Riding Elevators

Doors are opening, doors are closing, 
People come and go. 
But I'm still riding elevators...

I suppose it might tell you something if I confess that I recently had a fascination with a hotel elevator. I’m not quite sure what it might tell you though. But it’s true.

A short time ago, I attended a conference held at the Galleria, in Houston. If you have no knowledge of the location, it’s a giant mall. In fact, it’s the largest shopping center in Texas and fourth largest domain nationally. There are two hotels, one on either end of the mall, and the middle is about 400 great stores. There are restaurants as well. I found there was no need to leave the place at all.

One of the hotels has a convention type facility located directly across the mall and most of the meetings are held there and in that hotel. Attendees stay in either that hotel or the other one at the opposite end of the mall. I have always managed to lodge in the hotel closest to the rooms holding the sessions. That is until this year. I don’t know if I was ‘overflow’ or if I accidentally asked for the wrong hotel. Whatever the reason I ended up at the far end compared to where the majority of my friends were staying.

Actually, I had a far nicer room than I’d ever had at the conference hotel. It was newly renovated and was spacious and clean. And the elevators were the most unique I’d ever seen.

Upon check-in the clerk told me to go to the elevators and using the keypad enter my floor number. I did as instructed and there entered my fascination. On the outside of the elevator bank was a number pad. Above the number pad was a screen. After your floor was entered a letter and arrow flashed on the screen instructing you to the elevator that you would enter. There was no panel above the lift to show what floor the car was approaching or where it came from.

I punched my number and entered when the doors opened. Inside there were no buttons but the open/close doors and the emergency buttons. It was eerie. It wasn’t until the second or third trip up that I noticed a thin strip beside the door that noted what floor was selected.

One night I came in after dinner to go up to my room. As I approached the number pad I was puzzled. My number wasn’t listed. Instead it was a keyboard that resembled a telephone dial pad. I stood there for a couple of minutes trying to decide what to do. An Asian man, wait-staff probably, approached me and asked if I had a problem. I explained that I needed to get to the 17th floor. He looked at me as if he couldn’t quite believe anyone could be that dense and explained that all I needed to do was punch the number one and then the number 7. Oh.

Feeling completely ignorant I climbed in and went to my room. Embarrassed, I thought about why the obvious hadn’t occurred to me. My logic, although there wasn’t much, was that some elevators are programmed to only go to certain floors. And I was positive the first time I punched in there was a number 17, not a combination of numbers to make the number 17. Yes, that was probably it.

The next day I went on a hunt to find the original keypad I had punched upon arrival. It was gone. Apparently I just thought I had pushed a button that said 17. Then again maybe the Saki Sangria had something to do with it. Regardless, I really loved those elevators.

Waiting to put my feet on the ground 
I'm tired of going up and down 

I’ve wanted to make this little bird for a while now. My friend’s birthday was coming up and I decided she needed one. I’d found a bowling pin that she wanted but I wanted to yarn bomb it. The bird was perfect!

I made the first one just to see how to do it. He’s kind of cute.

First try. Rainbow bird.

Then I gathered the materials for hers. I really like how it turned out. She took this picture. I think she liked it too!

Bird of Paradise? Bluebird of happiness? Rachel's choice!

Never here or there, 
On the ground or in the air.
But I'm still riding elevators...

May The Bird Of Paradise Fly Up Your Nose

I heard him say as I made my retreat, 

"May the bird of paradise fly up your nose…” 

Would you be suspicious if someone who doesn’t speak to you suddenly comes by and chats you up for about ten or more minutes? Yeah, me too. And I don’t know where it came from, but after it was over I had an overwhelming urge to say, “May the bird of paradise fly up your nose!” I didn’t. But I thought it. And I also thought that it would probably be most painful if a bird flew up your nose. And if it did happen I’d much rather it is someone else’s nose than mine.

