marianna

December 6, 2013May 21, 2014

There’s Something in the Air

While in southern parts of this Earth people are celebrating the warmth of summer, we’re heading into snow. It could not have been any more obvious today. Shopping for oil for my spinning wheel, my brand new Schacht Matchless spinning wheel, yes, you’ve read right, I took the plunge a few days ago, more on that later, back to the store: there was this special atmosphere, almost christmassy, holiday like. Every store was crowded and everyone was getting ready for the big one tonight. Everyone was acknowledging one another instead of the typical everyday stupor people are in, running around without noticing a thing. We’re all into this together today. The promise of snow, the usual electricity outage that accompanies the first snow, the magic. I like that, it gives me hope. As I’m typing tiny little snowflakes are falling. Mind you, not a lot, and no winter whiteness yet, but we’re promised to be enjoying it tomorrow.

I’ve been so neglectful of this blog. Yes, I did write a few entries, but only in my head. As it has been getting colder the room the computer lives in right now isn’t heated, so writing for an extended period of time becomes unpleasant.

And there have been some unpleasant experiences I had no idea how to share. Still not sure how to write about it. Best I’ll give a link to the news story at the end.

As many know, our son Toby was on the Tahoe Hotshots this year. The most amazing time in his life and though the work was excruciating hard and difficult, he was thriving. The party on the evening on the last day of work was accordingly full of fun and singing and playing and whatever young guys do after a hard season of work. As Toby was heading back home with his girlfriend driving, others were headed back to the barracks with their designated driver. But then the unthinkable, unimaginable happened. And here I’ll take you to one of the online stories: yubanet story.

There have been no follow up stories so far and I’m left with speculations and a million possible scenarios but nothing making sense.

My life besides obsessively checking for news every day of the accident consists of fiber. Recently I’ve started hosting an evening of knitting for members of our fiber guild. It’s been a blast. And lots of holiday knitting. Hanukkah having come so early this year has me relaxing now.

Our daughter Liana came for Thanksgiving with boyfriend and we had a wonderful time and she got reacquainted with knitting.

My wheel is calling loudly to spin some more. Gotta abide.

October 23, 2013

Where’s My Mojo?

It’s gone, just gone. Can’t find it no matter where I look. Have you seen my knitting mojo? Have you perhaps ~~stolen~~ taken my knitting mojo? Wherever it is, whoever has it, please return!

I’ve been too busy lately, mostly being busy with doing nothing. At least I can’t see results of my busyness. Usually that means I’ve been online going nowhere. Not this time, at least not that I’m aware of. Or am I on autopilot and don’t even know what the left hand is doing? I just can’t get into another gear with my knitting. Holidays coming up very fast and Hanukkah on turbo-speed or even warp speed heading our way this year, makes no difference, I don’t feel the pressure.

Good for my heart. Bad for holiday presents. I always have some super easy knitting on hand to do while waiting for appointments or attending classes. That would be washcloths or dishcloths. But how many can one woman make if she doesn’t even have enough people who use these items? Socks are another knitting project for on the go, as long as they are simple socks. But I got it into my head that I’ve made enough simple socks in my life and now it’s time to work patterns into socks. I have two such projects on the needles and neither is the perfect no mind needed kind of knitting.

An update on the deathflake mittens: I managed to knit with the right color progression, see below, but noticed that I knit very loosely when knitting stranded and, yes, frogged it all again. My next attempt is with smaller needles but I put it aside for a while to finish a pair of socks.

Here are the frogged mittens:

You see where I’m heading here? I’m burned out on dishcloths and washcloths and simple knitting but can’t find the stretch of time needed to make more complicated items like patterned socks or shawls or sweaters or….

That’s what I call a major mojo problem. I’m making an appointment with another season of “The Good Wife” and knitting today. It might be the cure.

I’m a very handy person when it comes to problems around the house. At least I think I am. This might all be a big delusion I’m finding out now. Yes, I can put down laminate flooring, but I can’t do the finishing touches. For years now, we are missing the finished edges of our floors. And where the floors turn into stairs? Ha. That has never been worked out in my mind. And the fact that I stopped cold when it came to the dining room and living room.

I also do plumbing jobs. Most times with a little bit more success. OK, you’ll never have to worry about that stopper again once I got my hands on it, and who needs it anyway in the bathroom. Our latest is the shower, it drips. I worked my magic, but unfortunately it had nothing to do with the shower head. The drip, I diagnosed, is caused by the thing that turns the shower on and off. I could replace whatever part is worn out, but I’m pretty sure I should turn off the water supply first. Now I know how to turn off the water supply to toilets and sinks, there is a handy knob to turn underneath them. But where does one turn off a shower water supply?

Doing research online tells me this shut off mechanism is not easy to find for showers and tubs and there is talk about concealment of these valves. Is that fair to the amateur plumber I ask? Since I’m not about to go hunting for something someone was trying to hide from me, probably successfully, I’m aware I have to shut off the water supply to the house if I am to make the repair. I can do that and have done that before. But, here is my fear: what if I can’t fix the problem? Then I’m stuck with a shower that would spew out water and the only control is no water to anything. Can I risk that? This is one time where I need to follow up and fix the whole problem and not just a part of it.

Next! Believe it or not, both our bathroom sinks are malfunctioning. They were both clogged up. No problem, I have done this many times before, get down on the floor unscrew the trap, clean it out, and reattach. With my frozen shoulder it has become somewhat of a bigger problem, but I can still do that. Unless part of the metal pipe breaks off. No problem, I put a plant in there so no one is tempted to use that sink. And after all there are two sinks in this particular bathroom. So I go clean the other sink and reattach the trap and guess what, something is wrong and now water leaks out of the trap. That has never happened before. The only solution I can see is get a new trap and keep my fingers crossed. That will be a purchase made later today.

