What are you now good at?

So, I read inspirational stuff, lots and lots of inspirational stuff. Helps keep my glass half-full. Helps with being grateful every day. Just helps my overall well-being.

One of the things I read is a weekly question from a group called “Vertellis” – and they pose a question for me to think about. Sometimes, it’s thought provoking, sometimes I pass on by. But yesterday…

“What are you now good at that you used to be bad at? What did you do to get better?”

Knitting. Duh. But I used to not be a confident knitter. Really. I learned to knit more than 30 years ago with a friend. She needed to learn for her job and I went along for the ride. But I was not a confident knitter. It was nothing for me to scoot out of work at lunch time and sit at the help table at the knit shot. A lot. Like sometimes several days a week.

“I can’t tell if this is a knit stitch or a purl stitch.” “I think I dropped a stitch.” “What is this?”

Then we moved away. And I was still not a confident knitter. And I didn’t know enough people here in Florence to get help. I certainly had not yet connected with other knitters here.

So here’s the confession. One Friday night I dropped a stitch. The whole thing could have unraveled. And it was WAY before you tube videos and the like. So I put it away. Tuesday morning, bright and early, (because the knit shop in Birmingham was closed on Mondays) I dropped my kids off at school and took off like a shot – to Birmingham, so that Memory could pick up my stitch and fix my mistake. I scooted into the help table. She looked at me kinda funny because she knew I didn’t even live in Birmingham any more. “I was NEVER here!” “Just fix it, please.”

Sometime on the ride home (in time to pick up my kids from school, thank you very much!) it occurred to me that I needed to build my knitting confidence. So I got home, deliberately dropped a stitch and figured out how to fix it. Then I did it again, and again. Until the lesson “stuck”

Stockings two and three in a set of three. Progress report.

Barn Quilts

Saturday mornings my friend Gayle and I go on an adventure. I’m the Cruise Director, but am always open to suggestions. Couple of weeks ago, our morning wasn’t any fancier than recycling glass at Target. But this past Saturday, with map in hand, we took off looking throughout Lauderdale County for Barn Quilts. We were not disappointed. Though there were a couple we couldn’t get close enough to take a picture.

We pulled into a couple of driveways for our pictures. One woman came out to greet us. “Sorry if we made you anxious – we’re out taking pictures of barn quilts.” She said it was her mother’s house and her mother saw a random car pull into the driveway and wanted to know what we were up to.

One stop, next to a church, had a guy on a riding lawn mower come over to see if we needed help.

The first one we found was at a Bed and Breakfast – way out in the middle of nowhere. There was a sign out front that told about beekeeping workshops, woodworking classes…all sorts of interesting stuff. How do you even find that B&B? Hey, let’s go to some random B&B in Alabama and learn how to keep bees. I dunno. But it was a gorgeous Saturday morning and the quilts were spectacular.

I have often thought about learning to quilt. Ha! I don’t really like to sew, I’m just drawn to the colors. And besides, I’d have to make room in my yarn stash for fabric. And with all this knitting I love, who has time to quilt? This tour may be the next best thing for me. There are more than 100 barn quilts across North Alabama. Might be another Saturday outing, or two, or twelve…

Work on Christmas stockings continues.

She’s a “mess”

The other day I shared a picture from my facebook memories of Maci – age 4 or 5 – big red sunglasses, yellow feather boa. What a diva! I showed her the picture and she shrugged it off – “I was little then. And I DON’T like yellow any more.”

I had knitted her a yellow dress about that same diva time. Funny, because I had started the dress in a pink and purple variegated yarn and showed it to her. “I LIKE yellow!” Finished that yellow dress one Friday night when she was spending the night. “Would you like to try it on?” “No, I’m good.”

Sigh. The only picture I have of her in that dress is when Robbin convinced her to try it on when she got home that Saturday. She may have worn it one other time – on “Yellow Day” at school.

After the “I DON’T like yellow any more.” She says, “but you’re not such a bad knitter.”

Yay. Thanks.

Plain damn bandaid

Last week I went for my second COVID vaccine. I am NOT irresponsible. I had COVID in December. I had COVID for Christmas! Which was NOT fun. Though I am thankful for having had a mild case. Can’t get a vaccine for three months after COVID. There there’s the bee sting allergy and nagging worry about anaphylactic shock. Because that’s a thing. Anyway, Doctor told me I’d have antibodies into the fall and not to worry. But I should probably think about it late summer.

So I’m reading one of my favorite knitting blogs and they’re hosting a knitting workshop in Nashville in October, but you gotta bring your vaccination card to attend. That was my moment. Called the pharmacy and made an appointment. All is well.

