That Moment

Have you ever experienced it?  That magical, once-in-a-lifetime moment?  That moment when you first realize it?  That moment when you know

you've found your calling. 

I had that moment this week.  All my life, I'd been wondering why I was here.  What was my purpose?  What was God's plan for my life?  I mean, yeah, I was smart, but I never wanted to be anything.  Never wanted to do anything.  Never really wanted to make anything of myself.

They say that God gives each one of us a gift, and he expects us to use that gift for him.  But I was thinking that someone, somewhere had made a mistake.  I'd been passed over in the Gift From God department.  There just didn't seem to be anything I could do.  I can't sing.  I can't dance.  I can't act.  I can't teach.  I sure can't preach.  For 40 some odd years, I'd been floundering along.  Stumbling through life.  Wondering what I was supposed to be doing.  What I was supposed to be being.  This week, I found it.  I know why I'm here.

To knit hats.

Wait, what?  That's not a calling from God!  Being a preacher is a calling from God.  Being a missionary is a calling from God!  Being a gospel singer is a calling from God!  Becoming a doctor who donates his time to help the poor, that is a calling from God.  Not knitting hats.  You're crazy.

Yeah, I thought that too.  But then a few weeks back, I heard on the radio words that changed my life.

God needs ditch diggers, too.

God needs ditch diggers, too.  And God needs garbagemen.  And God needs mail carriers.  And God needs construction workers, and traffic directors, and the guy who pours the asphalt, and the kid who delivers the paper... 

And God needs people to knit hats.  And God needs people to say a little prayer for whoever it is that will wear that hat.  And God needs people to put those hats in a box, along with some pens, toothpaste, a deck of cards, and some jellybeans and God needs people to send that box overseas, to someone who desperately needs to know that those he is fighting for have not forgotten him.

That's what I'm here for.  It's why I've had the compulsion to learn to knit for as long as I can remember.  It's why I had the determination to teach myself, when there was no one around me who knew how to knit.  It's why I had the perseverance to keep trying when everyone was telling me that knitting is too hard, and I should stick with crochet instead. 

I still say that's not a calling from God.  You need to find something else.  Something great.  Something noble.  Something life altering.  Knitting hats doesn't make the world a better place.

Sure it does.  It makes the world a better place for that person who receives it.  This is what I'm supposed to be doing.  This is my gift to God.  This is my cup of cool water. 

It may not be great.  It may not be noble, but it is my task.  A small task, but I will do it as if it were great and noble. 

Because it's my calling.



I long to accomplish a great and noble task, but it is my chief duty to accomplish small tasks as if they were great and noble.  Helen Keller

Sixteen Years

Walter Lee Gunstream, Jr.

October 23, 1926-July 14, 1995

Wednesday Debate

First of all, I want to thank everyone for the comments on yesterday's post. Yes, I do blog for me (mostly) but it's always nice to have some reassurance that people are reading.  As my pastor would say, I just had a case of the mully grubs. 

I say I blog mostly for me, because the truth is, I blog for readers.  For you.  If I were blogging just for me, well, I have an almost frightening collection of journals that need to be used up.

Sue on FB likened blogging to those long letters we used to write before the internet came along.  We wrote what was interesting, and hoped the reader didn't get too bored.  Back when I first started blogging, I imagined myself sitting down with a couple of friends over a cup of coffee (which I didn't even drink back then) and asking each other how our days went.  What I wrote was what I'd chat about, if I were conversing with a friend in person.  Maybe if I got back to that imagery, it would help me blog.

Now, before I get to my debate of the day, I want to tell you what happened at work.  Vanessa had gone to the bathroom, when The Other Rod (not to be confused with Former Group Leader Rod) came over to my stand and said that she wanted me in the front break room.

"Are you serious?" I asked.  He assured me that he was serious, so I went up to the front break room, thinking something was wrong.  Vanessa wasn't up there, so I came on back to my stand.  When I got back, I discovered that he'd taken a tie wrap and tied our brazing tips together.

Vanessa seemed genuinely angry about it, and I was trying to act angry, but secretly, I thought it was funny.  I was trying to look mad whilst stifling my laughter at the same time.  I didn't completely succeed.

Just between you and me, The Other Rod has some of the sexiest lips I've ever seen in my entire life.  One of these days, I really need to get a picture of him and post it for you.  Which segues nicely into today's debate...

As you may know, my trusty point and shoot camera gave up the ghost a few weeks ago.  What you may not know is that I'm going to be able to upgrade my phone on August 7.  Now, the question is, do I want to get myself a new P&S, or just get a phone with a really good camera?  What is the best camera phone out there?  What would be the advantages of having a P&S camera as opposed to a phone camera?  What have been your experiences with phone cameras?  I mean for quality photos, rather than just snapshots. 

