Thursday, June 19, 2014

Life went on.

Today is my daughter’s birthday. Is? Was? Would be?
She was my first born, second to die. And her birth changed my life. So did her death.

My life isn’t what it would have been if she had lived; in so many ways my decisions would have been different—my focus different.
But her life isn’t what happened. MY life happened. My good life, my life that I am grateful for every evening. It’s a blend of contentment, desire, grace, resentment, envy, fatigue, error, beauty and joy. Events happen. Nothing happens. People come, people go, people are let go of.

But for today – and sometimes in the deep hours of a morning – the loss of what was, what might have been, all those other choices - is a dark wave of pain that drowns me in a thousand tears. And I allow them, because they make me aware of this small fragile life, as if that awareness was her last gift.

Saturday, June 08, 2013

Liars, Tolls and Raccoon - Oh My

The last two weeks have been action and adventure packed. Almost a Chevy Chase comedy. It started on the 23rd – with the Movers being MIA. Yup, took the money and ran. Luckily I am inherently suspicious and implemented plan 2 early. When it became apparent the movers would no-show I ran to U-Haul & rented a truck. Fabulous friends picked up the closest available tow dolly (in some town near Harrisburg that I had never been to) and brought it to me.

On the Lebanon end – fabulous friends gathered to help me schlep, carry, and load. We banged it out in short order in repulsive heat and humidity – sans AC.

Early the next morning I started the tedious drive home. Hampered by a vehicle that could not back up, had a speed limit of 55 mph, and got a smashing 12 mpg. Add to that the fact that it classifies as a 2 axle vehicle and the tolls came to almost $200.00 – not EZPass applicable. Oh joy. My adorable little car followed behind me, giving glimpses of her little mirrors & making me mourn the lack of Radio/CD/Bluetooth/cruise control in the truck.

Hot, tired, crabby I arrived at the LoveGrotto on Saturday afternoon to solo unload until nightfall when poor TAO could come help. We banged out the unload, dropped off the truck, got some fast food & decided to go home. Honestly, I don’t remember the trip or the evening at all.

We lolled around part of Sunday, until the To-do list worked our nerves too much; then we headed back south to start trying to put the Grotto in order. And the trouble began.

TAO had gone through the singlewide on the lot, but it wasn’t connected to any utilities. Once they set it up in the mobile home park we discovered that there were a LOT of mechanical issues. Hot water? Nope. Heat? Nope. AC? Nope. Electric? Sort of. Entry? No Stairs & the doors don’t work. AND

Turns out the park is in The Boonies (despite being 5 miles from work, and directly off a major highway interchange.) So no cell signal, no cable (who cares), and the only internet being Dial Up with a usage cap & a $100 a month bill. (picture me clutching my laptop, saying But All My Friends Live in this Box).

Amazon to the rescue – ordered faucets, ordered a cell phone booster, got the internet people out there. Also – got a great mattress from Amazon. TAO wants me to bring it home & swap it for the old one. “Sorry, won’t fit in my car.”

So rather than a week to unpack and settle in, with some serious drunken patio knitting; I spent the last 10 days having stairs built, getting heat (the furnace guys initially lied – stating that “it worked just fine, needs a cap that is all”. Turns out the CO levels fluctuated between 196 & 475 – normal is 15 to 20. Luckily the thermostat didn’t work, or Coleman says the CO levels would have killed the dogs and possibly me.), getting hot water, getting electric, getting faucets, AND

Fixing the raccoon damage.

What? What?!? Yeah. The seller had the home on the lot for more than a year. When the home first arrived the hot water heater failed, dumping water into the subfloor and rotting the bottomboarding. A mama raccoon found the egress into the home, and discovered that with some ingenuity she could move into the space under the bathtub in the middle bathroom. So she made a nest and proceeded to have litters. Then one day, TAO comes, buys the house, and they move it 6 miles away. Mama raccoon was apparently out foraging. But TAO kept hearing rustling and chirping. So he gets up under the house, and lo! The move had caused the FIVE raccoon babies to leave the nest, and to burrow through the insulation into the kitchen at the front of the house; where they became trapped for a couple of days and created quite the mess. TAO cut them out and they were returned back to the woods surrounding the sales lot. But that left us with a huge indoor nest to access & clean, a dumpster load of urine soaked insulation, and a fortune in bottomboarding to replace. So I got to spend a quality weekend with TAO, feeding the insulation hopper to blow in new insulation and then lying prone head to feet doing Pilates exercises under the house applying new bottomboarding. I made TAO share a Mojito at dinner.

