Nutcase 101

Okay, so it won’t be depressing but DAMMIT it’s going to be fun. And we’re not really staying at a plcae called Hotel California but we will be reveling in the love that is Hollywood.

In about five hours and fifteen minutes we’ll be on a jet plane to California for a glorious five days where we’ll enjoy great friends, conversation and food. Honestly, it’s going to be a blast. We do plan on fitting some sites into our trip but really, it’s all about the people.

And if you’re in Los Angeles and you want to have lunch with the Slackmistress, Betheboy and the crew of LAGenX, come to Laurel Tavern at noon tomorrow (5/29).

Did you know that you can bruise your kidney? Yes, you can. And you don’t have to be in a car accident or major incident to do it.

You might have heard that I went to a little yarn thing in Atlanta a couple of weeks ago. Where I might or might not have spent way too much money on fiber. (I’m an addict. I admit it.) But all of this happened on the way to yarn heaven. Okay, really, it was to my friend’s apartment.

I landed in Atlanta around 9 pm and had to catch the train (MARTA) to get to my friend’s apartment. Thankfully, the train stops at the airport so that part was pretty easy to navigate and get a seat to myself. But when I had to switch trains, the car had gotten full with people that had been watching the Braves wear really tight britches throwing around balls. Hey, I know what I appreciate about baseball, the uniforms.

Getting on the second train was NOT fun. All the people pushed, shoved and didn’t care about letting me on to the train – heck, I almost didn’t get on it. And then when I did, there was no where to sit so I stood in the aisle with my rolling bag, shoulder bag and hand bag. I tried to get situated before the train started moving but I was not successful, as the train jerked into motion I slammed the left side of my back into a hard plastic seat.

Thankfully, a gentleman saw my distress and kindly offered his seat. Which was great because I was ready to bite someone’s head off – I was tired, having been up and gone to work, then traveling and finally getting on two trains. And I didn’t mention that on the first one that I got stuck behind a group of former sorority sisters that only knew how to describe every other statement with “Oh, I SOOOO know what you mean.” “OMG!” And “LIKE WHAT?!”

Finally, I got to my friend and got to lay down. But I had no clue what I had done to my back until a few days later when bruises started to appear on my spine and there was sharp flank pain. And by a week later after a slew of symptoms and a battery of tests (including a CAT scan where I got to be radio active for a few minutes), it was determined that when I hit my back into the train seat that I had caused some wonderful kidney stones to play ping pong in the kidney bruising the inside while the chair did damage to the outside. Good times, good times.

If you follow me on Twitter, you’ll see that I post a lot about yarn. And a lot of people don’t believe that yarn work is the coolest hobby in the world or don’t understand why I could get so excited by a hank of fiber.

This weekend I got to go to Stitches South, where my yarn dreams came true. There were a lot of little mom & pop yarn shops where they make one batch of a yarn in a specific colorway and that’s it. I’m now the proud owner of a lot of different sock yarns that will knit up into some wonderful gifts for people.

Of course, when I got home, I had to get approval of my purchases.

And, the ‘Reeling Machine’ is a yarn swift, a nice little tool that helps a hank of yarn convert into a nice yarn cake when used with a ball winder.

(PS. If anyone is looking for a wooden tabletop swift – non-umbrella type – mine is up for sale, email me for the price.)

I woke up in the room my mother grew up in, under a quilt made by grandmother’s hands to the smell of breakfast cooking. It was a month after college graduation and it was my first vacation since I was 18, having worked full time while I attending FSU full time.

The only place I wanted to go on my first adult adventure was a location that was very familiar but foreign to me. I had been to my grandmother’s small, early 1900 house many times as a child but it was never with the intent to get to know where I came from and who my grandmother really was. I wanted to know the woman that raised my mother. The woman who got her nursing license in her forties to support her family of six children because my grandfather left for greener pastures. The woman who was only four foot ten on good days but a giant in my eyes.

I spent a week listening to her stories and to her snore in front of the TV. She drove me around to meet relatives that I had only heard of in memories that my mother shared, seeing my great Uncle’s dairy farm, running in pastures that my mother called her playground as a child. Grandma told me about the way my mom shouldered the responsibilities of cooking while grandma was at work. That my mom would bribe her brothers into the cleaning by letting them lick the bowls of whatever dessert she had prepared. I learned about my great-grandparents, that I have strong Canadian roots and that I didn’t inherit the Mohawk genes that allow a lot of my kin to tan over night.

