sock yarn.  Now, I'm no Deborah Norville fan, but Jo-Ann had the yarn on sale for a ridiculously low price, so I got some.  I bought 2 skeins each of 3 different colorways, and it turns out that I got a full pair out of just 1 skein.  How often does that happen?  This is the color I'm wearing:

It's beautiful worked up, and is nice and soft.  Maybe an early holiday miracle?

Have a Magnificent Christmas.  You've been a great support in a year that I needed constant boosting.  Thank you.



*This mostly for the benefit of Twinnie.

The Christmas Sock

For me, at least, this week has gone by the way adults like/need the few days before Christmas to go, and that children despise the few days before Christmas to go --- slowly.  Not at a snail's pace, mind you, but at a nice, manageable pace that let me breathe normally.  I was able to do what had to be done without being frantic.  I was able to check and double-check "What Must Needs Be Done" lists, deprived of that it-will-never-happen-now pit-of-the-stomach feeling.

Except for stockings.  Stockings are my annual fifth column.  They were a tad easier when the children were small, and little toys fit snug down in the heels and toes.  Now, though, they are pretty tough.

Stockings, to me, have always been the secret weapons of Christmas.  In all the hurry and flurry of getting to and unwrapping what's under the tree, they're sort of forgotten.  When someone does remember to get to them, what an opportunity there is for a final hurrah --- a primo elfin gift or two to finish off the day.  So, I tend to focus on stockings beyond candy and fruit --- hoping to find small treasures that will top the day off in a special way.  

 

(I'm sure a good deal of that comes from having a father who was a jeweler --- lots of fantastic, sparkly things can fit very nicely into a stocking.)

 

Another reason I'm such a fan of stockings is that they can come shaped as cowboy boots:

I have a boot-shaped stocking which hangs on my bedroom door each Christmas.  It's for decoration, as we each have cross-stitched stockings hanging from the mantle.  But, if someone felt compelled to slip something into it, there wouldn't be a fuss made.

Day, Day, Day. . .

Tough day Sunday, as I was weepy and guilt-ridden and sad.  I should know by now that grief truly does hit in waves;  it would be nice, though, if there were some sort of lifeguard to warn you when the tides begin to rise.

Maybe someone sorta like this:

Yesterday was full of errands, today was pretty much the same --- looking forward to tomorrow, when there's nothing going on during the day.  Tomorrow night, Hannah and I get to go see Briton in a reading of "The Seagull". And then, I think, we are all free for Christmas.

How's things in your neck of the woods?

Ten Essential Songs

1. "To Love Somebody" --- Bee Gees
2. "Words"--- Bee Gees
3. "Gold" --- Emmylou Harris
4. "American Trilogy" --- Elvis Presley
5. "Darkness, Darkness" --- Iain Matthews
6. "Take It Easy" --- Delbert McClinton
7. "Seven Spanish Angels" --- Ray Charles and Willie Nelson
8. "Amazing Grace"
9. "Tennessee Waltz"
10. "When A Man Loves A Woman" --- Percy Sledge

You?

If You Were Me Today

1.  You would have awakened after dreaming about your First Grade Boyfriend.

2.  You would have a Cat Stevens song stuck in your head.

3.  You would not be, nor would you have ever been, a Cat Stevens fan.

4.  You would be puzzled by the shape of the garment you are knitting, even though you are following the pattern to the letter.

5.  (You would think the garment is either upside down or backward --- either one not good.)

6.  You would have e-mailed your therapist 3 times over a raging argument with your daughter.

7.  You would have received an Amazon gift card from your amazing twin sister.
8.  You would have already spent the card.
9.  You would have been sent this awesome link by an awesome friend.

Guardian Angel Roxanne sent me (through facebook) to a page with some nice advice.  The best of the bunch for me just now:

Stop putting your own needs on the back burner.
 Stop trying to be someone you're not.
Stop being scared to make a mistake.
Stop trying to compete against everyone else.
Stop wasting time explaining yourself to others.
Stop trying to make things perfect.*
Stop trying to be everything to everybody.^
Stop worrying so much.#


*A common mom problem, I suspect.  Definitely a Me problem, having been raised by a woman who did seem to do every single thing perfectly.
^I know this is a mom deal --- trying to meet every child's needs.  It also dovetails into the making things perfect issue.  And I'm still trying to be everything to a person who isn't here any more.
# How easily typed, how near-impossibly done.

