On the one hand, I'm feeling very happy. Mr Deplume and I are going away for the weekend with friends. It should be a lot of fun. We'll take pictures and shop and eat and have a great time. The kids will be having fun watching movies and eating out with Grandma and Grandpa. 


But on the other hand, my friend is suffering, and I cannot help. Her brother was killed and all I want to do is be there for her (even though she lives three states away). Also thousands of people in Haiti are grieving their loved ones, and again, there's nothing I can do. I can hand some money to an organization who is helping, and pray, but it still feels like it's not enough. 


Back in another part of my brain, I'm trying to find a knitting project that excites me. I'd prefer one that involves that alpaca yarn I bough last year. I've been searching for weeks, and cannot find anything I want to make. Why I'm so obsessed with finding the perfect pattern defies reason. 


My brain is a difficult place to live sometimes. derr. Maybe the trip will clear my head. Let's hope. 

This isn't funny, Mother Nature.

It's March 29. Last night, after a horrible gloomy day of rain, we got snow. Five inches of wet snow. Just like that, all my hope for spring is dashed. I awoke this morning to find that we are back in the dead of winter. I didn't cover any of my outdoor plants yesterday-- I hope nothing is too damaged.

Cutting the cord.

We've been paying $58 a month for Directv for many years (well, it used to be cheaper, but they kept adding crap we don't use, and upping the price). After a very frustrating afternoon yesterday, I mentioned to Mr Deplume that we ought to just get rid of the cable/satellite altogether and just use an antenna and the Internet for our television enjoyment. He bristled at first-- he'd have to give up ESPN! How could he get through a morning without Sportscenter?

But just moments later he saw our 4-year-old beg for another toy that had been pimped on a commercial, and he came around. So after a little talking and futzing with the computer to allow us to watch Burn Notice and Psych episodes on the TV set without cable, the decision was made. This morning I will be calling DirecTV, telling them to just come and pick up their crappy HD receiver that doesn't work on our television and canceling our service.

Last night I went through the massive Tivo Season pass list and deleted all the pay-tv shows. Bye Bye, Food Detectives, see ya around, Mythbusters. Au revoir, Gardening By the Yard. It will be tough without you.

The children will probably have the biggest adjustment. They are used to having 10 different cartoon channels standing by, ready to placate them at a moment's notice. I've saved a few recorded programs for them on the Tivo (I love love love my Tivo), and will be buying some more kid-friendly DVDs. Once summer is here, this will all be easier, as they really love playing outdoors anyway. I know that families are happier with less TV, but the next couple of weeks will try all of our patience, I suspect.

We'll be better for it, right?

I hate Directv right now. A lot.

Directv emailed me a couple of months ago, telling me that I needed a new dish and receiver, because they were switching satellites. I made an appointment for today between 12 and 4. I was pleasantly surprised when the guy showed up at 11:58 AM. He promptly got to work, and now I only have one dish in my yard, which is an improvement,

However, this new box they forced me to get is an HD receiver, one which does not work with my Tivo, my tv, or my Directv account. Because I don't have and HDTV. I have a regular tv. A normal big fat standard definition television. It won't allow my beloved Tivo to change channels to record. I'm getting a little jittery just thinking about it. How on earth can I be expected to watch shows when they are actually on? That's not how I roll.

So I called the handy phone number they had given me and went through the "are you sure you plugged into the wall" questions, and eventually got them to believe me and transfer me to the technical support department. I explained to him that it won't chance channels properly , and then I sat on the line with him for nearly 15 minutes while he breathed into his headset and typed on his keyboard. After the 15 minutes, he said "there's nothing we can do for you."

And I said "no, you need to fix this."

He said, "well, Directv upgraded your receiver, but didn't charge you for the service call, nor did they force you to pay for HD service, so there's nothing more I can do. Since the the problem is with the Tivo, maybe you should call them to see if they've found a solution" As if it's Tivo's fault.

I relized I was not going to get anywhere with the Directv guy, so I actually tried calling Tivo. The girl at the other end of that call was more sympathetic, but had no decent answers for me and put me on hold to find out about new products that they might have for me. I waited a couple of minutes, but eventually hung up.