Less troublesome, but for some reason almost MORE annoying is the fact that a drunken aardvark painted the place. They pulled off all the wall trim and the window treatment hardware. And didn’t replace any of it. They didn’t cut in the edges, and only seemed to use painters tape on areas that could pull the finish off the wood trim. It’s not something that HAS to be fixed, but is irritating as all get out. I’ve got window coverings up in all but one of the rooms, and used an awesome SteamMaster cleaner to get rid of the mold that was rampant in the window frames.

I’m moved in enough to go to work every day, have a library card, and am lazy enough that I may never unpack anything else, or settle in more. It’s no longer like camping and I’m tired; but warm, safe, dry. TAO is incredibly busy but he says he’ll come down in a few weeks and get the ladder, huge wet/dry vac & tools out of the living room/bathroom, and install the back door. I have the kitchen set up enough to eat, just have to get back into the habit of planning cooking & shopping. First I have to find a decent grocer because the local one? Ick.

The dogs are a little unhappy. Scooter spent the first week racing to the car every time you let him out because he wanted to go home where it’s quiet and warm. At least he’s stopped doing that. But he doesn’t like to be outside as much as “curbing” requires. And Bond doesn’t like being “curbed” and misses endless hours in the fenced backyard with his pool.

So I have fulfilled my camping and adventure quota for 2013. Time to knit. (Which box is the yarn in?)

Sunday, April 21, 2013

Sounds like a swear word but isn't

Or perhaps it is.

I refer to the MTHFR gene mutation. And while I am a nerd I am NOT that much of a nerd that I had ever given it a moments thought. Until I tested positive for a double selection of it. I won't bore you with the pages of wordy goop associated with it, but I do think this MindMap is an interesting thumbnail of it. (although I wish I could replace the word porn with YARN)

Looking back at what little I remember of my blood family I can see where these genetics certainly played out. And at the same time I can see in my own life the times when it triggered issues for me. Fortunately my SoCal/Pacific Northwest hippy background also played into it.

I often find people wanting to have the genetics/environment discussion. (usually wanting to blame genetics for their own poor choices) And when I encounter someone who is stressing because of family history I usually ask "do you have the same lifestyle they do?" TAO and his brother look like peas in a pod. But they had radically different backgrounds and they have universally different health profiles. My own hippy tendencies have apparently acted as quite the buffer. In researching what is known about this mutation it appears that the best thing you can do is Not Piss It Off by stressing your system; it's not equipped to deal with so many things regular Americans encounter daily. And I can see where the times I "ran off the rails" have been where it's bitten me on the arse.

So my choices appear to be:
Quietly start building new habits and buffer up the past healthy ones --or-- Sackcloth & ashes while whining "woe is me & my fate."

Going with first one, people who do the second annoy me.

Sunday, April 14, 2013

It can't all be sunshine and avocados.

I am knitting another Color Affection. As I mentioned last year I really enjoyed knitting my Color Affection. I loathe wearing it though. So when a friend started knitting one for her mother and bogged down because she hated the knitting of it; I volunteered to knit it. She had three tones from the Brilliant Jodi at Shamelesstwist, so I am happily knitting away with a delicious yarn and ignoring my own WIPs. And no, I haven't knit those baby booties; perhaps a nice set of receiving blankets from Amazon instead?

It's amusing how a mindset can change. I found myself reading a beef chorizo label this morning & putting it back. Not for the reason I would have 3 months ago - Frankly some of the bits n bobs used in chorizo are disgusting to consider; but because the last ingredient was soy. And I'd rather avoid soy than beef lips and stomachs. Weird, eh?

I had my first egg in 3 weeks this morning and it was glorious. I had to give up eggs to see if they were causing my inflammatory joint pain. But the pain persisted so I get to add quick, easy, delicious eggs back to my repetoire. If you like scrambled eggs, hunt up the YouTube video of Gordon Ramsay (language safe) making scrambled eggs. You will LOVE them. When I first discovered the technique I may have come home and made scrambled eggs for dinner three times the first week. They will coat your pan with some well nigh impossible to get off film though. I solved that by buying the Bialetti Aeternum Easy Saute Pan, 10 1/4-inch, Blue. for home. It is "the Egg Pan" and the color makes it easy to set aside for strict egg usage only. I was really impressed with it so when I came back to PA I wanted an 8" one, but couldn't find one so I bought the Wearever Ceramic - not as nice & the same price or more. It's adequate if you really want just 8" but the other pan is much nicer.

