The Stitch Witch

Changes

Remember that promotion I got last December? The job was an interim training position- ostensibly for training me, though with the amount of experience I have, it more often than not involved me training or advising other managers in slightly higher positions while I was waiting for placement. It wasn't a bad gig, though it was pretty damn stressful at times, because watching someone decide that they'd rather fail than listen to common sense isn't pretty (example: turning over 1/3 of the staff for performance and ethics issues and not interviewing, let alone hiring, enough replacements) and it defies logic. So, after 2 long months of madness, when my vacationing boss called very early one morning in late February asking if I could possibly spend a few weeks in western MA- starting the next day- I was all over it. Left my stash of Green Mountain hazelnut coffee languishing in a desk drawer a half mile from Boston and headed west for the Berkshires. 

Ok, as lovely as that sounds, I'm actually closer- much closer- to the Mt Holyoke Range. 

I love the area and I'm not leaving. Got a full-on promotion effective March 19. The kids are in school until mid June, so that leaves a 222 mile round trip daily commute. There's a relocation package involved so the gas expense isn't an issue. And, yes, the drive is long but I can't tell you the last time I had 3 1/2 hours of peace and quiet every day. Every day. The delay gives us time to research school systems and find a house, hopefully with a little bit of land, by the summer. Some place suitable for a huge garden and maybe a few chickens. 

Chickens. Imagine that. 

House hunting is still in the very preliminary stages. Still getting familiar with the area. I've explored about 20 miles north, south, and east. This week is west. The basic list is a bit of land (at least 2 acres), a house that's immediately inhabitable by a single mom and her 4 kids even if it needs work, and a location that'll suit my crunchy granola solar tendencies. 

I cannot express how grateful I am for the turn of good fortune we've had this past year. I'm still a little stunned. Very stunned. And quite relieved. 

Mindfullness

After the sheer nuttiness of the past few years, I thought I'd keep the resolution simple this year: mindfullness. Spend enough time constantly stressed and it's easy to get out of the habit of focusing on the here and now and instead have a brain that's constantly scrambling off in 17 directions simultaneously.

In my brief quest for this mindfullness thing, I spend a lot of time thinking about it instead of what I'm doing (go ahead, giggle. I won't take it personally). Thinking about one thing at a time is an improvement for me, even if it means an idea remains theoretical for a little while before it's actually applied to life. So, tonight, I was busy contemplating mindfullness while cooking dinner and what it meant and maybe I should buy another book on it though I already have that one book and it's pretty good do I really need another and maybe this mindfullness thing'd be easier if I just laid off the caffeine my brain might slow down and I'm almost out of coffee so it wouldn't be that hard to quit and what's that awful smell?

Smell?

The smell brings us to tonight's lesson on mindfullness: if you fail to notice that the sweater you're wearing is on fire, you're not being mindful.

 I know, newsflash, eh?

 Another thing: if you're going spend your cooking time thinking about mindfullness instead of practicing it, wear wool. That way, when you finally gather the wits enough to yank your hand knitted irish wool sweater clad arm out of the burner, the fire will extinguish immediately. It's like magic.

Clearly wool was invented for absented minded fools.

Of course I'm fine, though the left arm's a bit hairless and the kids think I'm an idiot. I've sworn off thinking while cooking at least until I master multitasking.

And you may say to yourself, "My God, what have I done?!"

This pre-move decluttering is driving home (pun intended) one very important point: I own entirely too much crap. Since I'm American, this comes as no shock to most of humanity but I've been living in "I'm soooo environmentally conscious and frugal" la-la land and in this lovely land, we do not own too much crap. We own no crap at all. Every material goods aquisition is the result of a complicated mental algorithm involving perceived 'need vs want', potential carbon footprint, expected longevity of the item with respect to cost, how many hours I'm working to pay for said item, how much joy it brings to our existence, whether or not it we'll want it in 5 or 10 years, do we already own something similar, and so on and so forth. 

With all that deep thought going into a purchase, we ought to be the most clutter free family in America. We're not, mostly for 2 reasons: Free stuff, as in "I never refuse something that's free". Apparently, free stuff has not at all been subjected to the filter (if you manage to shoehorn yourself through the garage door, it's extremely apparent) More importantly, when the mighty aquisition algorithm was created, I forgot to factor in equilibrium: when something's brought into the house, something else needs to go. One'd think that bit of common sense'd be glaringly obvious but, alas, it clearly eluded me. Now I'm hip deep in the end result: a mountain of crap and 10 weeks to sort it.