And then I did what any other sane person would, I shopped for DishNetwork and Mediacom deals on the internet. Unfortunately, once the honeymoon with those folks is over, their customer service would be just as bad.

I just called DirecTV again, got a standard customer service guy and he said "they shouldn't have given you an HD receiver, they can come out on Monday to reinstall a regular one."

What?

I just spent 3 godforsaken hours on phone calls to people who don't give a shit, repeating the modern-day custserv mantra: "I'm sorry that must be frustrating for you", and it turns out I got the wrong receiver in the first place?? What the hell? I think I might be more angry than I was when I though the programmers of the new-fangled boxes had made a mistake and they were just stupid. I might still cancel the DirecTV just to make a point. I wish I weren't so addicted to a few cable TV shows, or I'd just cancel it altogether and switch to using just Netflix and Hulu and iTunes for my boob tube-type enjoyment.

And people wonder why a little part of me wants to go live with the Amish?

Slump

I've attempted to bake bread about 4 times this month, and it has gone poorly each time, for different reasons. I used to be good at it. I've tried two different yeast recipes (one is my old standby) and banana bread (again, an old standby recipe). Mr. Deplume thinks I've hit a slump. He swears that all the greats do, and that I'll get over it soon. I hope so. In the meantime, I made chocolate chip banana muffins. I did not screw those up. They are so good, in fact, that I ate about 8 of them in 2 days. oops.

Speaking of slumps, I am still battling my winter knitting funk. To combat this, I picked up some US13 (that's 9 millimeters thick!) needles and have made a couple of garter stitch neck warmers out of *gasp* novelty yarn. It's almost embarrassing. I like to think of myself as an appreciator of the finer side of the craft, but dang if these aren't fast! I don't even know what I want to do with them yet. I just want to have completed projects under my belt.

If I get a minutes later on, I'll take pictures. But I probably won't post them on Ravelry, you know, due to the shame. ;)

brrrrr!

Last night I went to bed, knowing that we were in the midst of a wind storm, and that the first bone fide frost was on its way. I awoke a couple of times in the night thinking, "it sure is cold in here." I woke up this morning, went to the thermostat, and it's 55 degrees in here (for you metric people, that's 12!).

I am now swilling hot coffee, and awaiting the moment when I can call the furnace magicians to come and wave their magic wand over it, and restore my castle to its regular level of toastiness. I'm a tad worried about my luck though, because when the air conditioner failed this summer, it only 11 wire connectors and a service call to fix it. A few years ago when I awoke to this sort of temp, if was the fault of a toddler in charge of setting the thermostat (that fix was free, of course). Surely I cannot keep up this charmed HVAC life I've been living.

Must now stop typing, as my fingers are stiffening up from the cold, so I'm off to hug my coffee and retreat under a blanket. I'll end up a frosty Normcicle if the heater won't cooperate soon.

Note to self:

Dear Norm,

You have small, uncooperative veins. When you mention to the phlebotomist at the church's blood drive that you are difficult to stick, and she looks at you with a little bit of fear in her eyes and says, "we'll be fine", stop. Do not pass go. Do not say to yourself, "I'm sure the reason that she has her name written on a piece of tape stuck to her lab coat is due to forgetfulness, and not at all a sign of someone in her first week on the job."

No, what you shall do in the future is this:
1. politely stand next to the chair.
2. ask for the expert in the room, preferably someone who has taught phlebotomy to others in the past (that's a pretty good sign, in my experience)
3. refuse to let them tell you that it will probably be okay.

Trust me, it's not worth it to get stuck in two arms by two people to try to get one pint of blood, because you don't want to hurt the newbie's feelings. Better to just have someone do it right the first time.

Love,
Norm

P.S. Today's Red Cross hero was named Steve Stick. Remember that name-- and ask for him if he's there next time.




Note to others who might be reading this note to myself: I take much pride in the fact that my Grandma Bug was apparently often "the expert" in her years working for the Red Cross, with the blood mobile. I bet she would have gotten my my petite veins to cooperate on the first try. She had beautiful hands.