On a chemical note I recently had a fortune in lab work done. And one function came back at 2813 with normal being 5.0-12.0. So I'm either 7 months pregnant or my hypothalmus is wonky. We'll see what that translates into for daily living. On a happy note that goes back to the Paleo/Primal thing - I also got all my cholesterol crap checked. Insert anti statin rant here; especially for women where it has never been shown to decrease heart disease risk but it has been shown to increase cancer & neuroimmune disease risk. Breast cancer with a side of dementia anyone? ::gets off soapbox:: Not because I care about my cholesterol but because, well it's traditional. Compared to my numbers from two years ago my Trig have dropped 37 points, my HDL went up 20 points, my LDL stayed the same. More importantly my trig/hdl ratio (predictive indicator for coronary heart disease) is .62. (You want 2.0 or less. If it's above 4.0 you need make some changes.) All of that despite big dietary changes that include "large" quantities of healthy fat & MCT and dropping several "healthy-must-eat" foods.

I also treated myself to a piece of investment grade furniture. A knitting, spinning, reading throne, which has magical properties and puts me to sleep without making my back hurt. An Ekornes Stressless Consul Recliner. If you decide to browse the website; sit down & charge up the defibrillator before looking at the prices.

Tuesday, March 19, 2013

Stakes and Steaks

As the tagline says "Traveling Knitter."
I eat away from home A Lot. Steaks have always been an "at home" meal for me. I hate to pay restaurant prices for what is usually mediocre & I don't eat in expensive steakhouses by myself. And I don't usually do steaks on the road - no grill.
Digression - I saw Kobe Beef hot dogs the other day; WHY?!?!
Okay, I'm back.
TAO can grill a great steak. I mean wow. He's always had the knack, and it got even better after I developed the Knitter Family Marinade. Now my idea of the happiest meal is TAOs steak & grilled corn. It means we're together, it's been a good day, and the food will be delicious.

But as part of my skills rehab I found myself tempted by a ribeye in the butcher case. I brought it home but didn't do the Family Marinade. A quick sear in a cast iron pan, and center finish in the oven & I had myself a chain restaurant worthy steak. Matched it with some petite brussel sprouts, and had a nice dinner for $8 without all the noise/commotion of eating out.

It was a big step for me. Had it gone awry I probably would have flogged myself with recriminations for days. I mean really? A steak without a grill? Why would I even try? So the cost of failure would have been high - artifically inflated, but still high.

In the end, even though the meal was good, I don't know that I would do it often. Primarily because love is the best spice, and even a bad steak is better when I share it with TAO.

On a humorous note: We once feared that the elusive marinade recipe had been lost. We found it though, and it now is typed in 42 font on it's own sheet of paper and attached to the side of the fridge.

Sunday, March 17, 2013

Is this thing on?

I know it’s been a long radio silence. For several reasons:
1) Sometimes life – or knitting – is boring and there isn’t anything to say
2) Sometimes life is exciting – and what I want to say can’t be aired publicly.
3) Sometimes – more and more – I write a post in my head then forget all about it. When I remember it, it seems like too much effort to reconstruct it.

photo credit: Cia de Foto via photopin cc

All that aside, I am finally at a point where life isn’t an endless whirl of treatments and doctor appointments punctuated by work and sleep. I back to doing some volunteer work, back to doing fun things with friends, back to just sitting with a book instead of going straight to bed, and most importantly – back on solid foods.

This means I’ve been doing quite a bit of cooking. Or learning about cooking. And thinking about food. Which brings me to this post. For years this was purely a knitting blog. Then I opened up a little and it became a little about life, a little about knitting. Now I am going to try another transition, it’s going to get more personal. There will be more stuff about what happens when you drive a strong woman to her knees repeatedly, more flailing about trying to get up. Not necessarily deep rich personal stuff; just more about the little blocks that build a contented life in the aftermath of a good “rug pulling.”

Right now my knitting matches my life. Nothing flashy or fast on the needles. Just simple lines, plain patterns, long term projects that don’t change quickly. So probably not a lot of knitting photos in the near future. Even my spinning is an 8 oz long gradient spin that won’t supply a lot of eye candy.