This is where life gets amusing. Decluttering started out like this: a ruthless evaluation of every possession. Excess books went to Broken In Books (remember my friend who wanted to open a bookstore? She bought one), clothes were sorted between consignment and donation, and a yard sale pile hell, who are we kidding- yard sale room, was created. The McCoy pottery collection and other collectibles were scrutinized along with everything else (including the sacred yarn stash) and eBay seemed like a more sensible option than local consignment and antique shops. In New England, you can't turn a corner without stumbling into an antique shop. We really dig old stuff here, especially other people's old stuff which means the old stuff market's fairly well saturated. Californians, on the other hand, apparently don't have reasonable access the kind of old stuff we take for granted. Half of the pottery I sold on eBay now resides on the west coast, including one vase that now calls 90210 home. I only mention the 90210 thing because I always assumed it was a made-up-for-TV zip code- yes, color me ign'ant-until I shipped a vase to Beverly Hills. Any DNA of mine clinging to that vase is likely as close as I'll get to actually being there.

...yeah, I know, we've wandered into a swamp of digressions and what exactly was my point? My point, and I do have one, is...

I started selling stuff on eBay to declutter and raise a little cash. Declutter is the operative word here and the one I failed to keep in mind when, after listening to me explain my little eBay adventure over an artery clogging diner breakfast, a friend said "Hey, I've got a trunk full of Barbies my Nana gave me. Could you try selling them and we can split the money?" Ok, money or no money, she had me at 'trunk full of Barbies" How often does one have the opportunity to drive around with a trunk full of Barbies? Or make an weird, vaguely illicit feeling trunk-to-trunk Barbie transfer in a bookstore parking lot?

Admission: My childhood Barbies had close cropped hair and were covered in war paint (crayola marker). Why? The better to kick GI Joe's ass, that's why.

It turns out the trunk Barbies were kind of like a gateway drug to a new kind of clutter...Other People's Clutter. Over the past month, I've sold a great deal of my own clutter (even the most sacred cow of all, the yarn stash, has been reduced by half) and the newly opened space is now filled with transient "consigned" clutter.

Yes, you read that correctly. Consigned. Considering that Plan A for picking up a little extra income involved adult novelty tupperware parties, consignment's not a bad gig. But it well and truly defeats the purpose of this decluttering venture. And I don't care. It's a wee little venture and and it's hectic and stressful and fun, possibly the most fun I've had in years. Having complete control over something in my life puts a smile on my face. Yeah, I know: we have control over most everything in our lives. This is different. And it's a step. Maybe just a first step, but it's a step. A little forward momentum is long overdue.

Ebay therapy

Lace knitting may be theraputic for some, but not for me. Very likely this was the Knitting Diety's way of pointing out that baby stuff is due (soon! let's not forget soon!) and what exactly was the hurry with the lace scarf? Hmmmmmm?

There is no photographic evidence; just know there's a fair bit of lovely green Berocco laceweight tangled up in the trash bin. Bah.  I shake my fit at thee, O Spiteful Knitting Fates, and promise to get cracking on some baby knitting just as soon as I'm done typing. Pinky swear, even.

Despite minimal blogging recently, my butt's been glued to the 'puter chair. Ebay. Egads.  Blame it on my Pokemon obsessed 10 year old. I set up an Ebay account to bid on veeble-choo or some such card for him. We won. I paid (that involved setting up a Paypal account and having yet another password to remember) Anyway, having heard much about the mysterious Ebay, I tried a random search for green McCoy pottery vases.

  See the one on the left? Back in the olden days, when X & I were divorcing and life was amicable, we split the collectibles. He got the Depression glass and I took all of the McCoy pottery (hard won after much haggling at many an early Sunday morning antique show or flea market) with the exception of a vase exactly like the one on the left. He asked for that one and, at the time, parting with a single piece out of a 13 year accumulation of McCoy seemed reasonable enough. I've kept an eye out for another, but with less time for antiqueing (the last time I spent a Sunday morning dawdling through oodles of old stuff? Damned if I can remember), it was never replaced. Eh, not a big deal. At least not  until a month ago, when I found myself in X's kitchen making arrangments for the Fat Pit Bull. In the middle of the kitchen table sat the green vase. Being used as a pen cup.

"Covet" is too mild a word for what I felt. It was more of a Gollum-esque "Myyyy precioussssssssss" moment. Granted, I gave it to him, and if we were getting along even remotely these days, I probably wouldn't have cared but, fer chrissakes, a pen holder?

I did not steal it (though, really, it wouldn't have been theft, it would've been a rescue.) Instead, I went home feeling a little peeved and then ended up on Ebay buying a Pokemon card for Nick. (Ah, finally she comes back to the beginning of the story. You know, Ray Bradbury once said "Digression is the soul of wit." but I think he was just being kind to people like me).

