The Very Worst Missionary

I don't know this person, and I can't even retrace my steps down the internet rabbit hole that led me to her blog, but I love this post. Her words resonate with me. (Plus, she's pretty funny.)

"I believe, whole heartedly, that Jesus Christ, himself, wades knee deep in shit to save me.

Not that he did. But that he does. Because I am not yet wholly restored, I am not fully healed, and not nearly perfected."

I think I (and most people) hold people like missionaries and pastors and church staff to a different (and somewhat impossible) standard, and I find her honesty and vulnerability refreshing and necessary.

greens & blues

Well, a knitting update is as good as any, right? It's not like you want to hear about the sort of day that involved forgetting to set an alarm; a thwarted attempt to buy desperately needed gas because, apparently, we don't live in a paperless society quite yet; flinging half a bowl of soup against the wall at work and a thwarted attempt at cleaning it up with the breed of paper towels that don't absorb anything and push the soup around instead. That kind of mildly negative day. I would have had a little more respect for today (and a much better story) if the day had some gumption and stranded me on the side of the highway with an empty gas tank or something.

Therefore, what follows is a series of uncomfortable self-portraits. Let the awkward posing commence!

This yarn is a beautiful silk/baby alpaca blend that was a birthday present several years ago.

I was hoping this hat would have a more slouchy fit, and sometimes I can mash it around so it looks that way, but to be honest by the time I bound off, I just didn't have the heart to rip it all out and start over. It's a weakness. Kind of like thinning carrots in my garden.

I had some of the same yarn left over, and I couldn't figure out something more clever, so I made a wee triangular kerchief/scarf thing.

I forgot that the lights inside are just no good, so here's a self-conscious one in natural lighting. And I should probably add a button or something eventually, because right now (because I'm still wearing it, right now) the ends are held together with a bobby pin.

Apparently, my laziness makes itself known in just about every thing I knit. Huh. Never noticed that before. Can't quite shake it, nasty laziness monkey.

Here's my attempt to make something I could wear with leggings.

I'm not trying to look unhappy; I'm just busy trying to decide what to look at and where to put my arms and how to not look like a moron.

The collar has a cable, but the yarn didn't quite take to it- not sure why. It was the last piece to knit, so I was content to leave it as a chunky roll. Again, the laziness monkey.

Lastly: 3/4 of a sock!

Unfortunately, this is the first one, so if laziness monkey has his way, there might never be a second. Christmas is coming, after all. I have some people to knit for besides myself.

Twelve-hour Twitchfest

Well, the other night I made the questionable choice to watch a scary movie with my husband. He likes the zombies and the bad guys, and I waver between moderate disgust and feeling bad that he doesn’t have any campy-gore-loving friends to watch these movies with. So, with a plea of “but it’s Halloween!” and a compromise on the selection, we picked a movie neither of us had seen: Paranormal Activity.

Now, I am all for suspense. I, like many peaceful-first-world-living people, don’t have to deal with actual terror and/or danger on a daily basis, so the whole experience of adrenaline and pretend danger without any real risk is totally enjoyable.

As the dumb guy is tiptoeing down the stairs into the basement with a candle, I am simultaneously yelling at him to WAIT UNTIL THE POWER COMES BACK ON, and squirming, and also loving that horrible endless span of time between the descent and the “BOO!”

Can’t take the gore, though. If a sharp implement makes contact with anyone’s neck area, that’s a good indication of a Movie Anna Won’t Watch. You just file that one away for the future.

In any case, I would rate my reaction to the movie as Pretty Okay. Hardly any gore, enough anxious anticipation. And I felt mostly calm afterwards, although I did sort of swing between Fine and Paranoid: turning all the lights on in the apartment, but not closing any curtains on our ground-level windows; afraid to close the bathroom door while I was peeing in case something jumped me when I opened it, but not checking behind the shower curtain (OBVIOUS DANGER).

I even fell asleep pretty quickly, without any nervous stream of chatter to my husband to distract me from the basement-nighttime-darkness.

I did, however, check to make sure he was breathing several times throughout the night.

Actually, I do this on a regular basis anyway. I am not kidding. It ranks in my Top 5 fears. Not every night, but several times a week I listen for the breathing (often not a problem; I could be deaf and still feel the vibrations from the log-sawing next to me) or feel for the heartbeat. I even do this with the dog. I feel his bellows of a chest for warmth, or hold my hand in front of his nose to test for air movement. Is that creepy?

Lesson? I don’t need violent movies to give me nightmares. Apparently my subconscious is sufficiently morbid all by itself.

Tense Icing on the Anxious Cake: either I am not a very talented sleeper, or I channeled all my stress into my left shoulder, because right now it feels like someone jammed in a wine corkscrew and wound it about 12 rotations. When I press the right spot I feel dizzy and nauseated all at once, even without the five glasses of wine I used to dull the memory of Paranormal Activity.