Back to the cooking: There are several articles and human studies regarding ketogenic eating and cancer. When my doc first broached it my initial reaction was basically unprintable. However, after several weeks of questions and research I realized that there were a plethora of recipes in what is currently labeled “Paleo/Primal” eating. That made the concept much easier to implement. So expect some posts about the interesting Paleo community/concept. For now I’ll just say that I feel amazing eating like this. I sleep better, my mood seems better balanced (aside from my hypothalamus being an arse sometimes), less of me hurts, and while I didn’t want to lose weight, I will say that my little fat pockets are smaller. I went home for 10 days and fed TAO this way & he says he feels better on it - less exhausted - and he dropped some fat pounds also. It does take some preplanning to “Just Eat Real Food” so expect some posts about those adventures.

In the meantime, thanks for being out there.

Oh crud! I just remembered I need to make some baby booties!  And that’s like life too <– sometimes things pop up Right Now.

Tuesday, December 25, 2012

A birthday about Knitting.

I don't recall who first got me started with a Dual New Year tradition. Finish a project (begin the year as you mean to go on.) Cast on a project for yourself (commit to do a least One thing for yourself that year.)

I don't recall what I cast off last year, but I did cast on a gorgeous project. Wendy D. Johnson's Tidepool Shawl in a custom dyed Apollo yarn from Black Bunny Fibers.
This was a big commitment to myself. To spend the money to have yarn dyed just-for-me/just-how-I-wanted-it. Sometimes mental images disappoint in real life. Carol, however, translated it beautifully.
As many of you know, the last couple of years have been a maelstorm of a journey. Making life look something like an unblocked shawl, gathered up on the needles and plopped down in bad lighting. Hence the blog silence.
Tidepool was meant to be one of those Epic projects, the kind you point to when you want to brag about your work. At the time Big Orange was still a seedling, I had just started the beads in it and while I wanted sparkles in Tidepool I didn't want to fiddle with beads. The photo doesn't do it justice. The Apollo base has a slender gold hued thread contained within it. I was concerned that it would be scratchy, but it's not. It's the right touch of "sunlight on water." A delicate and fleeting beauty that doesn't detract.
In the end, Tidepool wasn't the Behemoth my mind had made it out to be. Yes, I made errors, no I don't care. It was a relaxing & relaxed knit, that is somehow less impressive than Big Orange. It's practical, warm, and beautiful; yet, when a friend had a recent cancer scare I seriously considered gifting it. It's not that I'm dissatisfied. It's more in the flavor of a can let go of the past when you have a future to look toward.

Sunday, April 15, 2012

Many the Miles

2.7 to be exact. With 1500 beads.

Many the Miles from Sara Bareilles' album 'little voice'

I made up my mind when I was a young girl
I've been given this one world
I won't worry it away
But now and again I lose sight of the good life
I get stuck in a low light
But then Love comes in

How far do I have to go to get to you
Many the miles
Many the miles
How far do I have to go to get to you
Many the miles
But send me the miles and I'll be happy to follow you Love

I do what I can wherever I end up
To keep giving my good love
And spreading it around
Cause I've had my fair share of take care and goodbyes
I've learned how to cry
And I'm better for that

Red letter day and I'm in a blue mood
Wishing that blue would just carry me away
I've been talking to God don't know
If it's helping or not
But surely something has got to got to got to give
Cause I can't keep waiting to live

How far do I have to go to get to you
Many the miles
Many the miles
How far do I have to go to get to you
Many the miles
But send me the miles and I'll be happy to follow you

Last August I went yarn shopping with friends and scored 2640 yds of cobweb weight in a gradient orange from a sale bin. Surely that was enough to make an Epic project. A once in a lifetime pi shawl? I fell in with a bad lot of Estonian Lace Knitters, who convinced me that it needed beads, it wouldn’t be truly fabulous without beads. I agreed with the caveat that the beads couldn’t be where they would be cold on my neck.

When it came time to cast on…I had to face the truth…this was cobweb weight, truly, I would never finish something in cobweb weight. But 1300 yards would still be a lovely shawl, I would simply double it.

So taking this chart from there, and that chart from here, I set out on my adventure.