If one searches 'green McCoy vase' on Ebay, the results yield a wealth of green vases. Oodles of them. If I didn't have an attorney to pay, having a house full of green vases'd almost seem reasonable.  Instead, three green vases, including a twin to the one I coveted, have now joined the collection.

And just for the record, I'm aware that I have no moral high ground when it comes to uses for 60 year old vases, though at least knitting needles are less likely to leave marks. It would look so much prettier  filled with orange tulips, though.

Ebay's also a proven to be a delightful (and somewhat appallingly simple) place to find books. No, it'll never, ever replace the joy of bookstores. Convenient as it may be, the interwebs doesn't smell like a bookstore and that's an important book shopping feature, right up there with being surrounded by book geeks. That being said, it took only 5 minutes to locate and land a first edition hardcover Nobody's Fool to replace the one lost years ago. Occasionally, instant gratification (especially after several years of combing used bookstores) is a very wonderful thing. 

Books and old vases to cure what ails me? Creating more clutter? Is this reasonable? Not entirely, but being rational and practical all the time is for the birds. A wee bit of Ebay therapy, within the boundaries of an established budget, hurts no one, though being glued to the internet does little to prepare one for a potentially strenuous hiking season...the elliptical's better suited for that. Wouldn't do to have my ass kicked by Mt Washington this summer simply because I couldn't bear to chance missing the perfect green vase. How embarassing would that be? 

 

 

 

Just passing through

In the midst of the chaos, a boarder More of a refugee, actually. 
 Her name is Precious, a silly name for a slightly (well, maybe more than slightly) chunky pit bull. She belongs to the kids.  I haven't had a dog in 15 years so I kinda belong to her right now.

Sigh.

I could stand to have my head examined

Vickie: 'Hey, we should climb a mountain'

Me: 'Ok' (insert absent minded pause here) 'What mountain?'

 Mount Monadnock. When that impulsive 'ok' escaped my lips ('try anything once?' That's me), the only thing I knew about Monadnock was that it's the pretty mountain other side of Dublin Lake on the way to Keene.  I bothered to learn a little more about it as the week progressed. By the time Friday night rolled around, my lengthy attempt at bailing out of the hike via texting and FaceBook can be easily summarized:

Me: 'Whine 90 degrees on Saturday whine humid whine fat and forty whine 4 mile hike whine die on mountain whine whine'

Vickie: 'that's not a real excuse and it's cooler on the mountain anyway. tough tah tahs, you're climbing'

Fine. We got off to a late start, though. I needed my coffee.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Monadnock's apparently the second most climbed mountain in existence (the first being Mt Fuji which'd require an airplaine trip and is, therefore, out of the question. ) On the White Dot Trail, there's a whole lotta people.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

That log a little ways up on the right...that was my first rest stop.  It's a little hard to see the next log I parked my butt on, but all you need to know is that it's still in this picture.

I am inarguably in the worst shape of my existence. It sucks. During the 18 or so months that we've played 'diagnose Erica's mystery ailment', I haven't exactly been active. Feeling like crap all the time'll do that to you.  Eliminating gluten resulted in an amazing reversal in symptoms but, sadly, muscle tone hasn't just magically reappeared. Apparently I have to work for that. Hiking a mountain on an 85 degree day was an aggressive way to jump start the process.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mini goals were helpful. There was a lot of 'Ok, I'm gonna take a water break at that tree/rock'

Which tree? Which rock? Didn't matter. There were so many to chose from.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Eventually, we were high enough to find a rock with a view.  See the trees? Trees provide shade and they smell good. Unfortunately, they only exist below the 'tree line' and are a clear sign that more pain and sweat are forthcoming. 

I was irrationally envious of this bird and it's ability to play on the thermals.

 

 

 

 

 

The rangers  stress repeatedly and emphatically that you always hike with a buddy. It's a safety thing. They don't mention that a hiking buddy, especially one who plays well with your competitive nature, works a bit like a personal trainer.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Quitting? Very much not an option. Especially once the endorphins finally kicked in. I was soaked in sweat, my thighs were burning, and my newly rediscovered abdominal muscles were angrily protesting, well, everything.  But the view just kept getting better.  When you're almost close enough touch the clouds, it's worth slogging on just a little bit further.

 

Right around this time, the endorphins suggested that we just might want to do this again in October. When it wasn't quite so hot.  It's good that the endorphins were doing most of thinking at this point because

behind us was the summit. That bump to the right of big pine tree in front, that's where the trail ends (if you click to embiggen the pic, you might be able to make out the teensy weensy people up there).  And you can kinda tell by the way the trees are sloping off that before the final ascent, there's a final descent.  Down, then up, because the mountain thinks we haven't climbed enough. 