Keep in mind that I still have my DSLR, so this would not be my only camera.  I just want something smaller for times when I don't want to lug that big ol' thing around. 

And now for a bit of good news.  It has been raining for nearly 4 hours now!  Woo hoo! 

Tuesday Debate...

I woke up all excited this morning, because for some reason, I thought it was Friday.  Then, as my head cleared and I realized it was only Tuesday, I nearly started crying right there in the bed. 

But, Tuesday or Friday, life must go on, so I eventually got up and got on with my day. 

You know, Lou is one of the oldest blogs I read.  I still read every day, but since I've put my blogroll into a feed reader, I seldom click through to comment.  I must get better about doing that.  Anyway, Lou posted the other day about how she'd been debating whether to continue on with her blog or not.  I guess that's something we all go through.  When you wonder if anyone is still reading, and whether it's worth it to continue.  I know I've been there more than once myself. 

I was never very popular, and really, I'm still not.  It's mostly my own fault, I guess.  It's not that I don't want to talk to people.  I do.  I just never know what to talk about.  People tell me, "Oh, just talk about anything."  I do try that. I try to just talk about anything.  Then I see the eyes glaze over and the irritated "will you shut up already" looks on faces...so I shut up.  Seems that most people don't use works like conundrum, aspirate, harken, and thermonuclear reactor in casual conversation any more. 

Apropos of nothing, I need to order more rats.  Monty and Slider are completely out...

Now back to the topic at hand.  What do people talk about?  You can only hear "Hot enough for you?" so many times before you start pulling your hair out.  Talking about the dogs is like talking about your kids.  It may be interesting to me, but nobody else wants to hear it. 

Speaking of dogs, Jake has been spending a lot of time over here this week.  Auntie and Uncle are next door for a visit, and two 90 year olds don't mix too well with a hyperactive 80 lb dog.  So he's been spending time with me.  It's just too dangerously hot to leave him outside.  It hit 101 today, with a Heat Index of 110. 

Hot enough for you? 

So the debate is, do I continue to blog or not?  Lou has decided to keep going with her blog.  She says "I blog for me."  But me, I don't know.  I spent the first 20 or so years of my life hearing my mother tell me that nobody wants to hear what I have to say.  Nobody cares what I think.  "Don't go bothering people.  If they want to talk to you, they will come to YOU."  I guess that's the real question.

Does anyone besides me care what I have to say? 

A Dog Person

If you've read my blog for any length of time--like two days-- you've probably figured out that I'm pretty much of a dog person.  Photos of Rylea --and Katie before her--fill the pages.  There are even a few, well, at least one, photo of me with a stray Italian dog.

I can't imagine my life without a dog.  But you may be surprised to learn that this was not always so.

We were never allowed to have dogs when I was growing up.  We did have a couple of puppies, but didn't keep them very long.  Then there was the stray dog that followed my brother and sister home from school...three times.  The first two times, my dad loaded the dog up into the car and took him back to the school.  The third time he found his way to our house, my mother said that we must be meant to have him.  But when he wouldn't stay inside the fence, we had to give him away, too.

I was 15 before I was allowed to have a dog that I could keep.

She was an American Eskimo named Meika.  I kept her until I went into Navy Boot Camp, then gave her to my sister.  For all of my childhood, I thought it was my mother who didn't like dogs.  Mainly because she is the one who always had to tell us no.

But after she and my dad separated, before we knew what was happening, she had seven dogs.

Dad had told me the story before, but it wasn't until then that I made the connection.  It had happened when Dad was 13.  He had a dog named Rex.  Now, Dad had had a few dogs before, but they didn't last long.  One got ran over.  Another got stolen right off of his front porch.  They actually saw a hand reach down and grab the puppy.  They ran outside, but didn't see anyone, and they never saw that puppy again.  But this dog he had, Rex, well this was the worst of all.

Where they lived at the time, when my Dad had Rex, they had this really mean neighbor girl.  I asked my Aunt Bonnie about her one time.  As soon as she figured out who I was talking about, she exclaimed, "That awful girl?"  So, though I never met her, I could pretty much figure out that the girl was spoiled, and selfish.  She used to come over to my dad's back yard and tease Rex unmercifully.  She'd throw rocks at him, and hit him with sticks, all the while being careful to stay beyond the length of Rex's chain.

One day, she misjudged.