At least the sink in our second bathroom still works, but I’m starting to feel squeezed. We have not renovated our bathrooms since we moved into our house in 1992. My belief is that we still deal with fixtures from 1976 when this house was built. But the new roof and gutters ate up our extra money and we’ll have to wait for a while before any thoughts of a new bathroom get to cross our minds.

No wonder my knitting mojo left this house new roof and all, who wants to live in a one bathroom sink home?

I’m still struggling somewhat with the heart anniversary, and I’m following along and reliving the events. You can stop right here or follow Stephen’s posts from last year.

“October 18, 2012

Still uncertain about the atmosphere on this planet…. A pretty rough day here: another transfusion and a many-syllabic-named lung problem, on top of the usual pains, discomforts, and indignities. I hereby predict much better things for tomorrow. Marianna on the Mend! -S

October 19, 2012

What’s the point of surgery if you don’t have scars to show off? This is a lesser one, of course, on the arm that graciously gave of itself – the one that hopes to soon join its partner in knitting. All in all, a better day today. The highlights were pretty high – including several hours of visits from 5 friends (asked if she’d seen the tunnel of light, Marianna responded no, it was dark and smoky, with jazz playing); and the lows were manageable. Onward! – posted by the husband of the Bride Of Frankenstein

October 20, 2012

No sugar-coating in this update (that would be bad for M’s diabetes). The only good news is mostly symbolic: 8 days after our ambulanced arrival, she’s finally out of the ICU and into her own room. Other than that… Not a good day, sorry to say. From a pre-dawn attack by a seemingly psychopathic (but presumably incompetent) couple of syringe-wielding nurses, through an entire day and evening with energy tank registering empty-minus, this has been the one step back that paves the way for tomorrow’s two steps forward. As for tonight… I think I’ll stay right here and create my own ICU. -S

October 21, 2012

The Creature Walks Among Us!

Best day yet. Two hallway walking journeys, a coupla hours of chair sitting adventures, and another good visit with friends. Marianna is well spent after all that, but definitely on the road to the road home. As always, thanks for the supportive e-shouts! -S

October 22, 2012

If you’re following Marianna’s journey from death’s door to health’s highway, you know what to expect: this was another 1-step-back day. The apparent culprit: meds that kept her blood pressure too low. Way too low, like ~74/45. Less pressure on her healing heart, but it prevented her from doing anything beyond breathing. With blood pressure meds on hold, she’s back to her self, as we look forward to morrow…. -S

October 23, 2012

A pretty good day in general – a little more walking, a lot more waking, and a major post-surgery highlight: sitting in a chair for an hour’s worth of bathing, hairbrushing, and braiding by 2 attentive nurses. I (Stephen) promise you: Marianna was in full radiance.

Still no word on our return date (probably accompanied by an oxygen tank), but I think it moved a lot closer today. -S”

October 17, 2013

Did You Hear Me Scream?

I was so, so good and then get punished. How is that fair? As I have expressed in the previous post, I’m stalling working on our daughter’s scarf. No more! I finished yesterday. A big incentive was a project I’ve been eyeing for a long time. It needed a little cooler weather and conditions were just right yesterday. This was going to be so good. My knitting mojo was going to take off again and no one was going to be able to stop me. Except for myself of course.

But let’s get the scarf thing out of the way. All I can say is: finished. I’m not in love. But what else was I going to use the yarn for? Let me present the Zombie BBQ scarf for one night of Hanukkah:

But you came here for the screams. After midnight while happily, very happily knitting along the deathflake mittens I noticed something wrong. Of course I was already bothered by something, but had no idea what that something was until it hit critical mass or a tipping point. I can be very dense that way. Trying to will my knitting to do what I want it to do, though to be honest, it has not worked yet. Always ends in tinking or frogging.

What was going wrong? Take a look:

You don’t see it? Hear the screams? Black skulls? Wrong color scheme is what’s wrong!!! To my defense, the chart has the skulls in black and the background white. Can’t figure out why. It’s probably explained in the directions, but I wouldn’t know because I don’t read directions.

As you can see from the picture, I’m no good at stranded knitting or whatever you call the hell of carrying along two colors. I was hoping I could go through life without learning that skill. Until this pattern comes along and holds me in its spell. I knew that resistance would be futile, at least I know myself that much.

I’m now teaching myself stranded knitting continental style. And no, I will not carry my yarn left and right hand. I carry yarn with my left hand and this is not going to change. Back to watch videos and start over, right after frogging the whole thing.

I think I’m pretty zen about it, after the screams no other outbursts. Just handwringing.

Not wanting to ruin my gemini reputation I also finished a beanie for Stephen and dyed it last night with koolaid. My first attempt at dyeing. Even Stephen is turning koolaid friendly after seeing the results. The black cherry smell, not so much.

Now look at the beanie again and know that I spun, plied and knit and then dyed the thing. Kind of proud right now but waiting for the day when I will look at it and think what a beginner I was. That’s how good I want to get.

A word of advice about using koolaid: wear gloves. My fingers look like they came straight out of a murder scene.

In other news: Lambtown, Dixon. I did go and came back with major loot to be shown to you another time. The two major accomplishments and excitements: 1. I fell in love 2. Got 3 bobbins made for my spinning wheel, and they arrived today.