There’s a funny thing about birds. They can do all sorts of things. They can tell secrets. When I did something that wasn’t quite on the up and up, some dumb little birdie always told my mom. But that’s to be suspected when they have that bird’s eye view of things going on. And all the while I thought I was free as a bird turned out I was just a sitting duck with some stool pigeon reporting all my moves. I never did figure out who it was. However, after she got over being mad as a wet hen she’d let me fly the coop. As I got older I realized she really was a wise old owl.

Check our Our Creative Spaces for all kinds of inspiration!

My grandmother always told me she ate like a bird. That is, until I told her that birds eat constantly and sometimes eat up to twice their weight in food, daily. I guess she didn’t want to know that as she gave me the old eagle eye the rest of that day. To prove a point, (I suppose anyway), there weren’t any snacks that day until supper. As my stomach growled, I really felt liked I’d cooked my own goose!

Speaking of grandmother, I guess my sister and I weren’t always good little girls at her house. Grandmother insisted on being called Grandmother. She wasn’t a mam or a nanny or even a grandma type person. But one thing she definitely hated was to be called granny. Granny was what they called my great grandmother, my granddaddy’s mother, or her mother-in-law. Now, I can understand. Anyway, my sister and I, sitting naked as jay birds in the bathtub, would call for her when we were ready to get out. I don’t know why we had to wait for her. Seems like she was afraid we’d fall or maybe she wanted to make sure we’d washed with soap. Whatever the reason, we would call out, “Granny, we’re done!” Well, maybe it was just me who’d call out while my sister giggled. There would be no answer. Birds of a feather that we were, we (or I) would try again. In a voice sweet as a nightingale I’d cry out, “Granny, we’re done!” Nothing. Finally, shriveled and shivering in the cold bathwater, one of us would call, “Grandmother, we’re done!” Quick as that old roadrunner, she’d dash in, grab us up with a towel and all was well. Meep Meep. She was a sly old bird!

I may just start saying “may the bird of paradise fly up your nose.” I kind of like the sound of it! I can have a “Pretty Woman” plan in the eaves. You know, I almost peed my pants, Pirates of Penzance. Most people just ask how you’re doing to say something when you pass each other in the hall or on the street. They don’t listen and they most likely really don’t care. So if I answer with “may the bird of paradise fly up your nose”, would they even notice? Probably not, but in case they did and asked what I’d just said, I could say, “hey, I really like your clothes.” Or maybe “you’ve got something on your nose.” Or how about “that’s just the way the day goes,” or “good, except for the run in my hose.” And I can just smile, like the cat that swallowed the canary. Yes, think I’ve got it covered!

May the bird of paradise fly up your nose… 

May an elephant caress you with his toes. 

May your wife be plagued with runners in her hose. 

May the bird of paradise fly up your nose. 

I’m on the downside of a pretty powerful cold or something. It zapped every bit of energy I had. I didn’t miss work, except for one day, but by the time I got home I didn’t want to do anything. Two full weekends were spent sleeping or just laying around. I didn’t even want to knit. I still have the cough but I feel okay so it’s time to dig out. I did get the shawl sent off. I didn’t have daylight to take a picture of it after the blocking but maybe my sister will send one. I made some more of those cute little hearts but now that I’ve missed Valentines, I guess I’ll just keep them for later.

Being the bird brain I am, now I have birds on my mind. I have a stained sweater I saved to make an owl. The plans are in my head so there’s a big chance that the finished product won’t look anything like my mental picture!

And I ran across this cute little bird pattern, on Attic 24’s blog. I want to make some of them too.

Birdie decoration. DIY on Attic 24's blog.

Valentine’s day is sweet Belle’s birthday. We went over to help her celebrate. She was in a poofy pink dress and told me I had to call her princess because today was her birthday and she was four. She’s so funny.

My princess on her birthday.

The princess and her pinata.

Finally! Candy!!!

 We lucked out and got some Sweet Sugar Belle cookies for Valentines! We even shared with co-workers. Funny, the people I gifted don’t want to eat them. They say they are too pretty! All I can say is the love bird, or bluebird of happiness, your choice, tasted mighty fine to me!

Valentine cookies from my daughter, Sweet Sugar Belle.

I heard him sayin' as I turned to go, 

"May the bird of paradise fly up your nose"