And then I fell down a deep dark well. The stress from the past year finally cracked me. Depression set in. The only bright spot was an orange tangle of yarn in the knitting bag. Quietly, steadily, I knit and added beads, and ripped, and knit, and knit and knit, and … ran out of yarn. The shawl was “probably” big enough; but I didn’t have the mental strength to knit anything else. And my last pi shawl was cast off at a stage of hatred and loathing, only to be that much too small. Better to keep knitting.

I hunted down 2 more balls, and started another chart. More beads, more knitting, slowly I started to look around at the world again. I set down Big Orange and knit some other projects, tidying the WIP basket, dating some garter stitch. Then it was time to pick her back up. Not because I was depressed but because I wanted to prove that I could. Could start this, could design this, could finish this. Prove that I wasn’t beaten, hadn’t quit, wasn’t as defeated by life as I felt.

Finally it was “enough.” Even bunched up on the 32” Chiaogoo Red, it was obviously done. One last border, (ripped 3 times) and I would cast off.

Of course, I ran out of yarn in the cast off, and had to crack open a sixth skein. 4480 yards and 8 months later it was time to block her.

All lace knitters know the magic of blocking. How it turns a giant orange jellyfish into geometric swirling lines of grace and glitter. She blocked out at 84”

And while she isn’t the most complicated lace there is, or even that I’ve knit, I’m proud of myself because I did do it. Not perfectly, not without errors, but without being beaten. And as much as I love that shawl, for the right person, I could give it up. Because I know, if I wanted to, if I had to, I could do it again.

Sunday, March 25, 2012

No Words

No words, too tired. But here are some finished objects since I last "spoke" with y'all.
Stripe Study in 'Play at Life Fiber Arts' Screwdriver for Breakfast
and 'MadTosh' Composition Book Grey

Serpentine socks in 'Stroll Sport' Hot Rod  

'Sundara' Dahlia Colorway
Socks for a Friend

BFF socks in 'DIC Smooshy' ?Blue Lagoon? yarn from a
Destash & she had lost the tag.  Sadly, I forgot
which toe I did on the first one, and so the toes
don't "match" ~ have to keep for self.

Baby socks in Malabrigo Tizano Red
Color Affection Wrap in 'Plucky Knitter Primo'
I loved the knitting of this, the wearing, not so much
it's very scarf-like.  In fact,
it may become my go-to-scarf-pattern.

Saturday, February 11, 2012

Receiving - and other growth opportunities.

I am pretty good at gratitude ~ generalized gratefulness for life in general~ however, I’m not good at receiving.
Lately I’ve been given opportunities to learn. Some I have done well with. Some demonstrate how far I have to go. And some teach me about other people.

Some people give because they are givers.
Some give in order receive attention back. I’ve done this; given for the pleased “thank you” at the end.
Some give because when you have to ask them for something, they feel good about “doing a good deed.” –And they’ll make you ask every time. {To someone like me that feels like begging; feels like shame, so I don’t ask anymore.}
Some give, but begrudgingly; letting you know they’d rather say “no” but they’re “such good people.” {And that sting of guilt stops someone like me also.} Something else, I’ve done myself.
Some give – verbally – but Utah will become frozen tundra before they actually follow up on it.
And the whole spectrum in between of “small things but not big things;” “time vs effort” etc etc.

Which makes the “Receiving Challenged” more nervous than a cat on Cracker Barrel porch:
Was I effusive enough? Too effusive? Too needy? Ask for something too stupid? Too big? Misunderstand when they offered; because now I am getting the begrudging vibe? Too touchy? Too sensitive?

Bottom line: It’s easier to do for – for others, for yourself – than to be done for. Easier to retreat than to move onto that potential firing line. But I’m slowly poking out a feeler, as a hermit crab tests the water, trying to learn.
At this rate; I’ll probably still be trying to carry my own coffin at the funeral.

On a brighter note, I found this the other day:
And I wish we all were.

Sunday, December 25, 2011

The post that almost didn't happen

I am generally a go-into-my-cave-and-lick-my-wounds-privately kind of gal. A pass-the-ammo type of woman. So this post almost didn’t happen. It’s not a happy post, it’s not about knitting, it’s not clever, or funny. In a strange dark way it is about hope. Hope that –if I’m honest – my words will help someone else in their struggles. At the same time, it’s selfish and about loss, about pain.

