You know you’re a dyke when …

1)  You try on 5 different black t-shirts before deciding which one is just tight enough without being too girly,

2) It takes you longer to pick out a belt than to pick out a pair of pants,

3) You choose pants based on how much stuff will fit in the pockets without looking ridiculous, because you will not bring a purse bag [oh the horror!],

4) You spend 15 minutes messing up your hair, and

5) You insist that cover-up does not count as make-up, curse your mother for feeding you chocolate over the holidays and pray that no one will notice  a dab here and there.

Lesbian mecca, here I come.

What a Year for a New Year

In looking through my ‘07 resolutions, I didn’t do too poorly. Especially when you consider the two huge life changes that were unexpected and largely out of my control: the divorce and being recruited into a graduate program. Still, as I look at the list, I feel a twinge of guilt for not achieving everything I set out to do. It’s silly, I know. But I’m a striver like that.

However, this year I pledge to be a realist. Life is short. Relationships are unpredictable. Everything can change in the blink of an eye. Therefore, I intend to focus more on the present, less on the future, and way less on what other people are doing/accomplishing. Accordingly, my goals are:

Human
… pay attention and go with the flow
… continue to be mindful of my body, fitness and health
… continue to love my little boy with all of my heart, and make all decisions with his needs in mind
… regularly tell friends and family how much I appreciate them

Employee & Student
… focus. focus. focus. produce. produce. produce.
… imagine. envision. create.

Home-owner
… buy a mattress & box spring
… buy a couch
… make wise financial decisions

Creator
… look to the stash (both fabric and fiber) before buying anything new
… finish some WIPs
… have fun

In looking back, I realize that I finished more crafty projects in 2007 than I thought.

It’s funny how you can forget about things that are finished and gifted away, temporary, perpetually in progress, or outgrown. If you ignore all of those items, that leaves 2 pairs of socks, one washrag, a pair of mittens, a hat, and my first skein of handspun. No wonder I’m forgetting my accomplishments!
I fudged the definition a little to allow the Dale to make the cut. After all, I finished the whole body. That’s a finished object, right?

Note to self: try to take more photos of completely finished objects before using/gifting them.

In a moment of crazy youthful impulsiveness, and thanks to blogless Deanna’s tip, I convinced Cheryl to drive across the state to Northampton tonight to see an incredible New Year’s Eve show at the Calvin: Melissa Ferrick, Erin McKeown and Alix Olson, together! There’s also talk of additional surprise guests, and I bet Pamela Means will be one of them. I am so f-ing excited I can barely contain myself!!! Happy Dance. Happy. Happy. Happy. Dance. After the show, we’ll drive east in the wee hours, crash hard, and then go to Danielle’s for the afternoon. What a way to welcome the New Year! Hoooooray!!!

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Merry Merry

Today I draw strength from the smiling face that awoke me this morning with peals of “Mommy! Wake up! It’s Christmas! Santa came! He was here! Mommy … wake up!” You see … the Mafia, MafiaMom, MafiaBro, Nick Claus and Nancy Claus were up too late drinking chocolatinis, opening gifts and debating the effects of nature v. nurture on mini-men, so I was a little zonked out during my 6am wake-up call. Thankfully I got my big morning snuggle before being dragged into the living room to assess the booty. Booty indeed. MafiaMom, likely sensing that this year needed some extra bling, certainly did her grandmotherly best in spoiling the lad. And she spoiled me too. I lost the sewing machine in the divorce, but MafiaMom made right in my world by asking Santa to bring me a new one. He did, and I can’t wait to play with it. After a full day of *playing, being overwhelmed, acting like a punk, redeeming himself with snuggles (repeat from *), Little Man crashed early. MafiaMom — where’d you put that Godiva liqueur? I have a date with Ms. Singer.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

[this is the part where i resist the temptation to make an inappropriate and offensive joke about what kind of "ho, ho, ho" i'd like to hear outside my window tonight ... i know ... sighs and eye rolls across the land, but who can resist a terrible pun, even on christmas?]

Rebirth

This may come as a surprise to you, but I am a deeply spiritual person. I’ve tried and tired, but I can’t find an appropriate label for my beliefs. Also, with an occasional exception, I don’t talk about it publicly, because it’s a long and hard conversation fraught with assumptions and prejudice. Even as I write this, I’m realizing that for the past 8 years I’ve kept it tucked away in my head and in my heart. Silent. Hidden. Protected from the dismissive reactions of those closest to me. But through the discouragement and without an appropriate name, my spirituality is still there. At my core.

