Say You, Say Me

Say you, say me; say it together 

Another funny thing happened during the door debacle at Callye’s house. Loud noises startle people. When that happens sometimes an expletive pops out. We may (or may not) have uttered a couple of words not used in everyday conversation, especially when there are Littles about.

After things settled down, while waiting for cookies to bake, Belle came to me. Looking straight at me with her big almost black eyes, she smiled and asked: “What does fark mean?” My mind started whirling. Oh my goodness. Fark. Does she mean fart? She couldn’t mean another ‘F’ word, could she? I didn’t say that at the huge bang, did I? Surely not. Maybe. If I’m honest I have to admit it has happened. But I don’t think it happened today. Oh no.

Beautiful Belle and the lispy Barbie!

Trying to deflect the conversation I said: “Fart? You know what that means silly girl!” No, she said. “Fark.” “Fart?” I asked again. “NO! FARK!” Okay. I’m trying to think, wondering how to explain that sometimes big people say bad words, but little people never should, when suddenly I have another idea. Hoping for the best I say, “Where did you hear that?”

She holds up the Barbie type doll she has in her hand, presses a button somewhere and the doll begins to sing a song. It’s a bit garbled and hard to understand but there it is. Fark. The doll plainly says something that sounds like fark.

The infamous singing Barbie!

Whew. That was close! Relieved, we listen again and again and finally decide the doll is singing the word Spark, albeit with a Barbie lisp.

The real words to the song!

But it goes to show that they hear everything! So be careful, especially if you’re startled and accidentally say “Bleep”!

Say you, say me; say it for always 
That's the way it should be 

It was a great weekend for a knitting get together. It’s an annual thing that we call WHIBSIB which means what happens in Buda stays in Buda with Buda being the name of the town where we gather. It’s ladies from across the state and we laugh, eat, knit, swap stories, yarn and books, win prizes, give prizes and just generally have a great time. There weren’t as many of us this year as usual but we still managed to have a great time!

Here we are at dinner! 15 of us anyway.

I started a quick knit on big needles. They laughed at some of my big needles but I like them. Instant gratification!

Giant needles!!

Say you, say me; say it together 
Naturally…

I Can See For Miles

I know you've deceived me, now here's a surprise 
I know that you have 'cause there's magic in my eyes 

We finally got to take the playhouse to the Littles. They hadn’t seen Junior in a while so they asked if he could come along. He loves the Littles so with Junior in the backseat and the playhouse on the trailer we headed out.

Junior absolutely loves Callye’s cookies. He can smell them from the other room. And if you open a bag with cookies he’s right there waiting. He doesn’t care if they are decorated or not! Of course there are always cookies in various stages available. He’ll eat the old ones and help clean the place up!

Junior as a cookie. He didn't get to eat this one!

After a great supper that Callye fixed, Alan and Bernie decided to take the playhouse to another location because it couldn’t be unloaded right then. Junior went with them. I was sitting at the counter watching Callye make her famous cookies. Bryce was engrossed in a computer game and the kids were playing. Suddenly there was a huge boom. We looked at each other and Bryce jumped up from his chair. The Littles in the house came running and we were expecting a scream or at least some tears. But there were none.

As Callye and Bryce ran towards the doorway to see what happened, I hung back with the kids. The wooden front door was open with just the glass storm type door leading to the outside at the end of the entryway. They didn’t see anything but my son-in-law opening the door and examining the glass.

Who put that door there anyway?

Bernie and Alan made the delivery and had just come back. Junior, probably anxious for a cookie treat was running full blast to get back inside the house! How was he to know there was a glass door? He’d never experienced such!

The huge boom was Junior, hitting the door! The glass was knocked out of the frame, but luckily it didn’t break and Bernie was there to catch it. Alan and he managed to repair it. Junior was embarrassed and it took some coaxing to get him to come inside! He wasn’t even tempted by one of his favorite treats, Callye’s cookies! He didn’t seem to be hurt, except for his pride, and he was pretty quiet after the whole experience.