She got a little too close and Rex bit her. Though it was no fault of the dogs-- he was definitely provoked-- the girl's father came over and shot Rex that same day.  My dad was heartbroken, and just gave up on having dogs after that.  Can't say as I blame him.    So, we always had cats as pets when I was growing up.

Soon as I was old enough, though, I got myself a dog.  Except for the five years I was in the Navy, I haven't been without one since.

And, I don't expect I ever will be.

I'm Back!

Didja miss me?

I've kind of neglected the blog for a few days.  This cold/sinus/allergy thing really threw me for a loop this last week or so.  Even after I started feeling better, my head still stayed so clogged up that I just didn't care about anything.  I got up, survived the work day, then came home and just collapsed. I didn't want to do anything.  I did manage to rouse myself long enough to make peanut butter cookies for Former Group Leader Rod's birthday on Thursday, but that's about it.  I was just bleh all around.

But then, I got up this morning, and, like magic, it was all gone.  No congestion.  No constant sneezing.  No drippy nose. No nothing.  Just normal me.

Um, no comments from the peanut gallery...

So, what have I done since I talked with you last?  Well, let's see...I finished a soldier hat.

Then I cast on another one,

and finished it.

So, these two, along with the one I finished last week makes three that are ready to go.

But three hats aren't nearly enough, so I cast on another one.

This one is the Hurricane Hat pattern, in my Cowboy Way yarn. 

But surely you must think that I didn't spend all of the last several days knitting hats!  And you would be absolutely right!

I gave myself a pedicure-- of sorts...

This is the Pink Radiance by Avon.  See, I wasn't sure if this was something I'd want to keep up, never having been interested in having painted toenails before.  So I bought cheap polish from Wal-mart.  But a comment from an old friend about painted toenails being hot inspired me to give it a go.  So I got this.  Note that I'm getting a bit better at painting them.  My toes no longer look like they were painted by a 4 year old.  Now they look like they were painted by a 5 year old. 

Hey, it's progress.

Um, OK, moving right along...

I got most of my dress sewn.

 

I still need to go into town and get a zipper (darn small print) and hem the thing.  Then I'll need to knit a shrug or something to wear over it.  Call me old fashioned.  Call me a prude.  Call me whatever you want, but I still believe women should dress modestly, especially at church.  Even worse than the boys showing up in shorts and flip flops are the teenage girls who show up half naked.  That's why I'm always so glad when it starts to get cold.  The girls put clothes on. 

Speaking of cold, look what I got!

This is my *ahem* Christmas gift from my younger brother and sister in law.  Yes, I got it in July.  I'm just glad I'm not the only one who does that...I think I'll hang this one in the living room, and move the plain round one that is in the living room now into--um, another room. Somewhere.

The bear and I wore our matching shirts today.

He finally has a name, by the way.  We argued over it, and I lost. 

Yes, I lost an argument with a teddy bear.  Has there ever been anyone else who has done that?  But look at it this way, it makes me unique in all the world!  It went something like this:

Me:  I still need to give you a name.

Bear:  I want to be named Rodney.

Me:  You can't be named Rodney.  I already have a Rodney.

Bear:  I want to be Rodney, too! 

Me:  What about Miles?

Bear:   Rodney!

Me:  Dez?

Bear:  Rodney!

Me:  Jason?  Tony?  DeMarcus?

Bear:  RODNEY! 

Me:  Has there ever even been a Dallas Cowboy named Rodney?

Needless to say, the bear is now named Rodney.  I'll call him Roddy, to differentiate him from the other Rodney, whom I've had since I was 16.  I need to dig him out one day and tell you the story of how I got him.

Meanwhile, Rylea says, "I sure hope you don't get any ideas about dog shirts..."

N is For

Nose.

In this case, Rylea's nose. 

A dog's nose is an amazing thing.  You know, long years ago, I read a story that won a Young Writer's Contest put on by a magazine I used to subscribe to.  In it, a kid wanted to adopt a blind dog.  The dad wouldn't let him, because the dog didn't understand what was going on, and would spend the rest of his life cowering in the corner, afraid to move.

It was an interesting story, but totally wrong about blind dogs.  I know.  I used to have a blind dog.  Dogs adjust to the loss of their sight even better than humans do.  Why?  Because a human's primary sense is sight.  A dog's primary sense is smell.  Because they have these amazing noses. 

My dog--my blind dog-- If I didn't tell you he was blind, you'd never have known it.  Even folks who knew he was blind swore up and down he had to be able to see something.  But nope.  Light and dark was all he was able to see. 

Cataracts, brought on by canine diabetes.  That's why he was blind.  It didn't stop him though. He ran, all the way up until the end. 



And he never knew he couldn't see.

.