1. Fell in love with the Schacht Matchless spinning wheel. Morgaine from Carolina Homespun let me try the Matchless they had set up and it felt like, like what? Effortless? Butter? Magic? No, not magic, it was love. I always thought I would like that wheel also known as the cadillac of spinning wheels, but somewhere I also got the feeling of hyperbole, it’s not. I’m saving my pennies now. Feel free to contribute to my spinning wheel fund, I would not complain.

2. The spinning wheel I have now is an Anthony Cardarelle. It’s a one of a kind. Hence, parts could become a problem. Spinning wheels have changed since this was made in 1969 and I’m somewhat limited with what I can do. For now, as a beginner, this is OK. Until a Matchless comes my way. The bobbins Clemes & Clemes made for the wheel arrived today. They are the folks who took over when Anthony died in 1970 I believe. They are a bit shorter, the bobbins, not the people, but let’s hope they will work.

In other news, I survived my anniversary. And if you don’t mind I would like to take the opportunity again to post what Stephen wrote a year ago.

“October 16, 2012

I would never discount the relief and gratitude I feel: in the past few days Marianna has survived a massive, seriously life-threatening heart attack and two surgeries, the latter 7 hours of quadruple bypass and all that accompanies it. Having said that… my heart, head, and stomach hurt at seeing her – a full day later – in such apparent agony (hopefully dulled by medication) and discomfort. I.e., she’s still in the immediate post-surgery area, strapped to a bed, and breathing on her own only in the past few hours. During our last ‘visit’ I was sure – from her eyes – she wanted to cry, or scream, or both, but both were physically impossible. I was gonna head home today or tomorrow to deal with a work disaster, but that’s emotionally impossible. So our kids are driving there to bring me what I need, for work and to take care of Marianna. I wish I could just quit my stupid job, with the universe hiring me as her caretaker…. -S

October 17, 2012

Some progress today – a coupla chair-sitting sessions, speaking getting a bit less difficult – followed by some setbacks: she needed a transfusion, and her heart rate suddenly started climbing, with a headache – a frighteningly familiar pair of circumstances, tho with a different and also familiar (to us, because it plagues my dad) diagnosis: atrial fibrillation. Medication has slowly been settling things down, and the a-fib just now stopped. Marianna’s sleeping right now – well, most of today, actually. Food’s been a problem, too, but no time to finger-tap that story on her iPad. Let’s just go with another long, deep, heartfelt – please join me – Whewwwwwww………… And once – and always – again: thank y’all so very very much for caring about this wonderful person next to me. -S”

In my own words a while later I write about my experiences at that time. I’m pretty forgetful, but the hospital time is burned into my brain. I remember so much.

“My mind and my fantasies were constant companions. With the help of some narcotic here and there.
Imagine you are in bed laying on your back day and night. No getting up. A catheter attached so no bathroom breaks either.
Staring at bland walls I was able to close my eyes and imagine the most exotic textures. From floral designs to leather coverings, the walls let me play with them for hours. Especially the gorgeous leather design. I could imagine making small cuts and the leather would curl back at the incision, just like my wounds on my belly now that don’t want to heal.
After surgery and my experience with death behind the curtain, I spent several days in ICU. Getting blood transfusions, afib, another blood transfusion, probably developing the clots while being bed bound.
After the initial ICU, one patient, one nurse, I made it to another ICU unit, two patients, one nurse. The place I started out at.
Nothing to occupy my mind, but my imaginings, I started paying attention to noises coming from outside my room, and there were plenty. Next to my room, an important booming voice, often on the cell phone, and many visitors. I made him a politician whose constituents were not allowed to know he has heart problems. I pieced this together when a nurse mentioned his constituents. I gave him a very interesting life with lots of intrigue and scandal.
Then the almost constant screaming from another room. Stephen thought it was another language, but I made out phrases like, go away, leave me, over and over and over. That almost drove me crazy, so I had to come up with something. He was a serial killer of young women and feeling regret, he now wanted to confess. Also, he did not want to be tempted to kill again and so told the nurses to go away. The young nurses had no idea what was going on and were actually very attentive and fond of him as it turned out. I wanted to shout out, get away from him, you’re in danger, but I’m glad I refrained. It turns out the not so old man had a stroke and probably what I took as confessions of murders was just gibberish.”

So how are all these people doing now? Lesson learned and living a healthier life? Or like me, just plodding along?

I better go, I have some frogging to do.

October 15, 2013

Anniversary

It’s been a bit quiet around here. Not at our house, just here on the blog. It hasn’t been so loud at our house since my teenagers got into punk and them or me blasting the music. Enough suspense: we got a new roof.

As a typical German I was prepared with food and drink for the workers, but they hardly accepted anything. My grandmother used to get a case of beer and food whenever a repair project got started at her house. I watched and learned. But people here don’t let me be nice to them, I feel ripped off.

Today, a year ago, I was in surgery. This is what Stephen posted on my facebook page at the time:

“October 15, 2012
After 7 hours of *successful* surgery – quadruple bypass – Marianna 1.4 is inching her way toward consciousness, to be followed by weeks/months of healing. Whewwwww. I’ll report more when we know more; for now, see – and read and repeat aloud – previous sentence; repeat as necessary… -S”

It probably was the most difficult time for my family ever. Both our kids were around, our daughter Liana having flown in from Denver and Toby was able to take a few days off from firefighting. I have no idea how Stephen held it together, whatever the “it” is. Turn this situation around and you can be assured I would have fallen apart.