The next day all was well. Junior slept. He’s recovered, except for a bit of a sore nose! I wonder if they need a dog star for the next Windex commercial.

If you think that I don't know about the little tricks you play.
And never see you when deliberately you put things in my way.

It’s time for the WHIBSIB knitting retreat! I am ready to get away, take it easy with friends I seldom get to see in person and not think about all those little things that make my stomach hurt. The main worry is which yarn to take! I’ll start something that’s a no-brainer so I can talk and have fun and not worry about messing something up. I’m going alone this year so I’ll have the solitary drive of about six hours to get ready! Buda…here I come!

I can see for miles and miles and miles and miles and miles. Oh yeah…

Remain Nameless

I wish to remain nameless 
And live without shame… 

I once had a discussion with a former supervisor. I had received a promotion of sorts and I asked what my title was. I was told I didn’t need a title. Surprised, I asked why. He said titles don’t mean a thing. When one did a good job people recognized that and titles weren’t needed. So I asked if I could call him Head Custodian instead of Superintendent. That’s when I found out that a title did indeed mean something!

In the end I got my title. It was some long, wordy, nonsensical jargon that was created in retaliation for my comment. (Do bosses retaliate? That could be another post for sure!) Anyway, when I was asked or wrote it down it was laughable. It couldn’t fit it into my elevator speech! An explanation was always needed for clarity.

As most people do, I changed jobs. According to statistics, these days people change jobs on the average, 11 times in a lifetime. I haven’t. In fact, I wasn’t expected to ever leave the one I had. But it was time. Departure also meant losing my trumped up title.

I realized quickly the new employment was a dead end position. That’s not to say it’s a bad job or that I have no ambition. The structure dictated the rules. There was one head honcho, one number two honcho and about five regular honchos. Then there were the worker bees. I was a worker bee.

I’m still a worker bee, and I do have a title along with all the other worker bees; the same one in fact. This title is short and means about the same as the fabricated title of yore; absolutely nothing. It fails to describe what I do for the company which is what I thought was the purpose of a title. In fact, couldn’t a clear job title describe a person's expertise with greater specificity, therefore explaining that person's role more clearly? Alas, it’s not to be.

Enter new management. New leaders bring change. The structure is basically the same but suddenly there are assistant regular honchos. How does one become an assistant regular honcho one might ask? Good question. The job posting/interview process is followed but it’s quite easy to spot the recipient. And if there are two favored recipients they become co-assistant regular honchos. They get titles like Co-Assistant Honcho of Creating Tasks or Assistant Honcho of Browning the Nose. Do I sound envious? Believe me. I’m not!

Lately there’s been the novel idea that it would be useful for everyone to know everyone else’s specialty in the organization. Could that not be accomplished with job titles that actually mean something? Maybe I should make a suggestion to the Assistant Honcho of Contemplation.

You can call me anything you want.
You can call us what you want.

If you’ve seen any news about America at all you know it’s been a tough week. First the senseless bombing in Boston then the tragedy of the fertilizer plant blowing up most of the small town of West, Texas. It’s stressful, even for spectators who aren't directly involved but view helplessly, the endless pictures on social media or listen to the newscaster offering ceaseless updates on situations that aren’t improving. Even if you’re far from the location you can’t help but feel the sadness and devastation of all those affected. And I knit.

This doesn't capture the bright orange color. Montego Bay Scarf.

There’s also some good. Like Mr. Rogers says, look for the good. People are being kind and generous to one another and helping each other to get through the turbulence. It makes me wonder why it can’t always be that way, just treating people as you’d like to be treated.

Cause what's in a name, 
Oh I still remain the same...

Stupid Girls

They travel in packs of two or three… 

It was another meeting. She was on a new committee. What had she read, just yesterday about committees? Oh, yes, it was something about how a camel looks like a horse that was planned by a committee. And that was the tone this meeting was taking.