Independence Day

Not So Jolly Holiday Weekend

What I'd thought was just an allergy attack seems to have morphed into a full fledged head cold. Friday afternoon, I started feeling bad, and by Saturday, all I wanted to do was lay up in the bed. I had to get up to go get Beverly and James' dogs from the vet, and I figured, as long as I'm up and dressed, I might as well go to the store. So I did, but couldn't wait to get home and just flop down in front of the TV for the rest of the day.

This morning, I wasn't feeling a whole lot better. I tried to convince myself that I felt well enough to go to church, but I didn't succeed. Former Group Leader Rod told me a few weeks ago that his church shows their services on TV, so that's where I went to church today--Burning Bush Missionary Baptist Church. Funny thing is, the camera swung away from the preacher for a moment, and there he was, Former Group Leader Rod, with his big ol' head filling up the screen.

I must remember to tease him about that Tuesday when I go back to work.

Anyway, the weekend wasn't a total waste. Remember those shorts I sewed like three weeks ago? I finally got the elastic ran in the waistbands. One pair, I got the elastic a little too loose, and need to go back and tighten it up, but other than that, they are finally finished.

I solved the problem of my too low cut work shirts. I had an old t-shirt that I'd intended to throw away, but just never got around to it. So, I cut it up and sewed it into place. I think it's cool. It gives the shirt a layered look without the added bulk (and heat) of wearing a t-shirt under it.

 

I've already sewed darts into the pirate shirt, but if they feel too bulky after actually wearing the shirt all day, I will rip the darts out and sew a piece into it the same way.  I've got an old gray t-shirt that'll look good with it.  Heck, I may just do it anyway, but on another day when I'm feeling better.

I got another hat finished.

 
This is the one I'm designing.  I knit this hat from my notes, and it turned out OK, which means my notes are OK.   Now, I just need to write it all up in a way that makes sense to other people. 

I knit a few rows on my AMS 11, but it is already July.  That means I need to start cranking out the hats so that they'll be done in time for Christmas care packages.  So I set the shawl aside and cast on this one:

They go pretty fast when you just knit a plain hat.

Later, I spent a few minutes cleaning up my office.  OK, it's not really an office, I just say that to make me feel important.  Anyway, whatever you want to call it, I spent a few minutes cleaning it up.  There, amongst the old receipts and bills paid years ago, I found this:

Me, in Pompeii, in June of 1992. Wow, you may say. You sure have a lot of photos of yourself in Pompeii, don't you? Well, yes I do. I went there a lot. It was easy to get there by train, and reasonably priced to get in. It kind of became the thing to do on days that I didn't have anything ...um...to do.

But right now, I think the thing to do is for me to go to bed. 

Goodnight. 

Cowboys Swag

Do you remember earlier this week, that morning that I woke up early and couldn't get back to sleep?  I got online and renewed my True Blue Fan Club membership.

Can I help it if this little guy also found his way into my shopping cart?

And guess what!  I've got a t-shirt just like his.  WHEN football season starts, I'll have a new game-watching buddy.  Now, he just needs a name...

And this'll be my official game watching Dr. Pepper drinking glass. 

I'm all set for football season.  Now they just need to end the lockout and get with the program!

What Is A Fiber Artist?

The other day, on my Facebook wall, an old pal of mine asked the question, "What is a fiber artist?"

After replying with a joke that seemed a whole lot funnier at 5:30 AM, I attempted to explain it to him.  Unfortunately, my brief, pre-caffiene, tossed out there explanation seemed to just confuse him all the more, so I thought I'd take a moment to expound upon it here.

What is a fiber artist? 

Well, the short answer is someone who makes works of art out of fiber.  And what is fiber?  It can be many things.  Fiber can be the fluffy stuff we cut off of sheep, goats, or rabbits.  Fiber can be the hair we brush from our cats or dogs.  Fiber can come from more exotic animals, like Yak, buffalo, or camel.

Fiber can also come from plant sources.  Cotton



flax, hemp, even corn and bamboo are all examples of fiber plants.

And of course, fiber can be synthetically made, too.  Acrylic, nylon, polyester, tencel, rayon are common synthetic fibers.  So what does a fiber artist do?  A fiber artist turns these raw materials into finished products.  There are various methods of doing this, but all have to start with turning the fiber in to yarn or thread.  Many people out there like to spin their own yarn.  I do have a spindle



but I'd really rather spend my time knitting.  Anyway, once the fiber is spun into yarn, the fiber artist will take that yarn, and turn it into something useful.  These useful items can range from the simple necessities of life, such as socks



and warm winter hats

to the more decadent lacy shawls.