 That's fine. It was worth it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Even if I still couldn't quite touch the clouds.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The idea that maybe we should do this once a month drifted into my head and got stuck there.

Eventually, the reality of impending sunset and no flashlight determined it was time to head down. Yes, no flashlight. All I had in the van was my super duper huge Maglite and carrying the few extra pounds up probably would have killed my sorry ass. Of course, so can descending a mountain in the dark.

So we hustled down (no, that's Vickie, not me. We're both redheads.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Remember the part where we descended to ascend? Yeah, reverse that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Trying to keep ahead of the evening shadows when you're on the southeastern side of the mountain is an exercise in futility, but it will keep you moving at a decent clip.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Well, at least me.  Madmen, psycho killers, and all sorts of boogeymen leftover from my adolescent horror movie addiction still lurk in a few squealy girlish parts of my brain...no way was I staying in the woods in the dark.  Though I might be compelled to admire the advancing shadows from a clearing during a quick snack and rest stop.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

See the shadow? We took the White Cross trail back down which, in addition to being very well marked, is supposed to be a little quicker than White Dot. It very likely is, as long as you plan well enough that you're not negotiating a lengthy rockfall in the dim. Dimness slows things down considerably.

And, scared of the inevitable darkness or not, this was about the time that I started thinking that doing this every two weeks might be fun.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 With a flashlight, of course.

That last tree pic was taken at 7:20, about an hour before we finally arrived back at the visitors center (and the bathrooms!).  It's remarkable how well one's eyes adapt to the dark.  More remarkable (at least to me): the number of people heading up the mountain after sunset. Without using flashlights. Granted, for last 1/2 mile, the trail's pretty wide and while you still have to walk with care, it's negotiable in the dark. But the guy we saw running full tilt up the trail, no lights...guess he must do that a lot.

No lingering over coffee next time. And, yes, I'll bring the freaking flashlight.

 

NHS&W was a delightful time. The weather was absolutely perfect, I found a stunning green wool for another Rogue, (also fulfilling this month's obligation for Project Spectrum 2.0 tho' I do need to post a pic this week) and I spent a fair amount of time chatting with a woman who was spinning on a Kromski Mazurka and got some good pointers for operating mine. Because, as I've gained a bit of free time these days, I've started back on the wheel. And I suck. Big time. Right now, I'm shooting for an hour of practice daily and today's chat ought to help things along nicely. Feeling all optimistic and gung-ho after my chat with the Kromski lady, I popped over to The Sheep Shed and picked up a fairly substantial (sweater's worth) of roving. As I pointed out to Katie, I'm only 37 so I ought to be able to produce the sweater before I shuffle off the mortal coil. The funny thing is, I keep looking at the roving thinking it'd make a fabulous sweater for a deserving man...given how long it'll likely be before I can spin this stuff into something I'd want to bestow upon another human being, and also taking into consideration I'm coming up on 4 years single with no immediate end in sight, this might not be an unreasonable goal. I'll have plenty of time to practice spinning. Heh. Anyway, I'll post loot pics tomorrow before I go to work.

Ahhhhh, yes, vacation is over and I feel human for the time in months. Friday, I treated myself to a facial and a massage followed by a few hours of knitting, and was actually relaxed enough to get to bed at a reasonable hour and sleeeeeeeeeep. It was glorious. Saturday, I got my hair "done", aka we covered up 3 inches of white roots and decided to go kinda dark copper. Tweaked the cut a bit, too. I like it. The place I went to has these wonderful chairs that massage you while your hair's being washed. Yum. My overly optimistic stylist succumbed to every stylist's urge to play with my hair, and with persistant finger curling and some amazing pepperminty smelling product, managed to give me this stunning, ringleted, sex bomb, fall-to-your-knees-and worship-me hair. Wow. I've never had hair like that before and it was awesome. Unfortunately, as soon as I moved my head, nature asserted itself and my crowning glory reverted to fall-on-your-knees-and-fear-me hair. But it's still really damn hot and I'm liking it.

And now for something completely different

So this morning I was nursing a cup of Rainforest Nut coffee, browsing the weekly entertainment section of the local paper, and wondering what I should do to dig myself outta this rut. Cos, let's face it folks, I've literally worked myself into a rut and I'm feeling boooooooring. And bored. Very unengaged by life and that's never a fun way to be. Anyway, after 2 more cups of coffee, I determined that I needed something different, something so out of the ordinary for me that, once this crazed urge to try something new had passed, I wonder if I'd been briefly possessed by aliens.

I signed up for a bellydancing class, starting this Saturday at noon. 

And the funny thing is, I did this 8 hours ago and I'm still grinning like a maniac.

I'm gonna learn how to shimmy, and swirl, and shake mah booty! Wooohoooo!