The group was diverse. Members included higher up administration, middle workers and even support staff in the form of secretaries. And let’s not forget the stupid girls. The experience level was just as varied. There were veterans with 30 years and newbies with 3 months. And with that came a multiplicity of viewpoints.

Isn’t it curious how knowledge is discounted with age? She knew it happened. In fact, hadn’t she thought her own mother ignorant at times? This was somewhat different because it was work experience. The amazing thing was that she could actually see it happening. The stupid girls made sure. Expertise seemed to count for nothing. The inexperienced bucked the pioneers, shooting down or elaborating until the simple became convoluted.

Ideas were tossed in and thrown out. Conversation peaked and lagged. There wasn’t a vote but finally the chair got a consensus and wrote it on chart paper, an act that makes it inarguable.

The assembly ended at noon and each was dismissed for lunch. The afternoon would lead to the mundane work routine that had been established. She quickly ate and tried to catch up on the many email and phone call messages that were left.

What? Seriously? Yes, there it was, right on the screen; a complicated, tortuous email from one of the rookies. It was a better idea because the stupid girl felt the group didn’t have a focus. And better because it was her idea. There was an attempt at lightness of tone but it was transparent. The stupid girl was making it obvious that she held much more intelligence than the group. If that weren’t bad enough some of the other stupid girls replied and validated the narcissism. Fortunately the fearless leader made no comment. Hopefully the silence lasts. Possibly it will send a message.

She thought if she has to spend time on the committee she’d just as soon the strategy the committee formulated remains constant, after the meeting ends. In the meantime she’s wondering to herself if she ought not to call in dead for the next meeting.

The above is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual committee meetings or persons, stupid or not, is entirely coincidental. 

Stupid girl, stupid girls, stupid girls… 

I guess I’m an introvert. It’s not that I don’t like people. I do. Some of them anyway. But it doesn’t bother me in the least to spend time alone, with the radio or television in the background, working or calmly knitting or playing with yarn.

 

It’s so much easier dealing with just my personalities than trying to please the many one comes across in a day! So I’ll just work on something, counting the stitches silently in my head and try to stay out of trouble!

Where, oh where, have the smart people gone?

Hey Jude

Hey Jude, don't make it bad…

Today is Julian Lennon’s birthday. He turned 50. 5-0 years old! Wow!

I'm blessed with relatively young parents, in their early 70s. They got married right out of high school and I was born a year later. When I was three, my sister came along. They were kids with kids.

This kind of looks like my dad's hot-rod...the family car!

We’d cruise the drive-ins, windows down, radio blasting and the two of us, my little sister and I, feeling so important, sat in the back seat. Sometimes we’d hear country music and sometimes something more exciting, like the Beatles. We’d sing, “She Loves Me, Ya Ya Ya” or "I Want to Hold Your Hand", loud as we could until dad changed the channel.

It seems like it was just the other day. And now I hear Julian Lennon’s been around for half a century. I wonder where the time has gone. I turn on the oldies channel to hear the Beatles. Occasionally their songs are too old for even them! If they aren’t found I’ll put in a CD. I’ll sing along, loud as I can, and nobody changes the channel. And I think about the two little girls, singing off key, in the back seat.

Take a sad song and make it better…

Except for the clasp, I’m finished with the kumihimo cord for my pendant. The pendant came from Anthelion Jewlery and is beautiful!

Waiting on the clasp to finish this necklace.

I’m either going to have to figure something out with end caps, which is suitable, or wait for the clasps to come in. Oh the decisions…

Remember to let her into your heart,
Then you can start to make it better.

Dreamboat Annie

Heading out this morning into the sun... 

Most likely not every family has a cow for a pet. But we do. It wasn’t a planned endeavor but when a mother cow died after giving birth, we found we had an orphaned calf to raise and care for. I should clarify that there really isn’t a lot of ‘we’ to this story. I didn’t do much at all. The care and the duties of Mother Cow fell to my husband, Alan, and Ray, a family friend. Being the creative souls they are, and because she was an orphan, the pair named the little calf Annie.

Little Orphan Annie...