Some recollections from Stephen who was posting updates to my facebook page then:

“October 13, 2012
Hi friends of Marianna Greenberg… If you’ve got some spare prayers/love/good healing thoughts/golden circles — whatever you’re into — please send ’em her way. We’re at Sacramento’s Mercy General Hospital, where she’s recovering from a massive heart attack and will have open heart surgery within the next coupla days. She should be sleeping peacefully right now, after a very nightmarish few hours. Visited a few minutes ago: tho really weak of course, she seemed to be pretty much back to her full self — enough so, that she asked me to let folks on her 1000-truffle-benefit page (sorry, no handy link) know there’ll be a delay…. G’night for now, happy birthday to Toby who’s sitting/dozing across from me, and LOVE for Marianna — more massive than anything else. – Stephen

October 14, 2012

Update: We’re still deep into the woods, but on a clear path toward home. Probably tomorrow morning (depends on how Marianna’s doing, according to all the tests and numbers and evaluations), the path will become a surgical journey through a triple (minimum) bypass. In the meantime, she’s pretty stable, glad our kids are hanging out with her – Liana’s braiding her hair right now – and really appreciative of your love and support. (She said, “Tell them they’re sending so much light, it’s keeping me awake.”) More thanks from me – feeling much more like me after actually *sleeping* (in a 3-question-mark motel!) last night.

Following up on our previous update – re Marianna’s concern about getting so much light from y’all, see pic. In other news, kids and I moved out of – make that escaped from – the seedy motel and into a nice hospital-related apartment across the street; from homely to homey. And the uppest update: Marianna’s on track for surgery, tomorrow around 8 am till midday. Soon, friends….”

Right now I’m reliving this and trying to process. I’m not aging gracefully. But then I have always totally thrown myself into any experience good or bad. There is no half-way for me. Let’s make this a massive heart attack seems to be my modus operandi. And then go for the quadruple by-pass. And then let’s have a pulmonary embolism to top this experience off nicely. I bet my life will end in the ultimate: death.

Since it’s Halloween season I might as well creep you out a bit with the arm picture after surgery:

All that is left now is the line down the arm, no more Frankenstein look.

Today I get to indulge, indulge, indulge. Just try to stop me. Bored? Come back another time. Though eventually this all leads to knitting.

At some point during my second heart attack or escalating heart attack I was technically dead. I have been asked about the white light and flippantly answered seeing smoke, hearing jazz, etc.

I can report nothingness instead. Whenever I came close to dying, I felt myself falling into emptiness and nothingness, falling asleep without dreams. Often my thought then was, this dying is not so bad, this feels like easy death. Every time I would wake up again and realize that my death would be much more difficult for my family than myself. At some point during my initial stay at Sierra Nevada Memorial Hospital I asked the doctor if I would die. He answered: You could. I asked Stephen to call Toby. I had this grand idea of a profound good-bye, but all I managed to tell Stephen and Toby was to take care of themselves and each other and that I’m OK dying.

The image of hell as a 30s nightclub with lots of cigarette smoke and jazz stayed with me for days. In my morphine induced semi dreams and pain state of my body, it morphed into deeper and more desolate pictures. I saw dumpsters and rats and the refuse that used to be people, the music long gone. I wrote poetry in my head about it, but that is long gone too and all I’m left with are the images.

After coming out of surgery, mostly unconscious and breathing tube still in my mouth, I remember Stephen saying that I looked like crying and screaming at the same time. I remember thinking that he can read me well. And then a memory of someone dying behind the curtain next to me. Discussions about DNR and that a decision needs to be made. Next I hear a priest saying a prayer, and then an announcement that it’s over. I could not wait to be able to speak again and talk about this. And the nurse confirmed that it really happened.

Before surgery I assured the surgeon that it would be OK if I died on the operating table. No hard feelings since I brought this on myself. He replied that no one dies in the operating room. Well, but apparently they can a short while after.

I still have the memory of being wheeled to the operating room on my bed. Thoughts of what a big mess this room is, sort of like my house with stuff all over. Not much color though, mostly monochrome. Many, many people bustling about. Then everyone trying to explain what they will be doing until I told them to just put me out and that I’m hoping I will not feel any pain. And that no matter what they explain now, it will make no difference. They will do their job and I’m down the rabbit hole now and hope to find my way back eventually. Next: I’m out. Thanks guys.

After almost 7 hours, I wake up, kind of, almost…. The difficulty was my family waiting all this time. They are the heroes in this story, and of course the doctors and nurses. It’s unimaginable to me what I put them through. I will never, ever be able to show my appreciation and gratefulness and love to them. All I can do is knit whatever they want.

And here we are at knitting, finally. The Zombie BBQ scarf has stopped me. I’m avoiding working on it because it’s not what I wanted and I’m settling for what it is. So many new projects were started until I realized what’s going on. Avoidance. So I made a pact with myself: finish this scarf and you get your knitting freedom back. You’d think this would work, right? No, instead I do all other kinds of crazy stuff.

Here is one crazy project: I signed up for online classes with edx and coursera. 4 of them. Two have started. One is Care of Elders with Alzheimer’s Disease. The reasons for this class is that my life might be affected by people with this disease. The other class I signed up for is Science and Cooking, a Harvard class. Am I over my head in this class! Want to know the molecular weight of food ingredients or the number of molecules in the food? This is the class for you. But they won’t bring me to my knees, though I am close many times. All I have to get is over 60% to pass, I might be able to do that. This is so absurd from someone that had to get the highest grade or feel like a failure. I’ll keep trotting along until the next class How to Change the World and Scandinavian Film and Television.