When my children died, I lost my future. Somewhere in the last year, I lost myself. I’m living with a stranger. Who the hell is this woman living my life? Doctors & books tell you so much, but they forget to tell you that the person who leaves that OR may not be the one who entered.

Another year of misspent youth has flown by. A year that was filled with tears. I’ve cried more this year than since I was a child & used to cry myself to sleep every night.

Oddly, the tears weren’t about the inexorable diagnosis, the tears were caused by people. People who hurt me, disappointed me, broke my heart –willfully or accidentally. Doctors stress the importance of a support system, they fail to mention the people who will turn away, the people who will reject you because of your illness, the people who act like you are contagious, or who don’t want to spend time with you because you can’t be happy & they don’t want to think about anything that isn’t happy. They don’t prepare you for the people who begrudge you a bad day; a day you don’t feel good, a day you are tired/worn down/short tempered. There’s no app for your phone to sort people. To warn you who will just expect you to carry on every day, to pretend nothing has changed, because their life hasn’t changed & they don’t want you to force change upon it.

No one warns you that rather than simply say “I don’t know what to say;” people will say nothing, leaving you isolated and alone. Not because they mean to, but because they don’t know any better. They don’t realize that puts you in an impossible position of trying to gauge timing & a correct level of sharing. Instead, clich├ęs and platitudes roll forth, well meant but worthless. People will say “If you want to talk.” And when you try to, they will turn away, they will reject your words – but it will feel as if they are rejecting you; and so…there will be no more words. And the longer it goes on, the more impossible to bridge the gap. And one day you’ll find that somehow, all the blame has been placed on you. Then, rather than let them continue to prick you in a thousand small ways, you’ll cut deep into your soul and shut them out before they can hurt you again.

You’ll discover – on a day you call in sick – that surprising people, people you thought were on the periphery of your life will call to check on you, but that people you work with daily will do nothing.

You’ll find yourself lashing out at people – because you hurt so much, because they continue to hurt you. And then be embarrassed, ashamed that you acted that way. But not be able to apologize because there isn’t a way to say that your action was a REaction; unless you’re willing to point out their behavior. Which you won’t do because, at this point, how do you divide the blame? And because you, secretly, want it all to be healed, for a miracle to happen, for them to make even one move toward peace – a real peace, not just peace on their terms.

Not only will you get a crash course in neurochemistry, time management, and insurance bureaucracy; you’ll get an undergrad in human behavior. You’ll be forced to learn to accept the situations; or become bitter and crazy. You’ll have personal growth forced upon you. You’ll find yourself forgiving someone a grievous error because their intention was good, but not someone else’s small mistake because it was self-absorbed; and then find yourself abusing yourself because you’ve let go of the one thing but not the other.

Now…before you decide that this is all too bleak and the solution is to go play in the freeway traffic…

There WILL be people who make you cry for other reasons. Good reasons. People with strength, courage, and chutzpah. You’ll discover your Real Friends have been sorted out from the crowd. And that is where you have to demonstrate courage too. That is where you have to speak up, speak out, reach out, ask for help, share and receive.

These are the people who realize that, just because you didn’t need help yesterday, doesn’t mean you don’t need it today. The people who not only have time for you at lunch, but have time for you at 2 am when you’re wishing you would just wake up dead. The people that are afraid for you, and say so, but don’t run away from their fear – or yours.

These are the people, who when you’re sobbing uncontrollably will say “well shit” and you’ll know – know that they don’t have words, but that they Know what you can’t say. And it will be enough.

They will understand that some days they’ll get answers to questions and that some days you have no words, because you have no control & words would just make you shatter into a thousand pieces.

Yet, they’ll ask again in the future.

They’ll admit that they don’t understand and listen while you try to explain something you don’t understand either. They’ll take the time to look up your diagnosis, in an attempt to get a better understanding; and let expert words apologize for some of your behavior.

They won’t just say “I don’t understand how you hold it together. I would fall apart.” And then go on their merry way. They look at you, and see the cracks, then pass the glue and fish little pieces out from under the sofa. At the same time, they’ll be honest when you’ve lost your damn mind.

Interestingly, it isn’t that you take a lot of time from their life; you don’t become a project to work on. You don’t become helpless, or dependent. You actually become stronger because they let you be weaker. I’m certain physics would say that’s impossible; but, whoever you are, I hope you remember those words if you ever need them.

Hopefully, next year’s birthday post will be about knitting.