Grandma gave me a real treasure the summer of 2002 by sharing herself with me. She never knew that I went up to visit so I could selfishly keep her to myself for a few days. And now that she’s gone, the seven days in the house that my great-grandfather built is a life time of memories that I’ll share with my children one day.

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A note on the previous post, that event occurred five years ago but due to modern technology people have tried to come back in my life.

This weekend I was away in Phoenix with the lovely B, off to visit the Father-in-law and his second wife. We had a delightful time and I have no proof because I forgot the camera. Yup. I left it sitting on the couch all by itself.

The cats on the other hand did not get to stay home either. Since it was Valentine’s Day Weekend with the added bonus of President’s Day added to the end, our friends all made plans that involved them being out of town. So the infamous Lola Rocket and Sassy La Rue went to the vet, ahem, Spa.

So, now we’re home with no photos and two pissed cats.

And to put a cherry on top, B is sick again. He’s off to the doc-in-a-box to prove to them that they were wrong and that he does need an antibiotic. Poor thing was miserable on the plane.

That’s all folks. I know, excitement in a few short sentences. I hope I can give you just as much in my next blog post.

The cliche is “You can never go home again.” And no matter how many times you cross the threshold of where you spent your childhood, once you’ve entered the world of adulthood, you are now a visitor.

There was the familiarity of being in my old bedroom but without my sleeping partner next to me and my toys long ago given away, I couldn’t wait for the comfort of my home. But, every morning, I’d walk into the kitchen where I enjoyed many a meal with a mother who regulated me back to the role of child. I was told to clean up my dishes, pick up after myself and make sure that the dog could go out when needed. I guess you can grow up but you can’t get away from chores.

Then there was the disparity where I needed to be my mother’s rock. Mom is good at keeping up appearances but with the knowledge that she wouldn’t be able to call her mom to wish her a Merry Christmas, she’d start to break down. Her peppiness would leave her step, she’d ‘feel unwell’, there was a lack of light in her eyes.

On Friday night, the family gathered to do an early gift exchange because of me not being home on the 25th. My sister and I had left to run errands because my brother was out buying last minute gifts. When we had returned home, Mom was in bed and didn’t know if she was up to being a part of the merriment. I knew that she was missing a key part of her life that was there for 58 years.

But Mom did come out and join us. And Grandma was a big part of our Christmas because Mom presented my brother and I with belated Birthday cards. Grandma was an incredibly organized woman and had written birthday cards to all of her grandkids at the beginning of 2009 so that she only had to put the cards in the mail during our birth month. Of course, we were all bawling, knowing that this was the last birthday card that I’d ever get from my grandmother.

We took the time to exchange stories about how fabulous a lady Grandma was, how she made us laugh, learn and love (I think I’m channeling Wolfgang Puck). And through that, I think that my Mom got a bit of healing with knowing that we were all missing her mother. I gently reminded Mom that it was okay to be sad, miss Grandma, mourn but to remember that Grandma would want us to live life to the fullest.

The best part of being home is being able to hug my Mom. I think she needed all of her children with her for her to start healing. And another Christmas present: Southwest is going to fly directly from my home city to my parents city. So, hopefully, I’ll be home more than just for the holidays.

To look a lot like Christmas.

We have not put up the tree, hung the stockings (which I did buy this year) nor wrapped presents. Though, all pieces for sewing have been cut out, less one and seven out of eight knitted items are done.

I haven’t packed, nor planned the packing, of my trip on Wednesday. Though, two nice things about not being able to go to NYC – no snow and not having to wear a suit. Oh and I’ll be near the ocean. OH and I’ll be able to hug my family. OH AND I’ll be fed biscuits and gravy. hmmmmm biscuits and gravy.

Though, I will miss the furry ones and the tall one (B). But I’ll get to play with Mr. Butch (another furry one) and be attacked by a wee one (Ephraim, the nephew).

So, I think it’s a fair trade.

And I may not be home for Christmas, but I’ll be home with my family, which for me is cause for a glorious celebration. (Though, without B, there will be a part missing.)

Oh yeah, I owe you another post. I’m so sorry my five lovelies.