How cool is this?

I never would have thought of making a bird house out of an old porch light. I don't think I have a right to be surprised, though, since this spring a small family of birds nested in ours. Funny how sometimes the brain just refuses to take those tiny steps. But now that I know, I'll be trolling the thrift store for old sconces to make little birdies' homes.

I hope that there will be real, photographable progress on the living room this week. I plan on painting the walls today, leaving "only" the trim and floor to do. I decided the other day that home remodeling is rather like liver: it seems like a good idea, and the grilled onions smell so good, but you take that first little bite, and it starts growing in your mouth. You keep chewing and chewing, yet it never seems to be time to swallow. Unfortunately, I can't spit the living room out in my napkin and skip straight to dessert.

Uh Oh. Too much knitting.

Yesterday, I posted about my renewed fervor in finishing a project so that I can dig into that alpaca yarn that is chanting my name. I went to my Wednesday morning knitting group, and knit on the shawl. I knit a little when I got home, too.

Last night, my wrist was a little sore. I figured that I had lugged the boy around too much (he's four and still loves to be carried) and it was a little irritated. I went to bed. At 3 o'clock, I awoke to a throbbing wrist. I managed to prop it up and get back to sleep, only to squish it again a little while later. Ouch.

This morning I hunted down my old wrist brace, totally forgetting that it's for my right wrist I got it from the Occupational Safety department when I worked in an office). I think I need to go to the drug store and buy a new dealie for my poor pained appendage.

And no knitting for me today. I guess I'll have to clean the house instead. *sobs*

ugh.

The whole family has been under the weather. Nora is fine, but the rest of us, not so much. We'll live, though. We're staying at a hotel near the airport tonight and will fly out of San Jose at the crack of dawn tomorrow. Please pray that we're all pretty much fine by then.

We do have some more pictures of sights we saw in between the germ attack, but I'll wait to post them until we're home.

Proud mama moments

Miss Nora wanted to learn how to knit. So we sat down, started to teach her, and she decided that it was still too hard for her little fingers. But she still wanted to play with yarn. So I reached back behind the mental cobwebs and recalled how to finger knit. I set her up with a ball of chunky purple yarn and her fingers, and off she went. This picture was taken about a week ago; the resulting tube is now about 8 feet long. Every time I break out my knitting bag, she gets her project and sits down next to me. It makes me squee with delight.

I'm not having the same delight at my own knitting these days, though. The wrap that I started with Trekking XXL is pretty, but lives in that irritating space between mindless knitting and something that I have to pay attention to. I kept forgetting to concentrate, and now there are several errors in it. I was thinking for awhile that I'd just try to block out the ugliness, but I just know that it wont work, and the bockety parts will bug me forever. So I think it is going to have to be pulled out. ARGH. Even that will be a pain, because it is being knit with two yarns at once.

I really need to finish the crochet sweater I started. I have the body done, I just need to finish the sleeves, then figure out a border. The sleeves will take me an hour or two, I think, but the border vexes me. I'll need the input of crocheters much more skilled than I to pick the right one that won't look stupid, methinks.

Sorry I've been a blog slacker lately. I've been feeling rather grumpy of late, and hate for all that grump to spill out here. I'll try to do better, I promise.

I've lost my mojo

First, I lost half a skein of yarn to tangles. And I dropped 6 stitches about 5 rows down on the sock I was working on (still sitting waiting for me to fix or give up). Then the hat I crocheted for my Girl was small enough to fit her Cabbage Patch doll. Now this:

It's a skinny scarf made of recycled sari silk held together with a navy blue acrylic. I figured the navy yarn would tone down the loudness of the silk, while stabilizing the too-thin spots in the yarn. In my head, it would be a fun accessory when I'm wearing a plain outfit. I'd look quite artsy fartsy in it.

Nope.