Annie was spoiled from the beginning. She had to be bottle fed, of course, so Alan would feed her and talk to her two or three times a day. If he was tied up for some reason, Ray would come out and give her a bottle. Besides the food, Annie got a lot of personal attention from both, in the form of petting and chatting. Annie hung out with the chickens and played with the sheep. She had the whole place to herself and explored freely. One of her favorite places to sleep was in the chicken house. I think she really just thought she was another hen. She’d back in and barely fit, but that was where she wanted to be.

Where's Annie?

Annie and her ear bling

I came home one day and Annie was a ways down from the gate in the middle of the road to the house. I drove up slowly hoping she would move. She just stared at me. I honked my horn and she still didn’t move. The stare was becoming a glare. Suddenly she turned, kicked up her heels and galloped a little way down the road. Then she stopped. We had to play the whole game again. After the fourth or fifth time I wasn’t having fun anymore!

You talking to me???

Annie and I weren’t friends. I don’t think she liked me for some reason. Maybe it was the honking horn; I don’t really know. I’d call her and she’d ignore me. She was at the edge of the driveway when I parked one afternoon. I got out, called her and she just stared. I moved towards her and she moved back. I returned to my previous position and she resumed hers. It was like a bovine waltz with one step forward two steps back. I gave up. Annie walked away and mooed. Then she kicked up her heels and bolted off.

She looks so innocent.

Although I don’t know the ratio of cow years to human years, I’m pretty sure that Annie was a teenager. She acted like one anyway. One day she was a nice docile cow and the next she wasn’t. Sometimes she was really naughty! She ate all the chicken’s food and made herself sick. She’d hide and no matter how much Alan or Ray would call she wouldn’t come. She’d get mad, too, and sulk. When she got her ear tag she wouldn’t look at or acknowledge Alan because he was the meanie who stuck her with that thing. She didn’t even care that she had the best tag ever because it was blinged out! Sometimes she’d nose around and get into things, like the trash barrel. She’d knock stuff over and scatter garbage around and leave her calling card of a nice big pile of poop. That’s what cows do.

Nosy old cow...

I was skeptical and really didn’t believe it would happen but the day came when Annie had to go live with the other cows at the ranch. Not only did she have to leave but she had to get branded as well. It was by the luck of the draw Ray got the privilege. You can imagine Annie’s reaction to a hot branding iron!

Annie knows how to snub...

After her first night away from home we decided to check on her to see how she was adjusting to her new digs. We arrived at the location of her new home and looked around. There were other cows, calves and even a bull around, but no strawberry blonde named Annie. So we drove. And we drove some more. We called and looked but alas, no Annie. Was she hiding because of the outrage she’d suffered at the upheaval from her loving home? Was it the anger over the indignity of receiving a brand? Or was the poor silly thing just lost in her new surroundings? Searching unsuccessfully until dusk, we returned home.

Annie, Dreamboat Annie

The next morning, early, Alan headed out again. Just to check. After all, it was a new place and Annie might not know where the water was if she got lost. I didn’t go. When he came in, a little before noon, it was with the good news that Annie was with the other cows, doing whatever it is that cows do all day. And she was still her flighty cow-self. She’d come when he called her but she snubbed Ray. After all, he was the one with the branding iron!

No one knows the lonely one whose head's in the clouds… 

For something different I’m working on a project called kumihimo. It’s a form of weaving and the end product is a cord. It looks complicated but it’s really simple.

The bobbins holding the different threads

The threads on the disk

The woven cord.

Did you ever make one of those vinyl woven key chains when you were young? It’s the same thing but instead of holding it in your hands it’s on the round disk. Of course there is a lot more you can do if you really get into it but I’m just doing a simple 8 strand cord. I’ll put a pendant on it when I’m finished. It’s really kind of relaxing after you get going!

Oh, Annie,
Dreamboat Annie, my little ship of dreams...