The day we went to Sea World, the temperature dropped by thirty degrees. THIRTY. 3-0. FUCK!

We weren’t prepared for that. We were prepared for sun to be beating down on us, hence having 70 SPF for the bodies and 90 SPF for the face (this will hopefully come in handy at Disneyland). We were dressed for warmer weather, in the 70’s, low 80’s. But uh no. It was 58 degrees, with WIND. WIND!! Sea World sold $49 hoodies like they were fifty cent candies. I refused to pay because I would only be wearing a giant embroidered whale fin on my chest for that day only, no sale.

Our first stop was to actually get our tickets and be bioscanned into the Sea World system for our annual passes to be valid. B and I don’t plan on going more than one more time this year, in the fall, but the deal was buy a one day pass, get a season pass. Who were we to say no to that type of offer?

After that fun time, we visited the Clydesdale barn and saw a fabulous Clydesdale being groomed. They really are majestic animals. (You might read the line more than once in this post.)

After the horses, we wandered our way around the park looking at exhibits here and there and heading towards Shamu’s show. I actually enjoyed the show and the sitting down (and making sure we were not in the splash zone – AND WHO IN THEIR RIGHT MIND WOULD WANT TO BE SPLASHED BY ARTIC WATER IN 58 degree WEATHER???!). The down point was the wind blowing through, reminding us that we did not pack nor wear the right clothes. The show did rock and I was amazed by the gracefulness of such a big mammal. I can definitely wonder who had the bright idea to keep killer whales in captivity (I’m too lazy to look it up) because Shamu and his friend Newar deserve to be free.

Then, after the show, we saw a the sharks, fishes, a 4-D movie – at the right time, that’s when it rained, and wound up our Sea World circuit. By the time we got to the Dolphin feeding area, the line was quite long and I had no desire to touch dead fish, we went to search out where a friend of B’s worked.

We also realized that it was too early for dinner (because B’s friend is a restaurant manager who was buying us dinner.), we went and saw Monsters versus Aliens in 3D. Thankfully, the movie theater was next to a GAP. I could hear the Angels singing because I was close to a store that sold hoodies and wouldn’t charge an arm and a leg. Only an arm. But luck was on our side, there were hoodies on sale for $17!!! Warmth was MEANT TO BE!!! And that allowed me to watch the movie comfortably and enjoy the animation thoroughly.

When we left the theater and I turned my phone back on, I saw that I had missed a text message – my best friend had given birth!!! I’m a faux Aunt again. Congrats to J and S, welcome A! (First letters only until I have permission to publish.) In my giddiness, I believe I shouted out the information for all of those in the movie theater parking lot to hear. Then it was on to dinner and meeting B’s friend Marz, real nickname/fake name, who was an absolute gem. Hopefully, one day, we’ll be able to host him for a weekend.

Finally, back to the room and a climbing of the mountain of our bed for some rest. It was a grand, cold, busy and exciting day.

Every year Mardi Gras rolls around, I think about the wild goings on in New Orleans, home of THE Mardi Gras celebration. Sure, a lot of other towns have great Mardi Gras parties and parades but they don’t come close to the blow out that is put on for a few weeks before Fat Tuesday in the Big Easy. Images of beads, boobs, parades, floats, drinking, and partying all day and all night are shown on TV and Girls Gone Wild (not that we own any of those videos!). I always thought it would be fascinating to be a tourist during this fabulous period and participate in all of the hoopla. So, when Jennifer’s baby shower was going to fall directly in the middle of the fun season, I was semi-excited. B was on board as well. Okay, B wasn’t in love with going to the the baby shower – you would think that I asked him to give up all sports events for the rest of his life and take up knitting and get pedicures (actually, he likes pedicures). But I bribed him with booking a hotel in the Quarter near Harrah’s Casino so that he’d go play Poker (in which he kicked AZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ – thank you suckers for financing our trip to NOLA).

Unfortunately, we never got to experience the fun of Mardi Gras. Oh no but the all the shitty stuff that happens during Mardi Gras was out in full force and we were right in the cross-hairs. The first night we got to NOLA, we checked into our hotel about six o’clock and were joined in our elevator with a gaggle of persons who had not been sober in a few days. They smelled, acted and looked like they were advertising ALL of the bars in French Quarter all at once. You know that stench of something that’s died on the side of the road and it comes into your car through the vents and it takes a few minutes for it to pass? Imagine being locked in a small elevator with it for 17 floors. An elevator that is so slow that your geriatric grandmother with a broken hip could take the stairs and beat you to your room. This was a reoccurring theme during the 52 hours we were staying at our hotel.