Instead, it weighs 4.3 metric tonnes, curls in spite of the garter stitch edge, and the worst part is where I went to the second skein:

One end looks a little like my original vision. The other end looks like a pile of neon dryer lint. It is hideous. So now I have to decide the fate of this travesty of knits. Do I attempt to fix it (but HOW?), or do I sew it up, stuff it, put googly eyes on it and call it a fuzzy snake? Le sigh.

To top all of this off, I have been driving Nora to school because the little guy's stroller lost a wheel last week. I think it's fixable, but I haven't gotten around to it yet. This morning, I got the kids strapped into their seats, insert the key into the ignition, turn, and hear a deafening silence. Not even a sad click. Battery is d-e-d dead. No choice but to try to fix the stroller in the 30-degree garage. I fiddled with it for a few minutes, then realized that my fingers would freeze and Nora would be tardy to school long before I figured out the fix. So I picked up the Nige and off we went. Thanks to the snow covering everyone's sidewalks, we had to walk in the street amidst the school buses, high schoolers speeding to school, and a garbage truck.

We made it to school in time, and when I got back home I plugged the car into the charger, wheeled the stroller into the family room, and sat down here to warm up. Now I'm warm, so I need to go work on the stroller. Or maybe just ignore it and let Mr. Deplume cuss at it when he gets home. Yeah, that sounds like a better plan (sorry, Honey).

Yeee-uck, times two.

After my last post, the snow continued to melt, and the rain continued to fall. We ended up renaming our back yard "Lake Deplume." There is 2 inches of standing water in several places where lawn used to be. Then this morning, the snow started to fall again. Now I have two inches of 32-degree water, with two inches of snow on top. Then the temperature will drop tonight, turning the town into a skating rink. Lovely.

I am, however, blessed that I'm not in the South, where tornadoes lurk behind every cloud. I'm used to living in tornado alley in the spring and summer, but February twisters are just wrong. I saw a lady on the news who hid in the basement during the tornado, and came back up to find her entire house simply gone. She had not been able to find out yet if any of her horses or her dog had survived. It was heartbreaking.

Sorry for the downer. I'm just buried under a thick layer of cabin fever here, and it is starting to affect my brain. I have been knitting (and crocheting too), but have no decent light right now to snap pictures of anything. They promise sun for tomorrow, so maybe I can venture onto the front porch for some WIP shots then.

I was trying to type something else interesting here, but I got nuttin'. So I'm shutting off the computer and going to go knit a little.

I need a back rub.

A month ago, my husband entered my name in a drawing for a free massage. A week later, I got a call from Susie with Turban* Chiropractic and Acupuncture in Morton, Illinois. Having recently survived The Consumption (the doctor called it bronchitis, but I think he was just trying to avoid reporting to the CDC), I jumped at the chance to have a massage. Especially one I didn't have to pay for.

So yesterday afternoon at 2pm I arrived, and was immediately given medical history forms. I've had massages other places where I've done similar paperwork, so I filled them out, skipping the insurance info section. When I turned them in, they asked me if I wanted to give them that info, so they could check with my insurance to see what chiropractic it pays for. Since I'm not in the market for a chiropractor, I declined. They tried again, I declined again.

Then the girl called me back, and took me to a room with a desk. No massage in here. I began to get irritated. I should have walked out then and gone to the yarn store. They left me alone in this office to watch a 5-minute video about how great chiropractors are. When over, the gal came back in, and interrogated me about all my aches and pains. I was then led to an exam room. Again, the urge to go yarn shopping struck.

I should have listened to my instincts. The Dr came in, gave me a thorough evaluation, told me of my high hip, my probable neck misalignment, and how he could put my rib back in (the break from a few weeks ago apparently "threw out a rib") and proceeded to try to truck me off for x-rays.

X-rays?? I'm here for a massage! You know: soft music, low lights, a masseuse?

Anyway, after a pretty hard sell on the x-rays (and of course, follow up care and payment plans), which I resisted, he deemed me eligible for the massage. He gave me a <5-minute "trigger point massage," then took me back to a cubicle with an aqua massage table. This was not one of the fancy types you see in the mall: this was a blue Naugahyde bench, whose upper half resembled a water bed. I laid down on it, he turned it on, and I sat through 15 minutes of loud jets of water pummelling me in the neck back and, because I'm a touch short, my butt cheeks. Have I mentioned that while sitting there, I was staring at two bare fluorescent light bulbs (the shop light tube-types).