I Promise

One day, these posts won't be "Oh, Pitiful Me"-themed.  But that's pretty much where I am right now.

 

Briton is in his new apartment.  Yesterday was fairly exhausting, yet I had trouble getting to sleep last night.  I'm interested to see how he did his first night in the new place.  We're meeting up in just a little while to go get Hannah.  I don't think she had a very pleasant end to her semester, and I don't think she's going to want to talk about it, though we surely need to.  We simply can't keep spending what little money we have on sending her to school if she isn't going to be a student.

And need-to-do-s from Nashville are still rolling around in my head.  Basically, I'm in a constant state of near-panic.  Or, more accurately, near-panic-attack.  I just cannot get my mind to be still.  And trying to distract myself fails utterly.  Losing Mama --- hell, this whole year --- has made me realize how easily time can be wasted.  It can slip out from under you before you know it, and you never get it back.  What have I done this year?  A nervous breakdown.  And a half.  Couldn't find a job.  Now, trying to pull together a Christmas, funds are even scarcer than they were last year, my heart and mind and dealing with grief and loss and children's problems. . .  "Let this Christmas go," I've heard in my head more than once lately.  "There will be others."  Maybe.  But what if this one is our last one all really together?  What if, for everyone's sake, this needs to be a really fun holiday?  Who puts that together?  It's supposed to be me, I guess.  And I'm not up to the challenge.

Back in Athens, getting ready to move Briton into his apartment tomorrow, then go to Atlanta to bring Hannah home for the holidays Tuesday.  Thoroughly unsettled, body and mind.

Time

I am in Middle Tennessee.  Have been since Sunday night, actually.  I had wi-fi installed in Mama and Daddy's house today, so that when we come here in the future, we don't have to live computerless.

It has been an agonizing week.  I brought Finn with me, and discovered on the trip up --- discovered twice, to be exact --- that he gets carsick.  And he's been very (understandably) whiney when I've had to leave to undertake all this paperwork, then very (understandably) clingy when I return.  I've tried to keep my outings to a minimum, but what you find when you try to wrap up a deceased parent's affairs is that one necessary form always leads to at least two others.  And appointments must be made.  And it is cold and raining and then snowing, and you are on such an edge that you are eating your anti-anxiety medication like candy.  And when you finish a day's traversing, you start downing melatonin and ibuprofen PM so you can just go to sleep and not have to feel the panic anymore.

I've had people offer to come by, to talk to me on the phone, but I simply haven't been able to face that.  I've been so frantic, so distressed that I knew having to talk with anyone would undoubtedly send me right over the edge.  So I've lain here with my feet elevated and my heart pounding, and poor little Finn skooching up as close to me as he can get, begging not to pass out.  Or crack up.

And I have to come back and do this time and time and who knows how many more times again before everything is really done.

I just can't look at any of that right now.  It's too, too, too much.

Next Steps

The death certificates are supposedly on their way.  When they arrive, Finn and I will leave for Nashville.  I'm taking him for the company, and for the fact that he is the most high-maintenance of the pets, and Briton has a busy enough week ahead of him without having to "put up" with all of Finn's shenanigans.

 

We have Riley, Mama's cat, here with us now.  She, in her own house, was the most skittish cat I've ever been around, so you can imagine how timid she's being here with all the noise and paws and barking and general carrying on.  She has come to live under Hannah's bed --- Hannah made really good progress with her before she (Hannah) went back to school.  Again, since Finn is the most energetic soul in the house, his absence might prompt her to come out and explore a little.  Poor thing --- she's been through a lot.  I know she was right there with Mama when and after she died.

I don't know how long all the "getting things in order" will take me.  Briton moves into his own apartment the 12th, and I know he wants me here to help him.  But I can only go as quickly as the Williamson County, Tennessee bureaucracy will allow.  One of the very first things I'm going to do is make an appointment to have wi-fi installed in the house.  Whenever any of us is up there, I want us to be able to compute.  We used to just go to Borders, but. . .