And some that are downright works of art. 



Now, me, I prefer knitting. Other people enjoy crocheting, weaving, or tatting. Whatever the method, we are all fiber artists.

In other news, I finally got fed up and removed that idiotic Picapp widget.  My page loads so much faster now.  The down side is now I've got a bunch of posts with no pictures were pictures used to be.  But they'd taken all my pictures down anyway when they decided not to support blogs any more--and this after they assured us that the photos we'd already posted would remain live.  I would not recommend this app to anyone. 


Maybe now my traffic will pick up. 

M is For

Muddy shoes.

That is something we haven't had near enough of around here lately.  But this last week or so, it's been raining pretty good.  It rained all morning, and cooled things off enough that I was able to walk Rylea. 

Last night, I thought I was going to be slick.  I went to bed around 8:00, read a bit, then turned out the light around 9:00.  I'm thinking, oh boy am I going to get a good night's sleep! 

Wrong.

I woke up at 4:30 and could not get back to sleep.  I finally decided to get on up.  I did make good use of that extra time, though.

I renewed my True Blue Fan Club membership. 

*Ahem*  Yeah...

Monday Blues

I don't know.  I slept pretty well last night, but this has been one of those days when I just felt tired all day.  I didn't have that bad of a day at work, but I was still tired.  So, I came home, thinking I would relax with some knitting and some Netflix streaming, but all the shows I wanted to watch were temporarily unavailable.  Hmph.  Something about upgrading the quality.  Double hmph.  They looked fine to me to begin with.

So, I began to wonder if 5:00 PM was too early to go to bed.

Yeah, I figured.  If I went to bed that early, I'd be up at 2:00 AM, unable to get back to sleep.  So I dug out this old photograph of myself.  This was taken at Carney Park, the U.S. Military recreation center just north of Naples, Italy.  This was in 1991, or thereabouts.  I scanned it, wanting to get some of the orangeyness out of the print.

I wasn't able to.

 

After tinkering with it a bit, I thought, "Well, duh, dummy! Just go get the original!"  You see, this was always one of my favorite photographs of myself.  So much so that I sent off and got several reprints made.  Every one of the reprints had this orangey cast to it.  So I went and got the original and scanned it. 

Much better, except that I forgot to crop it before uploading it. And I didn't feel like re-doing it.

However, while looking for the original, I ran across this other photograph, also taken in 1991, of me and -- um, a stray dog.  

It was taken in the amphitheater in the ruins of Pompeii. 

A couple of my friends and I had gone right after I got over there. This dog attached himself to me and followed me all over the city. Or the ruins, rather. Of Pompeii. I'd have taken him home with me if I'd had a place to keep him.  Pets weren't allowed in the barracks.

I loved that dog. 


Funny thing is, there was a time when I thought I didn't like dogs.  I didn't dote on my dogs, or spend hours babying and pampering them.  I didn't dress them up, and I didn't let my life revolve around my dogs.  But then, I realized that what I wanted was a dog.  Not furry children, nor a surrogate spouse, nor a substitute friend.  A dog.  I wanted a dog. 

Once I realized that it was OK to let my dog be-- well, a dog-- that's when I realized, I love dogs.  The first time I knew that I had a special connection with them was long years ago.  I was wrestling with my cousin Jimmy at his house, in his living room floor, when his dog attacked him, to protect me.  I'll never forget the look on Jimmy's face.  Nor the sight of his dog Bess biting him in the butt. 

After all that, I went back and cropped that there photo anyway.

Hope you like it.

Almost Finished

I'm almost finished with my second work shirt. All's I've got left is to hem the bottom, but since hemming is about my least favorite thing to do, I left it until later.

I went down a couple of sizes, but I'm still not really pleased with the fit of this pattern. The front --even in size small-- is way too low cut. I don't think I'll be making any more of these.

When I wasn't sewing, I spent most of the day working on AMS  11.  I've finally finished clue 3.  

There's also been hat progress made:

I'm knitting this one following the notes I made to myself as I was making up the pattern. If they make sense, then I'm going to write the pattern out and send it out to be test knit. Oh, and I've also got one going in fingering weight.

As if that weren't bad enough, I'm starting to wonder how many stitches I'd need to cast on to make a hat in lace weight yarn...Hey, it can't be any worse than knitting a full sized shawl, now can it?

L is For

Lace.

In this case Queen Anne's Lace.  Designed by MMario, hand knit by yours truly. 

And today, you get a bonus. You get to see my lovely toesies.

Did you know it's devilishly hard to take a photograph of one's own feet? I sincerely hope you appreciate the effort.

Thank you.