Shut up and Drive

I've been looking for a driver who's qualified,
So if you think that you're the one…

traf•fic (tr f k) noun 

a. The passage of people or vehicles along routes of transportation.
b. Vehicles or pedestrians in transit: heavy traffic on the turnpike; stopped oncoming traffic to let the children cross. 

For the most part, traffic, out here where I live meant waiting for three vehicles to pass before attempting a left turn. But that was before the ‘boom’. Now, travel is a living nightmare.

The usual traffic out my bug splattered windshield. In the good old days!

According to the United States Census, between July 1, 2011 and July 1, 2012, Midland and Odessa placed first and fifth respectively on the Census’ list of fastest growing metro areas in the country by percent increase. The oil fields (source of the boom) offer generous pay, leaving other businesses scrambling for workers because they aren’t able to match the wages and/or benefits. Housing as expensive as New York City’s has become the norm in the area. That is, if one can find housing. And traffic has increased and placed a strain on roads and highways. Statistics show vehicle crashes are up 40%, with fatalities up 58 %. All the while the growth continues.

Another view. Not much traffic now but it gets hairy.

I’m fortunate that I don’t live in either of these cities. I live in a small town south of Odessa. However, like many, I commute to the city for work. My office is located between the two municipalities, which are rapidly becoming joined, at the airport complex. There are approximately four ways to get there from my house, and all but one includes a stretch on a road heavily traveled by trucks. There are two routes I would take to reach the interstate or other highway to get to that road. One is a narrow, two lane oilfield road and the other is a four lane highway. I choose the four lane. It’s fairly decent until I reach the…Abyss.

The Abyss, as I’ve callously termed this hellish stretch of highway, is a daily challenge at its best. In this Abyss, traffic signs have no meaning. Residents of the area regard them as decorations, disregarding any significance they may have. The octagonal red sign embellishes most intersections to the highway. In some places the ornament lays on the ground instead of standing upright.

Besides the customary white lines most highways are adorned with, this stretch has the added attraction of dark skid marks sideways to both shoulders. Guardrails or posts with heavy wire strung between indicating no crossing are broken and mangled.
Residents in this area have no idea of physics. I never took physics in school but I do have a concept of force. Whenever two things interact, a pair of forces is always involved. Therefore, pulling an almost inanimate object (resident’s car) into the path of a vehicle moving at the least, 75 miles per hour, could create a problem. Like death. Similarly, coming upon a vehicle, such as an 18-wheeler, who did pull out at an appropriate time but hasn’t made it up to highway speed, and not changing lanes or decelerating causes the same trauma.

Math story problems were also overlooked in this region. Nobody had the privilege of experiencing such annoyances as: If you drive 40 mph instead of 30 mph, you save 30 seconds per mile, but if you make the same 10 mph increase from 70 mph to 80 mph, you only save 5.6 seconds per mile. Why? Moral, that number on the speed limit sign actually means something.

I often wish law enforcement had a more definite presence on this section of the daily route. However it would take a policeman at each intersection and there’s not enough man power. Besides, I don’t know if they’ve developed a fine structure for ignorance.
In the meantime I’ve adjusted my route, trying to avoid the most heinous areas. I’m on alert, braking, slowing, avoiding, every mile of the way. To say it’s stressful is a misnomer. But it looks like, if anything, it’s going to become worse before it becomes better. So I’ll don my crash helmet, have my new car customized with roll bars and count down until I no longer have to make the trip during the peak hours. Someday.

Now shut up and drive.
Drive, drive, drive.

It was my lucky week! Actually these came during the spring break week but I was gone so got to celebrate them this week. First is a lovely Scentsy pot I won. It came with two kinds of scent bars to go inside. It’s smelling better here by the minute!

My new Scentsy pot and bars!

Next is a cute little girl I named Pinelope.

Pinelope.

She’s created by my knitting friend, Pat! Her note said she didn’t know if she (Pinelope) would hold my double points but her main duty was to make me smile! Pinelope did her duty! Thank you Pat!

Pinelope with double points. Reminds me of a voodoo baby!

Shut up and drive.
Drive, drive, drive.