Three weeks later, last Saturday, I went for my second shot. Twelve year old pharmacist-they’re making them so young these days-slapped a plain damn bandaid on my arm. Wait. What? I didn’t come here today for a plain damn bandaid. I want decoration!

Reminds me of the summer at the Y when we stocked up on first aid supplies and bought themed bandaids-superheroes and Disney princesses. Well, that was s mistake. Bandaids quickly because just decoration and disappeared in record time. So we went back to plain damn bandaids.

What’s done is done.

Y’all. Take care of each other. Go get the vaccine. Not just for you, but for your grandmother, your sister who might be high risk, your grandchild who is too young for a vaccine. And wear a mask out in public. This thing isn’t over.

Feast Days

Today in the Episcopal church we remember Jonathan Myrick Daniels who gave his life for a young black girl. On August 14, 1965 Jonathan Daniels, an Episcopal seminarian, was one of a group of 29 protesters who went to Fort Deposit, Alabama to picket it’s whites only store. All of the protesters were arrested, transported in a garbage truck and taken to jail in the nearby town of Hayneville. The police released five juvenile protesters the next day. The rest of the group was held for six days in the Hayneville jail, a facility without air conditioning. Welcome to Alabama in the summertime. Authorities refused to accept bail for anyone unless everyone was bailed.

Finally, on August 20, the prisoners were released without transport back to Fort Deposit. After release, the group waited near the jail while one of their members called for transport. Daniels with three others – a white catholic priest and two black female activists – walked to buy a cold soft drink at nearby Varner’s Cash Store, one of the few local places to serve non-whites. But barring the front door was Tom Coleman, an unpaid special deputy who was holding a shotgun and had a pistol in a holster. Coleman threatened the group and leveled his gun at seventeen-year-old Ruby Sales. Daniels pushed Sales down and caught the full blast of the shotgun. He was killed instantly,

A grand jury indicted Coleman for manslaughter. Coleman claimed self defense, although Daniels and the others were unarmed, and was acquitted of manslaughter charges by an all white jury. Coleman continued working as an engineer for the state highway department. He died at the age of 86 on June 13, 1997, without having faced further prosecution.

I have been to Hayneville and participated in the pilgrimage. The last stop on the pilgrimage is the courtroom, complete with jail cell in the back corner, where we celebrate Eucharist. It’s powerful.

Just before the 50th anniversary, a group had arranged to have an historic marker put up in front of the store. It required consent of the store owner, local officials, the usual red tape stuff. A week before the event, the store was razed. Gone. Nothing to see here. Because if we tear it down, then nothing of significance ever happened here.

So we remember. Johnathan Myrick Daniels – 14 August. Thanks be to God.

Farmer’s Market Summer

One of us…didn’t get anything in the ground this spring. I tell myself there was too much rain, but I don’t really have an excuse.

Anyway, mostly because of the dirty rat bastard squirrels, I haven’t had a single tomato in three years. I used to plant tomatoes for the squirrels, and buy them for me to eat from the Farmer’s Market.

This morning my trip to the Farmer’s Market included corn and tomatoes. Perfect summer vegetables.

There’s homemade bread for the tomato sandwiches, maybe some bacon, too. The corn will be either succotash or fried, haven’t decided yet. None for the squirrels.

I’ve already put up peaches for pies. Five pies. You’re welcome, Mary Catherine.

And I’ve shelled purple hull peas, one of my favorite summer activities. This morning, I was standing next to a fella who bought purple hull peas – already shelled. Who does that? I suggested he was missing out on all the fun. Apparently, that wasn’t one of his favorite childhood memories. And he paid extra. A whole lot extra.

Finished a ruffles baby blanket and mailed it yesterday. Yay. Started on Christmas stocking # 3 for the year. It’s the first in a set of three. Then there are eleven more. Yeah. It’s a thing.

The ruffle is charcoal gray. But it reminded me of cafeteria stoneware – you remember the stuff that was white, trimmed in green?

Dolores and Mara

Once I took a January term class on etymology – the study of the origins of words. That, and four LONG, painful years of Latin in high school, which turned out to be good for me – I’m a pretty good speller and I can break down a word and figure out what it means…

Dolores. Sadness. I ran across a woman the other day named Dolores, and I started thinking why in the world would you want to name a child “sadness?” Will she grow into that? Was she named for grandmother? Why was grandmother named “sadness?” Does it have a certain melody? Nicknames are good. Didi. Dolly. Lola. I’ve known several sadnesses with these nicknames.

