K 2, [P 2, K 2] 4 times

She asked for gift suggestions. The answer was "a knitting kit". At first she didn't believe me. On Christmas morning I was excited to receive a box with a skein of yarn and a book titled "My Knitting Teacher".

At the age of twelve I learned to knit a pair of slippers in a church class. They were white with red variegated threads. The pattern was simple with only knit and purl stitches required. Knitting needles never graced my hands after that.

Over the years I did lots of crochet work. Afghans, baby clothes and booties, doilies and pillowcase trims came easily. But knitting remained a mystery. Dropped stitches, counting rows and getting the gauge correct were intimidating.

Last night the box was opened and I started casting on. The basic knit and purl stitches came easily. The ribbed stitches were correct. But the cable pattern looked impossible. The first attempt was a disaster so I set my practice piece down and went to bed.

Tonight I picked it up again, determined to conquer. Four cables later I'm feeling pretty cocky! Zeus has already requested a sweater.

$2.25

I'm sorry.

One of my internet acquaintances Sharyn, a fellow quilter who makes incredible quilts had an interesting post a few weeks ago. We are about the same age and her post was titled "I'm so over it". Simple yet very thought provoking.

Zeus and I talk a lot, especially when I'm trying to work through a difficult situation. Last night we had a long discussion about how things change over the course of time, often going in ways that are totally unexpected. We dissected the idea of planning for the future, working toward those goals but also realizing there are no guarantees that those plans will come to fruition.

On the other side of the future is the past. The past cannot be altered. It happened. The only thing I can do about the past is learn from it, make any amends possible and then try not to make those mistakes again. But I can say I am sorry.



1. I'm sorry that I sniffed out the brick of dipping chocolate and ate chunks at a time when I was a kid.

2. I'm sorry that I used to peek at Christmas gifts and ruined the surprise. Lesson learned.

3. I'm sorry that I photoshopped ten pounds and a double chin off of me but not you.

4. I'm sorry that I said that mean thing to you.

5. I'm sorry that I didn't know about thrift stores sooner.

6. I'm sorry that the little squirrel ran in front of my car and got squished.

7. I'm sorry that my religious beliefs/political opinions are not the same as yours and that this might cause you pain.

8. I'm sorry that I didn't climb Mt. Ben Lomond last year. Maybe this year?

9. I'm sorry that I misjudged you.

10. I'm sorry that the frozen tomato plant is still in the backyard waiting to ripen and you are still looking at it.

11. I'm sorry that my car was so disgustingly messy when you rode in it.

12. I'm sorry that you missed the opportunity to participate in their lives.

13. I'm sorry that you wanted to pass me on the road and I wouldn't let you.

14. I'm sorry that I graduated from a college and not a university. Wait. No, I'm not.

15. I'm sorry that there are only 24 hours in a day and that summer vacation is only three months long.

16. I'm sorry that I haven't finished those projects that I've started.

17. I'm sorry that I'm not in Hawaii.

18. I'm sorry that they grow up so fast.

19. I'm sorry that I can't fix it all.

20. .................


Now I need to get over it.

It's what I do.

Two weeks ago I had the pleasure of giving a short speech about Little Ms. In front of people. People who intimidated me. At a church. Not my church. Whoo boy, that was scary.


After fretting about it for months (yes, months) I came up with a plan. A devious plan. If I stood in front of that group holding up photos of Little Ms. all of those people would be looking at the images and hopefully wouldn't notice the papers rattling in my shaking hands. It was hard to choose eight of my favorite images of her to share but I finally settled on some that best described her personality. The little tribute went off without a hitch and no one seemed to notice, or at least didn't comment on the sweaty forehead.

In cruising through my scrapbooks that week I realized that my all time favorite photos are those that tell a story. The child sitting on the edge of a cliff wearing a harness. Athena and Eris lovingly planting kisses on top of Zeus' balding head. The shadow of a bride and groom walking down the sidewalk. The sweaty faces of bike riders who just completed a feat they never thought possible. The runner caught mid-stride in the air. A father's face as he bathes his newborn baby for the first time.

The stories of my life. Printed. Shared with others. It's what I do.

Click! Click! Click!

Each day during the month of December I look forward to the late afternoon. From 5:00 pm to 5:15 pm the clicking begins. Timers set all over the house take turns tripping and lights begin to go on. The strands of garland, wreaths and our skinny old tree are strung with white lights that cast eerie shadows on the walls. At 11:00 pm the clicking begins again as they all turn off.