All this because I don’t want to work on the bloody scarf. There are socks to knit, shawls to finish, mittens to start. Do you realize that Hanukkah starts a day before Thanksgiving this year? Is this crazy or what? It will have to be lots of I-Owe-Yous this year.

Something I believe I did not show you yet is an Ashton shawlette worked in silk for my MIL. I was hesitant to post a picture in case she’s reading here. Her birthday and present giving over, take a look. A silk scarf does not stretch as wool does, but it still turned out.

Pre-blocked and while blocking. One of the next posts will be about my fiber fleece adventures.

September 25, 2013

Where a window slams shut, but a portal to another world opens or how I learned to love spinning

Spinning has always been intriguing to me. But investing hundreds of dollars into equipment I might not be able to master is not very appealing. And so I have been yearning and dreaming but did not take any action.

Going to see the San Francisco Giants on Stitch and Pitch night was a dream of mine and about the only item on my bucket list. The only arrangement needed was a dog sitter because our Daisy was not allowed at the park. That’s when the window slammed shut when absolutely no friend was willing or able to take care of her. And Toby was out on a fire during that time. Daisy is absolutely one of the sweetest dogs we ever had, but that did not help.

Wallowing in pity and lamenting that my birthday sucks this year and how I could not even fulfill my one dream, I get a phone call. A 95 year old friend of mine needed some assistance over the next couple of weeks and could I help out a few hours a day. It flashed through my mind that this is the time of my birthday, a very big and important experience every year with big party and all, but I was in the middle of feeling sorry for myself and had not planned a party, remember, the failed attempt at a Giants baseball game, and I just said yes. Might as well do something useful.

My friend Meg and I had a great time together, talking wool, and yarn, and politics, and spinning, and weaving. Meg had been a spinner and weaver for a long, long time. My drop spindle I treated myself to for my birthday arrived and as I always have everything any human being could ever need around the house I of course had some fiber to spin. What fun it was. I invented the extra, extra, extra bulky yarn for which there were no knitting needles large enough.

But let’s get to the portal opening. Meg had a spinning wheel in her bedroom. I dared and asked if I could take it home for a week to give this a try. She not only said yes, but told me to keep it. Talking about generosity! If this isn’t the best experience of my life, and still is. I LOVE spinning! I can’t shout it enough: I LOVE spinning!

My Anthony Cardarelle spinning wheel number 325 from 1969. My portal to a new universe. Ok, the drawback is less knitting time, and I wish I was twenty and could start over and have a lifetime of spinning ahead of me, but hey, I take what I have and try to make the best.

Yesterday I remembered what I decided to make last holiday season for our daughter for this year’s holidays. Big sigh here because I’m so way behind in my holiday knitting that if I don’t take deep breaths now I might just go into anxiety attack mode. And wouldn’t you know that Hanukkah starts on Thanksgiving this year! Thanksgiving? Does it get any crazier? That’s like what, 2 months away? There oughta be a law….

But back to gift for daughter. It’s the biggest challenge in my knitting life. I will attempt anything and feel competent, but I have this one mountain that I usually don’t climb. OK, there might be a couple of mountains. Though I have made fingerless gloves/mittens, I have never made gloves, but how hard can that be. Just keep on knitting, right? The real obstacle is multi color knitting, changing colors within a row, call it what you want, I call it difficult to impossible. But I will give it a try. Bought the yarn in a panic attack yesterday. Actually walked to our lys to pick it up. And wouldn’t you know, there was some gorgeous other yarn I just had to have, what else is new, and see here my loot.

The bottom yarn is 1200 yards of fingering weight Blue Ridge Yarns Transitions in the color River Rocks. See how easy it is to sidetrack me? I want to make stuff with this yarn, right now.

Above this yarn see the black and white stuff? Yes, that will make the deathflake mittens. You have to take a look so see how cool our daughter will be with these on. If you are not registered with ravelry and you knit, resistance will be futile. One can spend hours there looking through patterns that will last beyond anyone’s life expectancy. Way more fun than any other online site I have been to. Here is a challenge, find me a better site for a knitter!

Do you see those mittens? Did I mention that the pattern is free? First there is a scarf to finish in Zombie BBQ from Lorna’s laces. I have run into a little snag with the self patterning. The second skein does not behave as well as the first and I have to keep on cutting the yarn and starting at another spot to keep the pattern alive. But I’ll post a picture in the next few days after it’s finished.

In other news, especially health news, I’m going to a shoulder class this evening. Since the beginning of 2007 I deal with shoulder pain. Trying to show the twist on ice to our exchange students, the Yuba river had frozen that year, I fell and braced myself with my hands and arms. Not avoiding falling into the water and being soaking wet, but at least I did not hit my head. I can’t afford any further damage to this priceless appendage on my shoulders if I still want to attempt projects like deathflake mittens.

Well, something jammed in my shoulders and off and on I deal with the consequences of the twist now. But hey, I had some stellar dance moves before the humiliation.

What I have is impingement syndrome and calcification in the shoulder. I have to attend a class before orthopedics is willing to take over. I was OK for a few years but I fell again and since then the pain has not let up. Lately it’s keeping me from sleeping and enough is enough. Considering our monthly health care premiums are $1430, I can expect some care.

September 20, 2013

Angst

For days, thoughts of a one-year anniversary have been haunting me. Yes, it has been that long since my little and massive heart attacks and all that came after: the bypass surgery, the embolism, the 20-day hospital stay, recovery, and on and on and on.