I've got two bags of knitting packed, along with one I left up there.  I seem to be expecting an awful lot of downtime.  We shall see.

Does Anyone Else Have This Problem?

Each year, when the holidays are over, it seems to take forever to take down and pack away the decorations.  And some are always missed.  (There's a Nativity in an upstairs bookshelf that hasn't moved in three years.)  Yet, before all that, when the decorations are first being brought out and placed around the house, there never seem to be enough.  Only a couple of little areas in the house have very much Christmas going on.  

 

It's kind of sad.  And not in the heartwarming Charlie Brown kind of way.

 

No, our house just seems sort of bare.  Granted, there isn't much of a holiday budget this year, but aren't there nice, inexpensive ways to make each room feel Christmas-y?

 

 

Ah-Cheer

For someone who didn't actually see her daughter all that much in the last week, I have somehow managed to come down with the most aggravating symptoms of the head/chest cold that was wracking Hannah's health while we were in Tennessee.  Sore throat (actually, it feels like someone is rasping my throat with a saw), cough (which makes the throat even worse), fever, headache. . .  I feel miserable.  Thankfully, I guess, the death certificates have not arrived yet, so I don't have an imminent trip to Nashville.

 

 

(This is precisely how I feel.)

 

We brought Riley, Mama's cat, home with us, and have been trying to ease her into live at The Chez.  Hannah made some real breakthroughs in the last couple of days, with Riley volunteering to spend time with her --- even purring.  I've never, ever heard that cat purr.  It will be interesting to see if any of the progress is lost, now that Hannah is back in Atlanta, and won't be back until mid-December.  

The rather spindly little artificial tree that I bought after Christmas last year is up.  This is the first time in Briton and Hannah's lives that we haven't had a live tree.  But they understand.  The tree isn't decorated yet, but we'll get there.  The stockings are up, and a few Nativities are out. . .  It is beginning to maybe start to feel like Christmas.

How about at your house?

 

 

Either I'm handling Mama's death very well, or I am in complete denial, and the ton of bricks has yet to fall.

I sort of have to keep reminding myself that she's gone, you know?  I look at the first sentence of that last entry, and it's like that isn't happening to me.  I've cried, it isn't that.  But there's a composure that seems out of place.  I'm parentless now.  It's just me.

If I begin to think too far ahead, my head spins.  One little chore, one little step at a time, I keep telling myself.  Nothing can be done at all until I receive the death certificates, so staying still seems to be all I can do right now.

People keep telling me to get a lawyer, or an accountant.  I don't know anyone up there.  It makes my head hurt trying to pull it all together.  Since I'm the only child, shouldn't it be fairly straightforward and easy?  Haven't people with less intelligence than me managed estates successfully before?

I am giving myself the early Christmas present of calling off any more gift knitting.  What's done for the etsy shop is done, unless I'm truly in the mood to make something for there.  The sweater I was trying to get done for Briton was going painfully (in the literal sense;  tough yarn), so it got ripped out this afternoon.  And I could feel the load lighten.  Yes, I'm upset that I won't have it to give him, but I'm more relieved that there are no more deadlines looming over me.

The Work of Grief

My mother died last Wednesday.  At least we think it was Wednesday.  I had been trying to call her that afternoon and getting no answer, so I got in touch with my cousin, who got in touch with the police, and they got into her house to find her lying on the floor between the kitchen and den.  One of the officers said it looked to him she'd been dead between 8 and 18 hours.

I packed quickly (and poorly, it turned out) and got up there that night.  Since we have only one working car right now, Briton and Hannah had to cobble a trip up;  they arrived Saturday night.  Visitation was Sunday night, burial was yesterday (in a dismal rain.)

Mama had asked for a graveside service only, and had chosen the person from her church to say a prayer.  I read from Proverbs 31 (A Virtuous Woman), and it was done.

I'm thinking now of all the paperwork I will have to do when I go back up next week.  And I am overwhelmed.  And, I imagine, only now feeling all the sadness and loss that adrenaline and arrangements-making covered over until now.

