Yarn hoarder

I’ll admit it. I’m a yarn hoarder. I see pretty yarn, make a plan (sometimes) for its use, get it home, then stash it away. Once in a while, it will be used for the project I had in my head, but often it doesn’t. And since I’m also a reader and book hoarder (so easy now with Kindle), time is at a premium. Do I read? Do I knit? Do I weave?

For some time, reading has won over both knitting and weaving, with weaving coming in a distant third. I haven’t touched either loom since I moved into this condo 12 years ago. (It’s been 13 since Dan died, but who’s counting?)

I used to knit at all the ball games. Alas, COVID-19. My friend A’ndrea is a knitter, too, and we like sitting on the third base side, right above the opposing dugout. Last year, the coach of an opposing team turned around and saw us. He yelled “There’s no knitting in baseball! Watch the game!” We laughed and told him we were. Every time he turned around after that, he saw us knitting — and our eyes were on the play of the moment. He shook his head in disbelief and asked how we did that. We told him “practice!”

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A living memorial? Or a home?

Several months after mom’s death, I sorted through clothes and some personal items, but I never quite go around to going through the bulk of what was left behind. I moved into the bedroom and that was about it.

It was beginning to feel like a living memorial to mom. Not only is mom not coming back, now that she’s fully in her right mind again, she wouldn’t want to.

There are many things I want to do, but no money for anything major. No pulling up the carpet and laying a wood floor. No kitchen reno. So I’ve come up with ideas of things I can do on my tight budget.

I can paint the linoleum floor in the kitchen, the kitchen cabinets, and eventually get a new counter top and sink. The carpet — there’s nothing I can do but get it cleaned — eventually. Area rugs on top of that.

This past month I started digging in for reals.

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Words from beyond

I’ve been trying to get my condo clean and changed up a bit since it is now actually mine. This entails going through a deep closet that’s beneath stairs leading to an upper unit. I pulled most things out, threw a lot away and am now in the process of going through miscellaneous boxes.

One box held diaries written by my grandfather. At one point, he kept a diary consistently and with sufficient detail that it was admitted as evidence during a lawsuit. A man was suing because my grandfather had hit this man with the car and left the scene of the accident. However, my grandfather’s diary showed that he was home in bed with the flu for several days surrounding the date the man claimed the incident occurred. The suit was dismissed.

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Social distancing and the introvert

This is somewhere around day 46 or 47 of our stay-at-home order. Our office physically closed around March 11. The students were told not to return from spring break and that classes would be conducted online.

So for over a month now, I — like so many other people around the world — am working from home. I go to the grocery once every two weeks or so. I go to the pharmacy for prescription refills and, if necessary, I go to the convenience store for snacks if I’m really craving something. My car is getting about three weeks to the gallon. Continue reading

One year

Blue bells and bleeding hearts
Clarissa Munger Badger/Biodiversity Heritage Library/CC

 

Tonight at 9:02, it will be a year since mom passed. I miss her every day. In some ways so much has changed. In other ways, nothing has changed. I still feel guilty for reasons known only to mom and me — and Dan, Dad, Granddad, Grandmama, mom’s dad (I have no idea what I would have called him.) Let’s just say, I don’t expect to see any of them when my time comes.

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