Life has changed dramatically since then. My spiritual life has taken a turn for the worse, if that was even possible. I talk about it, I push it away, thoughts keep on creeping back, I can’t shake it. “It” is what I consider my short death. Probably everyone I know is sick and tired of me talking about It or about the ordeal itself. After all that happened, we have few friends left.

We used to host parties, at least dinner parties, almost every weekend. Since heart attack and bypass, I wasn’t able to put out that much energy anymore, but no one invited us in return. In the past year we had two dinner invitations, or only one? And I’m lucky if everyone actually shows up when I invite them. I’ve kind of given up for now.

Back to the “short death” part. After the massive heart attack and being ambulanced to the hospital in Sacramento and resting in ICU, I either continued with the heart attack or had another one. Never figured that one out. I remember saying that my heart is starting to hurt again and lots of commotion around me. My mind started sinking into depths I’d never experienced. There was a physical and mental distance to everything around me, and it grew and grew. The void between me and others and material life as well as spiritual life became so vast I didn’t want to make the effort to overcome it. I was content drifting farther and farther away without any regrets or misgivings. Until it all stopped, just nothingness I could only talk about afterward, since at the time there was no experience at all.

Apparently I mouthed to Stephen through a window that I loved him, because by now the family had been herded out of the room and I was surrounded by 10-plus medical responders. Stephen later told me one of them exclaimed there was no pulse anymore. There was talk about using the paddles, but no agreement on that. This is when a nurse did some resuscitation on my chest, and I came back without any knowledge of having been gone.

There seems to be an out-of-synch problem now. I feel my life never caught up with the few moments I missed. What happened in those moments must have been monumental for me. I’m afraid to admit it, but since then death has a whole new meaning for me. Of course I don’t really want to be tested to make sure it’s so. My death has a new meaning, not so sure about anyone else’s.

The fear of death has disappeared, and all that remains is the fear of pain. So many times I’ve said it would have been better if I’d died then. It would have been a very easy death. For me. One that I could have accepted. Whenever I die now, I’ll have to experience it all over again.

I didn’t experience any white light or god, or any inkling of other or bigger or anything for that matter, less than even sleep. There was a time during the hospital stay when I did experience a white light. With the pulmonary embolism. As soon as I was deprived of oxygen, my surroundings started fading from colorful to washed out, and it became brighter and brighter, to the point where I wished for sunglasses. Or at least for someone to turn those overhead lights off. I can only deduce that a lack of oxygen gives one the type of “I’m about to die and I see the light” kind of experience.

Take into consideration here that death is probably a very personal and different experience for each of us. Don’t draw any conclusions from what I’m saying. If I had a shred of faith left in me, it’s gone now. My belief is in nothingness. And there’s no fear associated with that. No regrets, no bucket list, no worry about the mess I leave behind, just OK, everything is OK.

Two myths, perhaps only personal ones, but myths: you can’t have a heart attack while exercising, I proved that wrong. And no matter what my grandmother said about wearing nice underwear, I didn’t care, because if they were clean when I put them on, they certainly were totally messed up when I arrived at the hospital. I had no control over any functions during the heart attack, it seemed that I was going to purge everything. Hugging a trash can, throwing up while sitting in a wheel chair instead of on a toilet. And this is the dirty truth.

There’s a barrier now between me and most of the rest of humanity. That part of humanity that doesn’t share my experience. Is this why support groups are so important? As a society or as individuals we don’t have what it takes anymore for empathy? Instead, we direct everyone to their own kind to deal with problems? Weren’t we able to support all who lived in our communities, no matter what their experience? Or is this a case of the way we never were?

I tend to have nostalgia for the olden days, sometimes I call them the Little House days. Everything was alright then, life made sense, people were connected to each other. I could write books on the changes from back then or perhaps speculate how it really was like to be a woman back then, or a child, or a man for that matter. Life was hard, and perhaps it is all a trade-off. No alienation, but instead overworking yourself. No time for alienation, because no time for socializing, because you had to work so hard.

If I seem like a whiner in this post, I’m not trying to nor do I feel like I’m whining. Just trying to get some thoughts out. I guess I could keep a diary, but then again, I’m a Gemini.

The night of my MIL’s birthday was the little heart attack; this anniversary is coming up in a few days. Then Toby’s birthday eve was the massive one. I sure know how to pick my dates, eh? Yes, I’m nervous and scared. Though a calendar year is arbitrary, it does have meaning in our lives, if for no other reason than to mark the seasons.

What if instead of a year being a year or a month being so many days, we would mark time differently? Mark it with events we don’t have in our consciousness right now. Imagine not noticing the changing seasons, there has to be something we’re unaware of that could be used to mark time. And no, it won’t be every time I finish a knitting project. That would get me in all kinds of trouble.

Back to the year though, perhaps we could rush ahead and make it, let’s say, November? I returned November 1 from the hospital, so let’s make it later in November, OK?

I will find myself in the same boat knitting-wise as I did last year, except this time around I have even more water to bail out. I had so many started or unfinished knitting projects and finished them all within a couple of months. This year it might just take me next year to finish them all. What the heck is wrong with me? Because I don’t see myself breaking this pattern. With gift-giving holidays coming up, I even have excuses for my bad behavior.

Seems I’m back on the knitting track and have left more morbid thoughts behind.

Go ahead, start another project on me!

P.S. I don’t want to be ungrateful. I thank all my friends who cooked for us after I came home from the hospital. At least twice a week for several weeks we didn’t have to give any thoughts to cooking. Thank you!