Eight timers in all, including one for the two wreaths that adorn the front of the house and one for the wreath in the lair window that only my neighbor can see.

I love all the light. I'm thinking of leaving the tree up all year in the Stupid Room (again, a future post).

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The Rock

Last week I took my three preschoolers to our local Nature Center for a Pee Wee Pow Wow. The kids were treated to an hour of stories, song and art projects. They sat around a campfire where they learned about Native Americans and tasted journey cakes. They gathered in a tee pee where a coyote told them how he got his name. The kids loved it.

Earlier that morning before leaving the house the Princess found a rock on Grandpa's dresser and asked him what it meant. Later, as we were entering the Nature Center she found a similar rock and picked it up, telling me it was her Gratitude Rock. Not sure I heard her correctly, she repeated "It's my Gratitude rock" and then put the rock into her pocket.


This morning I am warm and comfortable inside my home while on the other side of the window, just two feet away it is bitter cold. There is food in my pantry, clothing in my closet and a car in my garage. There are piles of scrapbooks that tell the stories of the memorable experiences that have been shared with those I love.

Lately my emotions have bubbled up to the surface, something that is not a common occurrence. I am profoundly aware that I'm a lucky woman with a wonderful husband. I am surrounded by incredible daughters, treasured grandchildren, loving family and forever friends. I have been fortunate to watch them grow up and be part of their lives, hopefully creating lasting memories that they will cherish as much as I do.

Gratitude. It is a powerful word.


(More photos of the Pow Wow here.)

The Happiest Place on Earth

Three days in Disneyland and California Adventure was everything we had anticipated, and more. It didn't take long for the contagious excitement of the park to affect all of us.

Planning had taken months, dates were finally set and reservations made. Four vehicles filled with fifteen excited kids, ages one year through 71 headed southwest. This would be an extra special holiday because four birthdays were being celebrated.

The Prince (age 1) was content to watch all the happenings from his stroller. He was especially enamored by the beautiful princesses.

Mr. Eris, Jr. (12) is a little more reserved but really enjoyed his time with Bubba (age 17).

The Princess (age 3) took it all in as fast as she could. She is an expert on fairies and princesses and loved meeting all of them.

Jubee (age 14) did it all! She loved the rides and was a super help with the little ones. That grin was on her face the entire time.

Little Ms. (nearly 8) is the fearless one of the group and had carefully measured her height to make sure she could ride all of the scariest rides. And she did!

Bubba gave his tearful mother a hug after only a few hours and thanked her for bringing him. He hauled Littlest around on his shoulders much of the time and loved every second there.

Littlest Ms. , age 5, was wide-eyed from the moment we first entered the park. I believe she was the perfect age and the look of wonderment on her face the entire time was a joy to watch. The above photo was taken at the Princess Lunch where they read a Royal Decree in her honor for her birthday!

Having my entire family together, sharing laughter and making memories is what makes my life complete. Earlier this evening they were all here at our home eating belated birthday cakes and reliving the fun of last weekend. Five cameras had been busy last weekend preserving history. Shutters tripped nearly 1,100 times. The scrapbook is now complete and will sit on the coffee table for months where little hands as well as big hands will open it each time they visit. The smiles on the faces in the photos will bring new smiles as the good times are remembered again and again.

I love you all!

To see more smiles and fun, CLICK HERE.

$.36 found at Disneyland

.06 in Euros found in Death Valley National Park

(numismatising while on vacation is tough work)

Portraits by Little Ms

When young ones come to visit there are pretty strict rules. Don't step over the "line" with food. Spit out your gum immediately. No running around the island or coffee table. Stay out of the useless room (aha! future post!).

Movies, television and computer games are also rare activities. Instead, they know where to find the magnets to build shapes, beads to string necklaces, cars to race on the floor and clothes for dress up. They also know that there is an endless supply of paper on which to draw, scraps of patterned paper to cut and glue and erasable markers for whiteboards.

Two weeks ago Little Ms. got serious about her artwork. The rendition of Grandpa was easy to figure out. It took a little longer to figure out the Grandma drawing, but it is absolutely accurate. I must have been wearing my computer glasses. I still haven't figured out what shirt I wore that had letters on it.

There is a file in my desk with all kinds of memorabilia. School programs, drawings, admission tickets, each one special to me. My shelves of scrapbooks contain some of these things, often tucked between the pages of photos.

These are the stories of my life.

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