Saturday B and I had planned a majority of our day with Jennifer and the shower. And then we were fortunate to be asked to go to dinner with her parents after the party. All of that part of Saturday was pure delight. Then 9 pm rolled around and it was time to go back to our hotel room.

A danger of being in the Quarter during Mardi Gras is the Parades. There are a GAJILLION of them. And thankfully, the fine people that run NOLA do put out a schedule of when and where. B and I had studied the number and location of the parades for Saturday and the last one in affected our area started at 6 pmish. But guess what? Those parades have routes that are loooooooooooooooong and last FOREVER. So, at 9:30, when we were in three blocks of our hotel, we were informed by the numerous closed streets, cops and LARGE CROWDS of drunk people that the parade was still going on.

Do you know that drunk people don’t care about moving vehicles? Not at all. They will step in front of, act like they are hit, jump on top of and try to lean on your car (that’s moving) while you try to get to your destination. And, that doesn’t even take into account the drunks that are driving as well. B and I realized that we weren’t getting into our hotel anytime soon because the block that we were staying on was in the center of the parade route, so we took twenty minutes of real time and about five years off of our life and got out of the Quarter. We headed North on the interstate, trying to find an exit with a restaurant that wasn’t packed (it was Valentine’s day as well), to get dessert and wait for the roads to be open.

We ended up in the worse restaurant in New Orleans, a place called O’Henry’s. Now the staff at O’Henry’s was quite nice but the food, it sucked. I’m going to be nice because well, words can’t describe the crap we were served. On a plate. Thankfully, by the time the check was paid and B and I got back to our area of the Quarter, the roads were free of police barriers. Drunks on the other hand, not-so-much. Lather, rinse and repeat the situation I wrote about above.

Except this time, B and I got to cross over the infamous Bourbon Street, where parade viewers on the balconies of hotels and homes were still tossing beads to those below. And those below, well, they were willing to show the goods to anyone and everyone who would give them BEADS!!! Shirts lifted to reveal boobs that were perky, saggy, big, small and gotta love the over tanned and floppy. You can repeat that last sentence and replace shirts with pants and boobs with dicks.

B and I had wanted to partake but by the time we finally made it to our room (with another elevator ride of drunk people – this time they threw popcorn at each other), we were pooped. We left New Orleans without ever seeing a Mardi Gras Parade, getting one string of beads or even getting mildly buzzed. We had enough excitement sober.

(P.S. We did do two New Orleans traditions: Ate at Mother’s (twice) and got a king cake from Manny Randazzos – YUM!)

New Orleans actually, where you’re never too far from someone’s final resting place. Honestly, I could go to NOLA just to explore the cemetaries.  But I am diverging from the purpose of this post.

So, let’s start with what I haven’t been able to tell you about for the last three weeks. I’ve been sewing, planning, baking, ready to pull my hair out all in the name of friendship. My best friend Jennifer is due to increase the world’s population around April 17th of 2009. And, with the genetics between her and her husband, there will be a potentially evil genius born who will drive way too fast and be able to code at the speed of light. Both of this little BOYs parents are brilliant IT geeks. They use to have code competitions for shits-n-giggles.

Anywho, I was honored to be able to throw Jennifer a shower but since she lives in the Memphis area and I live in Houston and the family for both her and her husband are from New Orleans, I’ll let you guess what locale won out. And, the party just happened to coincide with Valentine’s day and Mardi Gras season (OH SO MUCH MORE ABOUT THAT in another post).  My other co-hosts happen to be Aunts of the Daddy-to-be and one lives in Houston, which turned out to be a major blessing because my part of the shower was going to be a lot of work on my own – I was in charge of favors which turned out to be Cookies-On-A-Stick.

When the cookie project was done, Aunt A had enough room in her gorgeous house to freeze the cookies so I didn’t have to worry about trying to clean out my freezer to hold the goods. That was REALLY fortunate because our freezer was very well stocked but still quite small to hold the number of cookies decorated. And Aunt A was brilliant in how to display the cookies at the shower.