I believe in fate. I believe that some force(s) larger than me controls much of our world. I believe in free will. I believe that if you are doing what you’re supposed to be doing, that life will flow. The flow is not always easy, but the flow is gentle and comfortable and even in the challenging times, it has a familiar rhythm and always returns to center. I believe in deep connections between people; connections that stretch across lifetimes. I believe in karma. I believe that trees are more alive than we realize. I believe that the natural world is more beautiful than anything humans could ever create. I believe in the ebb and flow of our world, on the largest scale and the most miniature. In spiritual moments, I experience a fullness in my chest that matches the fullness I feel in love. That feeling tells me to stop, be silent and look around. There is something afoot. Something bigger than me. Something important. But only if I stop and acknowledge it will I learn the lesson, notice the sign, see the connection.

This weekend, between Cate’s always-incredible Solstice post, much time alone, a relaxed afternoon with a dear friend and her wonderful husband, a couple of intensely meaningful emails with a fabulous friend, and a moment of kismet in the knitblog community, I have noticed that my life is indeed following the path of the sun.

As I commented to Cate’s post the other night:

“I intend for this longest night to also be my darkest night, so that tomorrow’s sun will bring the strength I need to create peace, security, safety, and stability in my world, as well as to protect myself and my boy from the harsh winds. To take this unexpected turn of the wheel and use the opportunity to see who I am, who I am alone, who I am without the trappings, and to love that woman. To pour all of my love into myself and my child. I’m ready to emerge from this darkness and walk that path, slowly and with a full heart.”

Already, it feels that I’m on the right path. For the first time in years, I feel content. At peace. Aligned.

Which is why earlier tonight, when I read the most recent post from Celtic Memory Yarns, I immediately clicked through to the live webcast of the Solstice ceremony at Newgrange. The webcast is nearly an hour long, but worth every minute. If you’re impatient, you could scroll to about 1/2 way, but you’ll miss the building excitement and the sense of relief when the sun shines down the passageway into the tomb. For the last couple years, I’ve entered the lottery to be invited into the tomb on the winter Solstice; but with 28,000+ applicants, it’s really just a pipe dream. And yet, I apply. Because someday … someday … I will be there to see the dawn sun shine on the ancient stone spirals that are tattooed over my spine, and illuminate the tomb of my ancestors.

I have no idea why, but Newgrange is an intensely spiritual place for me. I stumbled upon it in early 2002 and from the moment I entered the Bru na Boinne, it gripped my soul. I’ve traveled a bit, and been awestruck by many natural and human wonders, but Newgrange is different. Something draws me there. I will probably never understand it, and perhaps that’s for the best, but it is powerful and mystical.

Which is why tonight, as I look back on the past couple months, I can see that my life is flowing again. I have beautiful, meaningful experiences every day. My heart is full of hope and wonder. This Solstice is my time of rebirth, relief, peace and joy.

If you made it this far and my vague ramblings didn’t quite add up, perhaps these three solid facts will make it clear:

1) Just when I started to get bored of the Solstice webcast and was about to click away, the announcer mentioned that two bats have taken up residence in passage chambers at Newgrange (yeah, I smiled and then I cried a little. thank you, bats);

2) I’m back on the moon cycle, and

3) Yesterday, at Alison’s house refuge, I defeated the evil set-up row on the Rhiannon sock, and then knit an entire repeat of the charts.

Welcome back, mojo.

And to welcome Yule, I leave you with one of my favorite Solstice poems. Xifey was a member of the Revels cast for many years, and this poem is something beautiful she introduced me to:

The Shortest Day
By Susan Cooper

And so the Shortest Day came and the year died
And everywhere down the centuries of the snow-white world
Came people singing, dancing,
To drive the dark away.
They lighted candles in the winter trees;
They hung their homes with evergreen;
They burned beseeching fires all night long
To keep the year alive.
And when the new year’s sunshine blazed awake
They shouted, reveling.
Through all the frosty ages you can hear them
Echoing behind us – listen!
All the long echoes, sing the same delight,
This Shortest Day,
As promise wakens in the sleeping land:
They carol, feast, give thanks,
And dearly love their friends,
And hope for peace.
And now so do we, here, now,
This year and every year.
Welcome Yule!