And Mara. Bitterness. well, we won’t even go there.

My children have pretty ordinary, traditional names. Sometimes with a bit of fun. Once, when Mary Catherine was visiting her dad, a boy in the neighborhood couldn’t remember her name, and asked if she was Catholic with a double name like Mary Catherine. For whatever reason it morphed into Maria Catholic.

All of my children had fun “cheese”names. Velveeta. Macaroni Ann. Cheddar. William Hammond. Velveeta was my favorite. And she lived into that one! Once when she was little, I’d let her go just around the corner in the neighborhood grocery store into the next aisle. I heard a woman’s voice, “you’re a pretty little girl. What’s your name?” And just as I rounded the corner, that sassy 4 year old put her hand on her hip and said, “Velveeta Schiesz. What’s yours?”

I knew a kinda ditzy woman whose grandchildren called her “Lala.” That worked.

My grandmother name is Tattie. It’s my favorite and who my inner child has been since I was about 5. If I weren’t Tattie, I think I’d like to be Lovey. That’s a good grandmother name. Never Meemaw. That’s my least favorite. Long story.

So, Dolly. I hope you have a great Saturday. Go outside and enjoy the sunshine. It’ll chase the sadness away. I promise.

January 37th

Remember last week when I said, “my game. My rules?” Well, I finished my January socks last Saturday during a zoom meeting, diocesan convention, actually. And, to my credit, I did NOT post in the chat that I had finished my socks. But it was January 37th. And I didn’t miss anything during the meeting. And I voted. And my vote counted!

Now, on to February socks, which I started immediately. Oh, and I ordered the yarn again – because somebody else asked for these socks. These are MINE, but some more in the wings.

I wore them yesterday and they feel wonderful! Perfect for a cold, winter day.

We’re supposed to have “weather” over the weekend into Monday/Tuesday. So I’ve been to the store for milk. Not to make milk sandwiches, but because we were really out of milk. And there’s bread rising in the oven.

Store. Saturday before Valentine’s Day AND a winter storm. Madhouse. I got in and out as fast as I could.

February socks are red and pink.

Ordered some yarn for Christmas stockings, because one of my goals is to finish at least TWO during Lent.

Tips for giving up caffeine

Had an article pop up on my e-mail the other day “tips for giving up caffeine.” Umm. Nope. Didn’t even open it. Laugh. Out. Loud.

Move along. Nothing to see here.

A few years ago, I gave up coffee for Lent. Bad idea. Headaches for days. Negative effect on my otherwise lovely disposition. Lovely, I tell ya. I stuck with it throughout Lent, but it was painful and didn’t bring me any closer to God, which is the whole point of giving up something that keeps us from God.

I’m back to “taking on” for Lent. Dirt. Taking on dirt. Have done it before, not very successfully, but I tried. Taking on dirt means working in the garden…on my knees. Good Lenten posture. On my knees.

Today is January 36th. My game. My rules. I told Maci the other day that it was January 34th. And you know, the Magic Fairy also thinks 40-11 is a real number. Bear with me. It’s January 36th. I’m trying to finish my January socks. Have only the toe to go on the second sock. Some time today or tomorrow when I finish this toe, it will be February. My game. My rules.

Alexa, STOP

So my sweet, thoughtful sister in law gave me an Alexa echo dot for Christmas – said it would do so many things and make my life easier…

Now that Alexa and I have kissed and made up and are getting along, my life is indeed easier. But we got off to a rocky start.

First day…Alexa, play Alabama Public Radio – so I can listen to Morning Edition. I quit turning on morning television news a long time ago. Nothing. ok. Alexa, play National Public Radio. That worked. For about five minutes then…it sounded like a commercial break, then…all of a sudden. Jazz. Lovely jazz, but apparently the station had changed to the station at A&M in Huntsville. Sigh. Alexa play National Public Radio. Jazz. Alexa, play National Public Radio Tuscaloosa. And the bitch says, “shuffling songs by the Tams.” And I love the Tams, but I wanted Morning Edition. Noooooo. I said National Public Radio. Jazz.

Finally, in complete frustration I told Alexa to STOP. I was talking to Jamie on the phone and he said he’d look at the app that evening. App? Wait, what? Oh. So I scrolled over the app on my phone and poked around a few minutes…and there is it. Alabama Public Radio – Tuscaloosa station. Tap the button. Then tap Catherine’s echo dot…and voila! Now that Alexa and I getting along, my life is easier indeed.

She may need to talk to Siri in my car. Siri, call Mary Smith…and Siri says maybe say both the first and last names…whatever! You’re killin’ me, Smalls.