'Tis the Season

Made this this weekend, and still can't get over how cute it is.  The snowflakes and "pearls" are cut from miniature garland, and just tacked on.

Made lots of little things this weekend: several seed stitch buttoned bracelets that are my "Goosebumps" series, a couple of wide buttoned cuffs, pet things.  Just a few sales is all I ask.  If you had told me last year that Christmas this year would be even grimmer, I wouldn't/couldn't have believed you.  But it is.  A year without a job does that to a holiday.

Because Alan is a Two-Time Knitters' Hunk, and Sam is Our Reigning KH

Sam Neill is crazy, wicked clever and funny.  He is also a winemaker who periodically asks his friends to contribute their Essential Listening music lists.  This is today's:

Alan Rickman

Special Guest  DJ Thespian LEGEND, Alan RICKMAN Star of Bottleshock (Just to show this is in some small way connected to wine.)
Ladies aanndd Gentlemen! Tonight only, direct from Broadway, the utterly unique and completely brilliant Alan Rickman, right here in the Dayglo Disco spinning his discs just for you. And you. And you two in the corner. Yes it's Alan Rickman ... NOW I have your attention. Yes, it's the man who brought you Snape in Harry Potter (if you're under 20), Valmont in the RSC's Dangerous Liaisons (if you are grown up), the bad guy in Die Hard, he IS Colonel Brandon, Truly Madly ... oh alright you’ve got the picture ... and masses of other luminous performances on stage and screen. He is, like his namesake Chicken Rickman, sexy, charismatic and very scary. And here he is ... RESPECT ... sashaying up to the turntables with a stack o’ wax under his immaculately cut  armpit -- give it up, if you please, for one of the greatest actors of his and any other generation -- the simply great, the inimitable the fantastic ...Alan RICKMAN!!

---

These are songs to have grown up with:
I Won’t Dance - Fred Astaire                                        
My hero. Completely disciplined, completely free.
I’m Easy - Keith Carradine                                 
From Robert Altman’s great film, Nashville.  The scene has an acting lesson from Lily Tomlin.
Lily, Rosemary, and the Jack of Hearts - Bob Dylan                                             
10am. Monday morning. RADA student. Our brilliant teacher, June Kemp, gets us moving.
The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face - Roberta Flack                                      
Just listen.
Desperado - Langley Schools Music Project
Recorded in a school gym in 1976. The singer is 9 years old.
Dancing in the Street - Martha and The Vandellas            
Just dance.
Real Good For Free - Joni Mitchell                                        
She says it all, really. No comment required.
Coney Island - Van Morrison                                      
Nostalgia about everything. Everywhere.
You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling - The Righteous Brothers                  
Last dance at the party. A red light bulb. The dregs of cheap wine.
Imagination - Little Jimmy Scott                                         
A great jazz singer rediscovered just in time.

---

Thanks to Alan from taking a few minutes from learning his lines and rehearsing Seminar for Broadway. Fascinating list, and illuminating too. Go see it if you can.
Oh, and when we said inimitable, we were exaggerating. In the Proprietor’s experience, AR has one of those voices that actors all over the world absolutely love to imitate. Like Michael Caine and Sean Connery. And Christopher Walken. It’s a compliment.
Anyway, we always love any Rickman performance.  What’s your favourite?
He is the Bee’s Knees. Practice your Rickman with that phrase ... mutter through your teeth with eyes half closed and a kind of hypnotic drone “...heeez the beeez neeez." Good.

Today

At my psychiatrist's office, I saw a woman who looks on the outside the way I feel on the inside.  It's the second time I've seen her, but it really hit me today.

 

She came into the waiting room with her head down, and sat in a chair in the farthest corner.  Her posture made her back curve and her torso cave in.  She had a little purse which she held (both hands) in her lap.  Her clothes were ill-fitting, her shoes were old.  She never moved.  Not a muscle.  Her mouth was slightly open, her hair mousy.  She looked so all alone and so pained.  There was nothing about her that hinted at happiness or satisfaction or friends or hope.

I saw myself today, turned inside out.

Good Company Makes A Good Meal

November 10, 2011