No knitting during The L Word

I’m trying to knit the set-up row on the Rhiannon sock, and it’s kicking my ass. It looks about the same as it did last week:

Perhaps I should stop knitting while inching along in rush hour traffic? Or maybe stop knitting while watching The L Word? Especially during scenes that make me cry like a little baby, like this one. [stupid wordpress won't let me embed this video, so you'll have to click over. argh.] But let me be clear — crying like a baby is a strange reaction — everyone else will think this scene is hot-hot-hot! You’re gonna click over now, aren’t you?

So my break from grad school apparently means knitting, beautiful actors doing lesbian sex scenes. Oh yeah, and a quiet peaceful home stocked with lots of red wine. Does it get any better than this? Seriously.

35.6m x 3-10mph = 5hr commute w/ knitting

-photo by Boston Globe/David L. Ryan

There’s one good thing about stand-still traffic during daylight: I knit!

Allow me to present a completed TUBULAR CAST ON and 3/4″ of 1×1 ribbing!!!

I tried Francesca’s Italian tubular cast on approximately 7 times, and could not master it. Clearly those Italians are way smarter than me. Or perhaps I’ve been a little tense lately. In any case, I finally gave up and tried Anna’s. Though now that I’m googling for links, I think Knitty’s article might be more precise, and I’ll likely use that one next time.

I’ve barely knit, or more accurately, I’ve only done frustrating knitting (7 tries and failures), for weeks and was starting to wonder if the mojo left with Xifey. Thankfully it hasn’t. Phew!

Now pardon me while I spend the break between semesters clicking my sticks. ‘Member when this was a knitting blog? Me neither. It’s good to be back.

Ode to Economics

You suck.

I hate you.

And your little dog too.

I will not be defeated by your pointy-headed bean-counting algebraic formulas.

I’m going to kick your ass tonight.

Because, I’d like to KNIT again!

T-minus 5 hours to stitches, wool fumes and vanilla vodka.

Let the games begin

Before. After.

Click the picture for more than you ever wanted to see.

ETA: Thanks for all the early compliments.  But let me clarify — Nina Beana did the lion’s share of Phase 2.  We love her!

Chapter 1 – I am not a femme

And I’m getting really tired of people thinking that I am. Nothing against femmes, of course, because I ADORE them. Hard femmes are totally my thing. Meow. But I am not femme. And in the last few weeks I’ve been called a femme at least 4 times, and worse yet, someone said I look like a suburban mom. Dems fightin words!

My weapon of choice — scissors!

This is merely Phase 1. I suspect that another 4 inches will be chopped off before the week is out. I have clippers and I’m not afraid to use them.

Steel Womb Walls

As the semester grinds to a close, my workload is unfathomable. I am settling into a new home. I am coping with this horrid divorce. My custody arrangement is such that I’m either at work, at school, or caring for Little Man. There is one night per week that I have neither, and that’s my homework night. How will I ever date? Do I even want to? [prob not. never again.] But all this stress feels so teeeeeeeny in comparison.

Because my mind is stuck on blood soaked images of one lovely womb and the insane cells that grew there, without warning, almost instantly. The best case scenario is a hysterectomy. A hysterectomy on a woman in her mid 30s. A hysterectomy on a dear sweet friend who watched her own partner die of cancer in her early 30s. WTF? How is this just? What is wrong with this world??? How could I ever believe in a god who allows such horrible ironies? This dear sweet friend is engaged to a dear sweet friend of mine. Both are such generous souls that you want to snuggle into on the couch with them to discuss art and life and knitting and music and love and heartache and fear and judgment and sex and lust and loyalty. The kind of friends who hear of your divorce and offer to drive 6 hours to pick you up and drive you away from the source of the agony. Amazing amazing women. My heart is absolutely breaking.

please please please please please please please send wishes for steel walls in her womb.
If it hasn’t spread beyond her uterus, she will probably survive.
please please please please please please please send wishes for steel walls in her womb.
Steel Womb
Steel Womb
Steel Womb
Steel Womb
Steel Womb

please please please please please please please don’t let this happen.  please.