September 15, 2013

Yarnbombing – Gone Wrong

Imagine a woman wildly ripping off her pants and running around in underwear on a hiking trail while her husband is swinging said pants around in circles and against a tree. Got the picture? That would be me and Stephen right after I stepped on a wasps’ nest.

Why did I venture off the path? I had the crazy idea of knitting little korknisse. What is a korknisse you ask? Check them out here. Cute, right? So I had to make a bunch from little scraps of yarn. At the end of the day, exhausted just watching one more episode, this is about all my brain will wrap around.

What to do with them does pose a problem if you’re fresh out of little kids to entertain. So I planned a modest yarnbombing action on our hiking trail. First with some trepidation about defiling nature, but then the thought that I can take the korknisse down any time and them bringing a smile to some hiker got me convinced I should do it.

The first spot for the green korknisse was soon obvious.

The next spot suggested itself too. But it turned into the revenge of nature. I got off the path a little and stepped on a log. See here!

What a surprise! I know the feel of stinging nettle but never felt poison oak before so I thought this is what happened, I stepped on poison oak and it feels like stinging nettle. Yellow and black poison oak wriggling along my leg. Nope, those are bees or wasps or whatever and I started swatting them away with my hand and running. Stephen running after me, the dog in front or behind us.

Then the infamous scene of me ripping my pants off and the rest is history. 12 stings! 12! It hurt but not as bad as you would imagine. I’m not allergic to bees or wasps, but 12 stings might change that and we decided to head back to the car and home.

Took a shower, applied some sort of something from our first aid kit, and iced it together with our dog whose mouth by then had swollen. Yarnbombing is not for the weak or meek, nature had spoken.

You would think I had learned a lesson I could carry forward in life. Not so, that very evening we returned and I put up 2 more korknisse. Take that Nature!

On our way back to the car we ran into two friends who also hike this trail, they were shouting toward us: We love it!

This is how they discovered them. He: Yarnbombing. She: Marianna. He after looking at the cork and what bottle of wine it had come from: Stephen. The green embellishment is theirs.

I made three more korknisse that evening. If I spoke Norwegian, and I should speak it a little since we had a Norwegian exchange student for a year, Maiken, where are you when we could use your help, I would know the plural of korknisse or is korknisse the plural already? I love that word and wished I could incorporate it into my everyday speech more often.

This morning our whole village had the idea to be out hiking. The one opportunity that finally knocked also knocked down a woman along the path and with it wiped out our last chance of yarnbombing. Sundays, yarnbombing, not so much.

Why would anyone send me a message about yarnbombing, not for Marianna! Or am I imagining? Is it a center of the universe situation? Could you speak louder Nature? On second thought, pssst, don’t tell. One photo from the trail:

This is the old irrigation ditch from the mining past in our area. And one last picture of the view from the ditch toward our town, or should I call it village? What are the definitions? Since we have a lys we might just qualify as town.

September 12, 2013

Zombie BBQ and a Whole New World

I have turned into the dog who won’t let go of the bone. To be honest though, there is still so much meat left on it, even for a vegetarian.

It’s way beyond which scarf I will knit. The people on Knitting Paradise have spoken here: http://www.knittingparadise.com/t-199172-1.html and I accede to their opinion. In the meantime I have some sample knitting going on.

First question posed: is this a fluke? I started another scarf with a slightly different pattern. Needles used so far: US4. Cast on for the second sample in the irish hiking scarf pattern was 54. The original pattern asked for 42 with 3 cable repeats. Since I’m using sportmate from Lorna’s Laces I needed more width and opted for an extra cable pattern repeat.

Either I’m jinxed or it’s the yarn working its mojo. Take a look at what I got. Top is the first try with 52 stitches in the palindrome pattern. Bottom the second sample as described above.

top: palindrome, US4, 52 stitches bottom: irish hiking scarf, US4, 54 stitches — top: palindrome, US4, 52 stitches
bottom: irish hiking scarf, US4, 54 stitches

Last night I started at the other end of a skein with 52 stitches and worked in the palindrome pattern again. The changing variable this time was consciously casting on at a different spot in the color repeat. Take a look at the color repeat first:

And here is last night’s result.

You see that the X or argyle or whatever you want to call it is really stretched out here. So much so that I had to give up knitting last night or forgo sleep. Use your imagination.

Now take a look from where I cast on and compare the three scarf starts. I do long tail cast-ons and so it is not clear exactly where I started, but it will be once I frog and I ‘ll let you know then. For now, you have to settle for this photo:

Cast-ons from l to r: last try, second try, and original.

Casting on the first two times shows a similar starting point. It’s slightly off. The pattern is 2 stitches wider and the knitting pattern is also slightly different. But I think there is a huge change in the pooling. One X is much bigger than the other. With the most recent try the X is really elongated. I attribute that to the color start change.

Sure wish I would have paid more attention to math in school or whatever skill it takes to work this out without having to actually knit it all. I’m especially interested to see how this all knits up without a pattern but straight knit.

This morning I decided to do some research and a whole new world opened up. I’m a baby in this yarn pool. Immediately joined the Pooled Knits group on Ravelry. And to show how behind the times I really am, check out Lorna’s Laces blog from 2011. Here you see someone’s scarf with a 54 stitch cast on without a pattern. And then check out all she has done by looking at her projects. It’s humbling.

I’m not done researching and learning yet. At the moment I’m at a stage of overwhelm.