But, it could also be because I was trying to pinch my playing card of a phone between my shoulder and ear while baking. Come on, I don’t like speakerphone! It’s like trying to talk to someone who doesn’t understand English; I just end up repeating myself in English anyway, louder and LOUDER, which is no help to anyone.

Sorry. This post sort of spiraled into a dumb, semi-prejudiced joke. This is what happens when I don't plan ahead, I guess.

public display of affection

"Why don't we turn beautiful colors when we die?" - my brother

Well, autumn has spread out her welcome mat. Literally, in our case.

I wish I could tell you I've spent my time away fully enjoying every minute of it, busy with seasonally appropriate adventures, but that's just not the case. I've just had a lull, and haven't gotten out nearly as much as I mean to, so now of course I'm grieving the quickly fading sunset that is fall.

I even love the chilly, rainy days, because they are the perfect excuse to eat and wear and do all things cozy. And really, I don't mind so much when they fall on outing days either, even on an excursion to Toronto (first time for me) for a Sufjan Stevens concert.

So, today was an attempt to soak up that rare combination of clear, cool air, thin sunshine, and confetti-littered forest floors.

My plan A fell through, but after a bit of wandering, Toby and I meandered down Mountain Brow Road (it doesn't get any more promising than that name) and picked up a segment of the Bruce Trail, which runs along the Niagara Escarpment.

It was just a slice, but just the portion I needed.

Autumn, or at least the traits of autumn that I most love, is so brief compared to the other seasons. Really, autumn is still happening long after the last maple leaves have flared out, but the excitement is pretty much over after Halloween. And because no camera lens is wide enough, or sensitive enough to light and to color, or comes with scent-capturing technology... I will just have to enjoy pinches of autumn at its most potent, wherever I can.

where I'm at

A steady rain commenced at 8:00 am today, and has not stopped for five hours straight. Relentless. And because I am crabby that I can't be home to snuggle in bed and knit and watch a movie (rain-appropriate activities), I have had two cups of tea, one cup of coffee, one sesame bagel, two butter pecan cookies, and one chocolate chip muffin in protest. I anticipate a sugar coma anvil to come crashing down on my head at any moment.

goodbye to a friend.

You pet people out there will hear me when I say: Charlotte, my childhood dog of over 16 years passed away today, and it's tough news to take.

16 years is a long time for a pup, and she had declined a lot recently--deafness, harsh arthritis--and when she lost the use of her hind legs yesterday to some mysterious ailment, my family knew her quality of life had about run out. And I'm grateful she didn't end her life in pain or in fear. Because she was a runner, always had been, and none of us would have been surprised if it was a speeding car on a dark street that took her out in the end.

She was the dog to make me into a dog person, and planted the joy I feel from a dog's burst of excitement every time I come home. Because, how great is it that they are excited every damn time, whether it has been 10 minutes or eight hours? Such a simple and pure affirmation, with no bias or tinted motivation.

And despite that tendency to squeeze through any and every hole in our ragged fence, leading us in a frantic and frustrated chase, I loved her and her craziness. One of the many times she ran away, a day care down the street called to say they had found her, and told us not to worry because the kids were giving her water and graham crackers.

She was a companion and a reassuring presence in every way a dog should be, especially for a kid stumbling through adolescence in the most insecure ways. Dogs are uncritically, unapologetically and enthusiastically loving, and it was good to have in my life then-- and hopefully I'll keep a dog in my life as long as I can.

Love you, sweet girl. You were a great one.

Superior Susie lurks in the wings

What, did you think Negative Nancy was my only alternative personality? She's not even as vocal as Bitter Betty. Superior Susie makes mostly silent appearances, as most judgy critical inner voices do.

In this instance, I'm a little worried that she could turn up since I'm not convinced she has just yet. Here's why: I am all for thrifting. I think our consumerism is out of control (both in terms of overpricing and volume), and I think we're remarkably wasteful the minute we can afford to be so. Thrifting just makes so much more sense in terms of giving products a few more go-rounds instead of sending them straight to landfills.

There are a handful of things I can't bring myself to buy at thrift stores: anything faded, anything that qualifies as an undergarment, shoes that can't be easily cleaned. What I wonder about is when (if?) our money situation changes for the better (because 'paycheck-to-paycheck' is about as minimal as it gets), if my perspective on thrifting will shift with our income. That is to say, it's easy to support it right now because our options are slim. I can let out some Superior Susie chatter, but really, I'm not making much of a choice or a sacrifice. And I hope once it becomes an actual decision to be made, when I could afford new things if I wanted, I'll stick with my convictions where I can, and not prove myself a hypocrite.

But I WILL buy new shoes.