I think I sprained an eyeball from all the eyerolling. I wonder if he can fix eye sprains, too. If, by chance, you win a free massage from Turban Chiropractic in Morton, IL, do not bother. You should just go fondle some yarn.




Speaking of yarn, I finished something last week. I made the Easy Triangle Shawl from Lion Brand's website. It was started at my church's weekly charity knitting group, but I don't know who I should give it to. Meanwhile, my daughter loves to wear it around. I stopped knitting after the ninth repeat, as I was bored of it. (I'm horrible about that) But between my premature bind-off, and the fact that I cannot block it (it's acrylic), it's just not really big enough to snuggle up in. Live and learn, I guess. Regardless, it is actually rather pretty in person, and I just might knit the pattern again in a yummy yarn.

* Name changed to protect the pushy.

I still live.. mostly

Last Sunday, I considered posting here that I was feeling better, and might actually be posting something of note in the near future. I really felt like I was finally getting over the bronchitis that had plagued me for over a week. I've heard of typing things like that jinxing things, but I didn't know that even the very thought of typing such hopeful words could send the bad juju action my way. Sunday night, about 11:30, I sat up in bed to cough a bit, felt a pop, and was greeted with searing pain in my back. I had just coughed my way to a broken rib.

In case you had not heard, broken ribs hurt like H-E-doublehockeysticks. I fell back asleep, only to wake up a couple of hours later nearly immobile. I managed to whimper a little, then work my way downstairs to take some of the narcotic cough syrup the doctor has prescribed on Thursday. I got myself to the couch, cried a little bit, then fell asleep. When Mr. Deplume got up at 4am for work, I told him about my troubles. He offered to stay home from work for the day, waited on me hand and foot, and took me to the doctor, who prescribed me some very nice pain pills.

Some friends and family members took charge and brought some dinners and got the girl to and from school for me, and for that I will be forever grateful. After two days on the couch, mostly asleep from the drugs, I am again mobile, and mostly narcotic-free. I am still moving very slowly, however, in what can only be described as a cross between Tim Conway's Old Man character from the Carol Burnett Show and Leaning Tower of Pisa. It's not pretty.

Of course I am still cursing under my breath every time I cough, but I am moderately sure that I will live.

I even managed to knit a little this morning, finishing a pair of mittens for the boy. I don't think I'm going to attempt to catch up on the blogstalking I've missed, though. I buried enough as it is in stuff that needed to be done last week. Sorry, folks. You won't get to see a picture of my oatmeal.

An upper respiratory haiku

I post here to whine
hacking cough, fever, sore throat
will i recover?

Angry

Last year, we grew pumpkins in our back yard, next to the alley, and someone stole the best ones right off the vine after the high school homecoming game. (We live a block from the town's high school.) I ended up buying pumpkins for the kids to carve. I didn't want the heartbreak again so this year we stuck with tomatoes, peas and pole beans in our garden.

Fast forward to this fall. Everyone on my block has a cute display of pumpkins, cornstalks, straw bales, etc for the season. Last Sunday, the girl and I drove to a little farm and got a bunch of pumpkins and gourds and some cornstalks for our front yard. This morning, Mr. Deplume goes outside to find a smashed pumpkin down the street. Then he saw another one. He just knew what had happened. Some assholes came by and stole all but one of our pumpkins and did this to them.


I am so angry I cannot see straight. To make matters worse, ours were the only ones destroyed! There are still a bunch of happy and healthy pumpkins in front of everyone else's homes. Have I angered a gang of small-town hooligans? By the way, it is very hard for me not to simply type a long line of expletives about what I think of jerks smashing our pumpkins, but I know this is a family blog, so I'm trying to keep it clean. I did leave a note for the farging bastitches, in case they come by again.

brrr.