I’ll leave for now with a last photo of all 3 tries.

from first to third try from top to bottom

September 10, 2013

Yarn Pooling and Other Pools

The saying that getting old is not for sissies seems more true every day I age. OK, right now I have no problems and I’m not complaining. I spent last week with my in-laws in the Bay Area. Both had serious falls with debilitating consequences and needed help. I imagine if that would have happened to them at a younger age they would have walked away from it or been fine within days, but this is taking a toll on their quality of life.

I had along the spinning wheel, a basket of wool, and a basket of yarn and projects. Did I need it? Nooooooo, it serves as a security blanket only. Without, I would have yearned for all the knitting I could have gotten done, ha. I did spin every day, but knitting was more of a problem. On the drive down I made a dishcloth in the car. Once there I only managed to knit on a sock, disliking the pattern and frogging the whole thing. Started anew with another pattern but this is on hold too. A facecloth is almost done in a nice organic cotton yarn. Will I learn from that? Again, nooooooo, because how can I anticipate knitting conditions or moods. I might pack lighter with clothing. All I needed was underwear, a pair of pants and a couple of t-shirts. Not 4 pair of pants and t-shirts for the whole summer. They do have a washing machine after all.

Swimming was my treat in the evenings. The pool is open until 10 pm and I used the last hour to indulge myself, alone. A whole pool and hot tub just for me. I’m glad we saw the bobcat wandering around on our last day there or I would have been more nervous walking to the pool and being there by myself. But what is a bobcat going to do to me, right? Whatever happened to my youthful invincibility? Did it all get used up?

But I have a much bigger problem now that I’m back home and into my knitting rhythm. While gone, two of my yarn orders arrived. One is a skein of Wollmeise Pure from a Ravelry user, the other 2 skeins of Lorna’s Laces Sportmate in the color Zombie BBQ. The latter is for Liana and because she really does not need anything and I got the last 2 skeins, I’m making a scarf. But let me introduce the color first:

The photo does not do the colors justice. I have never loved colors that much and a name so matching.

Then the yarn decided to gift me. A gift I would have embraced with any other yarn but Zombie BBQ. Can you say Christmas, traditional. Let me show you my dilemma.

This is so not me, or my daughter, at least I don’t think it’s her. It might be a case of me trying to be cool and hip and again ending up being the dork with the Christmas scarf. The obvious choice would be to frog and start over. But that’s like throwing a gift away, how can I do that? I have posted on a knitting site for opinions and so far every single reply came in as keep it.

There is another way to look at this. Skull and XXXs, can you see it? Especially the zigzaggy thing happening in the X.

I’m OCD about the whole affair now and can’t just move on to another project. I have looked at other yarns by the same manufacturer in the same color. Am I crazy? While looking I found colors I might like even more. But, for now I’m stuck. The obvious did occur to me and I have a call out to Liana to see what she thinks since it is for her. Duh!

August 30, 2013

Hoarding

I am beat! Worked all day in the garage. I’m a bad hoarder, but not ready for prime time TV yet.

The problem? Probably how all hoarding starts. Hmm, I could use that for something or other, and if not me then someone else. Sound familiar? That worked for most of my life until many years ago when I had so much, I never could find what someone needed. That’s when I knew I had gone overboard.

At this point in our life we actually rent a storage unit. That started a few years ago when we had a rat in the house. It took us weeks to catch the darn critter. At some point I slept at a friend’s house, at another point the rat was cornered but managed to run past everyone back into the house.

When the rat started living under the fridge we finally caught it. Not before trying every trap known to man or woman, even the unspeakable ones. We were desperate, OK? What did it in the end was one of the humane catch it alive thingies.

It was caught in the middle of the night and the noise this animal made at the moment of capture was loud, you would have thought we were trying to kill it. A kind of loud moan I’ve never heard a rat make. We released it at the closest park to our house and we have not seen it since. There were no babies anywhere nor any partners. And, knock on wood….

But back to the garage. The stuff that is collecting now or rather has been collecting over the years are things I can’t throw away that belonged to the children. Three or was that four? huge bins of books, childrens’ books. A box of toy cars, a box of stuffed animals, a box of toy horses, a doll house with all that accompanies such a toy, all wooden toys, clothing from when the kids were little and I find special…. You get the idea.

And then there is our old camping equipment, all the books we collected as home-schoolers and other paraphernalia that comes with the territory of homeschooling. Then there are the rejects from the board game collection we have. Games that should be given away or be sold.

A long time ago I started a board game lending library at our local library and kept lots of duplicate games so we could replenish lost game pieces. And we had games donated that were questionable at best. Well, all that is in the garage. And all the leftovers from previous garage sales.

And so much more that somehow a garage is able to attract. When I look at the garage and my house tonight it feels to me as if all I did was reshuffle but a full trash can and recycling container should give some hope.

There were absolutely no treasures. No long lost items found. And it serves me right that it is so much work and I feel beaten and will feel that way until all is done. Can it even be done?

I would like to move all our storage stuff back home and use the money saved for more stuff, like yarn perhaps? So what is in storage? Old stereo equipment, my old Bose speakers the 901s. Lots of things from Stephen’s grandfather’s house that no one wanted and I felt sorry for. Tons of slides and old movies and pictures. The unsold copies of the book we published written by Stephen’s grandfather. If you would like a copy of “Tales of the Shtetl” the price is good right now.

This is getting depressing. Stuff is depressing. Except yarn stuff, and board games, and quilting stuff, and kitchen stuff. Somehow I have to keep my eyes on the proverbial prize. But what the heck is that prize in this situation? And do I have what it takes to get there?

I shall report back.