Sunday, March 13, 2016

Spin A Yarn, No Cannoli

The Audience: the Portugeuse have dropped out of the race leaving the Brazilians to pick up the slack on behalf of their national language-in-common. The United Kingdom has reappeared in a "big" way, which pleases me because I've always had a special place in my heart for Queen Elizabeth II, 1952 being an exceptional year for both of us.

Russia is back, but even better is the appearance of The Netherlands, representing one-eighth of my personal genealogy. It gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling to imagine Russian Osherowitzes and Dutch Nathans searching for me out in the Infinite Internet. (Waving) Hey! Over here!

Speaking of dropping out of the race, things are getting interesting in The Realm of Presidential Politics. I don't know what to think. Is Donald Trump really the Second Coming of Hitler? (No.) Are his followers all candidates for the New Neo-Nazi Party? How does Ted Cruz feel about being endorsed by Caitlyn Jenner? (Forget that last question. If I go there, I'll lose my mind.)

Shifting into The Next Project made me pensive. Where should I start? Bookshelves, boxes, closet? (Bookshelves won.) And why did I start unpacking two years ago, and then stop, leaving unopened boxes and bags piled hither and yon?

I could blame it on fibromyalgia, but I had the same problem when we moved into our second Hunter's Creek House in 2002, pre-fibromyalgia. Both times I started out like gangbusters, got a lot done, and then stopped as suddenly as a contestant on "Chopped" when Ted Allen yells "your time is up!" Except I never moved on to the next round, and no one ever offered me $10,000 to push through to the finish line. That house had too many rooms, and we had too much stuff. Maybe I was overwhelmed. Definitely I was depressed, but then, I'm always depressed.

In 2002 I was still hauling around 150 pounds of excess weight, and that wore me down. And I used to fall a lot. In 2014, I was deep in the throes of fibro flares f*cking up my ability to do much of anything. So, am I lazy? (According to my mother, yes I am. In my opinion, anyone who works 60 to 70 hours a week or works two jobs, or works and goes to night school is not lazy.)

There is no simple answer. I consider it a character flaw, and at my age, I'm not likely to undergo a complete change of character.  All I can do is break the task down into individual pieces and do my best. But at least now you know why I haven't invited you over for coffee and a cannoli.

Even though I have been knitting for 50 years, and crocheting almost as long, I am still shocked at all the craft-related stuff I have collected and held on to. Last night, as I nibbled at the edges of the project, it was all about books. Pattern books, stitch libraries, you name it. Photocopies, Internet print-outs, pamphlets, handwritten notes of something I designed.

I have no idea how many projects I've completed over the years. Different times brought different obsessions - baby clothes and blankets, adult-sized afghans worked on jumbo needles, crochet slippers that can be finished in an hour for the pair - one year I crocheting slippers for everyone in the legal department, Merry Christmas! - prayer shawls, scarves,

mittens, sweaters, hats, clothes for Cabbage Patch dolls,

... and of course, the omnipresent, ubiquitous socks.

I can't begin to enumerate the projects I started and never finished - WIPs (works in progress) are the secret shame of knitters and crocheters everywhere, and let's just leave it at that. Except to say that the problem of unfinished yarn-based WIPs parallels my unpacking problem. Interesting. Procrastinators of the world, unite! Maybe tomorrow ...      


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