Four days ago, it was 92 degrees here. It is currently a blistering 55. I wanted fall to come. I really did. But I did not want to have to go directly from air conditioning to layer upon layer of wool to keep warm. I have not turned on my heat yet. I only turned the AC off 3 days ago. But it is sooo ccccoooold in here. I just made an afternoon pot of coffee (a rarity around my house). I have baked two days in a row. The baked goods do make the house smell nice, but all the homemade goodness will put me in danger of outgrowing my only two pairs of jeans. I outgrew two others this summer already.

I just want to curl up in front of a fire. But we don't even have a fireplace to keep us warm. *sob*





4:30 p.m. update:
I gave in and turned on the heat. It's supposed to be 38 degrees tonight. With that sort of chill outside, I'd freeze my bazangas off before daybreak. Not to mention the boy who seems to be allergic to blankets.

What a failure.

I attempted to donate blood this afternoon. I'm not new to blood donation, I've given well over a gallon at this point. And this drive is held at a very good place to donate. It is in the main club room of a retirement home, and they have sandwiches, and drink choices, and cookies. Lots of them. MUCH better than the paltry generic snack selection and stale coffee at the Red Cross Headquarters. It's truly a class act there.

But today didn't go so well. First, the phlebotomist (blood taker) remarks about how hard it will be to get my vein. Not what a gal wants to hear. She does all the prerequisite steps, the vein marking, double checking that I am still who I was thirty seconds ago, double-swabbing with iodine-laden q-tips, etc. The she opens up the needle and pokes clean through to my elbow. Sorry, I exaggerated. But she did have troubles getting the blood flow to start. So she called a guy over. I remember this guy from before. He had no troubles last time he worked on my arm. But today, he wiggled and prodded without success.

This time, though, no such luck. So they called over the team leader. Her magic worked. Things started to go as planned. I was happy. In case you are wondering, having three people fiddling with a needle in your arm-- not terribly fun. But much less painful than the "Cavitron" the dental hygienist attacked me with last week. With things moving along normally now, I went back to reading my book. A few minutes later, the other team leader approached, thinking things had stalled. He was right. He fixed it (without pain, BTW). I was considering kissing him.

But, alas, it was all for naught. Because of the trauma to the vein, it clotted up prematurely, and they were only able to get 3/4 of a pint. Which means that no sick and or bleeding person will get the benefit of my travails. Instead, it will potentially be given to a company for testing of new blood equipment. I guess it's better than being incinerated.

But my arm hurts. It isn't bruised, though. And it took a lot of time away from my real priority for the evening: winding my new yarn for the Mystery Stole 3 knitalong. I really really want to start the swatch.

What is going on here?

First, it was the horrible burned thumb and fingers. Then the other thumb got slammed in a door. Then I reached into the dishwasher and bruised thumb took a fork up under the fingernail. (I really understand why torturers used to do the thing with the bamboo under the nails. yeeowch!) The other day, while trying to reach a water bottle on the top cupboard shelf, I managed to fling the other cupboard door open onto my cheekbone, leaving a cheek bruise. (luckily it is more pain than visible bruise, so no one has called the domestic abuse line on my behalf yet).

Then last night, my son decided to hop into my lap just as I was sitting down. His head and my nose made contact. The crack sound was sickening. DH heard it from across the room. Yes, my 2.5 year old broke my nose. I felt like Marcia Brady, with my hand over my nose, doubled over in pain. There is a huge red spot on the bridge of my nose and some swelling. Thankfully, the break is pretty minor and my eyes aren't blackened, but the usually dark circles are a little darker than usual today. And it farking hurts. I took some tylenol, but it didn't help even a little. every time I try to blow my nose (which is a lot during allergy season), or scratch an itch, or even bend down, it hurts. And the pain is referred to my forehead and teeth.

What the hell is wrong with me? Why is it that nearly every day some harm befalls my body? is the Universe pissed at me? What did I ever do to deserve all this??????



And to add insult to injury, we later watched Celebrity Fit Club, on which Maureen McCormick is a participant. And they showed the "Ow my nose!" clip. DH laughed out loud. At least I don't look as bad as she did after her football incident.