Deep, Heavy, Heartbroken Sigh

and also a Declaration of Independence, of sorts:

I'm getting rid of some knitting and crochet literature. I don't know exactly what, yet, because I'm not exactly sure of what I have anymore. But it's going, going, gone, baby, and I'm not bringing any more home.

But why, inquiring knitters want to know.

Because insulation has been invented, hallelujah joy, and I don't need the double thickness of literature lining the walls anymore.

Because they're a fire-and-tripping hazard.

Because somewhere, out there, is a knitter who is just dying for a chance at a cheap version of an old classic.

But really, it's because there are five people in this house and the adults have never learned how to part with anything, ever. Which leads to natural disasters like children who are unable to keep their rooms clean -- not incapable, given half a chance, unable because they have Too Much Stuff. And they are learning from the role models in their lives that throwing something away/selling it/donating it charity/putting it on F.U.R.* is unneccessary, undesirable, and bloody well impossible.

It's because I have so many reference books and how-to books and hobby books and I'll-get-around-to-it-someday books that I cannot for the love of wool and fine needles find what I need, when I need it. I will go days ignoring the obvious because I don't want to expend the energy to explore the clutter for it. It is not the sole cause of my chronic procrastination, but it is a very big contributor.

A goodly portion of my knitting book stash is on the kitchen table even as I type. Tomorrow all but a handful will be consigned to a library or another knitter. I started with the knitting books because they're going to be the hardest, next to the books my late mother gave me. (If it's a knitting book I got from my late mother, it's staying. Even I have my limits -- especially since a couple of them are Elizabeth Zimmermann works that I've been eyeballing for years!)

After the knitting books have been winnowed I'm going to be going after the rest of the house. I want to be able to function again. I want to be able to do all of the fun things that I thought I would be able to do at this stage in my life -- and for me that means being utterly and completely ruthless when it comes to weeding out the extraneous material that's keeping me from concentrating on the necessary aspects of my life.

Hey, I'm a knitter. I should be used to ripping things out by now!

*Fiber Underground Railroad. Good for orphan knitting books and that yarn that's been talking back a little too much lately ;).

Let It Be Known

That my size 8 Harmony interchangeable needle tips as well as the requisite 60" cables have gotten here. 40-year-old women are not supposed to backflip around the house in joy, so I just thought about doing it really, really hard. I found out a couple of things soon after I opened the package:

1. They sent 2 cables per 60", just like they said they would....only, I didn't read that when I ordered so I was absolutely flummergasted to find myself in possession of 4 almost-60" cables. I'm also very very happy and only mildly bummed that I have to wait until NEXT payday to get the needle-tips for the extra set.

2. I realllllly like the Harmony wood laminates. I mean reallllllly like them. I'm going to have to ask Santa for a whole set of dps for Christmas, and if he is serious about me knitting those ^#$&*!! Maple Swirl socks he'll get that dp set ;).

The reason I am supercalifrajilisticexpialladociously overjoyed about the extra cable set is that I intended to start on another Faroe shawl, and I like having the cable length to spread out comfortably. I still intend to do another Faroe shawl, but while waiting on the needles I started a cable sweater instead, so I'm going to work on the sweater while awaiting the moolah to get the tips in order to work on the shawl.

Okay, that made sense to me but I won't swear the rest of you will get it. You'll just have to trust me, I suspect. We're getting a sweater AND a shawl out of this; it doesn't get any better than that*.

*except for getting the dps. That would be better!

whereupon i take a deep breath and run screaming into the night

I need a break

from the kids.

from the house.

from the relatives.

from the cat.

from the dog.

I want just one week where I am not referee, chief counselor, and maid.
I want some time where the dishes stay done and quit getting messy even when I'm not there.
I want certain relatives to quit writing if all they are going to write is one more demand, forward one more anti-everything-I-stand-for screed, or insist on sending something that takes Outlook to open it. I don't have Outlook. I don't have it for a reason. You know this. STOP.
I want the cat to quit scratching holes in the door when I'm trying to sleep. You peed in the bathroom and I got to step in it and you are not allowed in here any more. Get used to it.
She's sweet, she's large, and I want someone else to pick up after the dog this week.

I'm going to go sulk in the greenhouse and knit socks.

It Just Makes Sense

Update: And because I have been cold-virus-addled and sleep deprived and under the influence of children I have left out all of the good parts. Dolores and the Fibertarian party are the brain children of the Panopticon. Go check out the blog (click on the logo) and go check out his CafePress shop (click on Dolores, below). Just don't blame me too much if you end up decked out in Dolores gear from head to toe.

Of course, it could be my cold-addled brain on wool-fumes, too. Lots of things have been making more sense the last few days and I'm sure by next week I'll be regretting several of them. But I can't be the only one who thinks wool v. alpaca is a much easier debate to understand than some of the arguments the current political parties have come up with. (And if it comes right down to it, I'll take Dolores in political cagefight against any alpaca you care to name.)

So guess what I'll be wearing this political silly season...er, important election year?


Oh yeah.

A Few Changes to the Flight Plan

I did manage to finish off a Faroe Shawl. And yes, I did manage to knit it exactly the way I thought I was going to have to. It just happens to be pink instead of cream, and it's floating around in EB's bedroom, so I don't know what sort of extortionate rate I'm going to have to pay just so I can get a photograph of it. Come to think of it, I should just go ahead and knit the cream colored one...it might be easier, cheaper, and quicker that way. There is only one serious flaw with that plan, of course. Me. Once I figure out how to do something I can't just leave it alone (except with socks. I do have a plain-sock pattern memorized and I stick with it so I can knit in theaters. Assuming, as always, that I will ever be able to find and afford a babysitter, and that my dh will allow me to knit unmolested in a theater on our one day off in I've-lost-count-of-how-many years.)

Ahem. Anyway, just as soon as I finished the plain garter-stitch faroe I started wondering which sorts of lace stitches I could fit into it...and whether lace and cable in a Faroe would work (not in any historical or aesthetical sense, but from a purely engineering point of view)...and the short of it is, is that if I want a picture of the pattern I used for the pink Faroe, I'd better go find the pink Faroe because the next few that I knit are not going to be anything like the pink Faroe.

However, any lace shawl is a couple of weeks away from being started. I'm two weeks behind on the magazine (and I, I, am the one who set that deadline), and I have writing to do that has nothing to do with my blogging duties, and the yard has gone from bare (or as bare as it ever gets) to Stephen King Creepshow green in the matter of a week and it desperately needs to be weeded, and the new greenhouse is working just fine now that I have it staked down, but the heater I got for it still needs some engineering before I can put it in, turn it on, and watch to see if something either explodes, melts, or just burns with a slight whimper. Bother. I like doing it all, there are just a few times a year when doing everything means I have to do everything all at once.

On the other hand, I do have a blanket that I'm crocheting and one of the infamous socks already on needles, so I won't be terribly deprived in the tribulations to come.

In Case Anyone Needed A Reminder

That I was out of my ever-lovin' mind and thoroughly, albeit undiagnosed, madder than a March Hare:

Exhibit A

Faroese Knitting Patterns

knitted shawls

translated by Marilyn van Keppel

Anything that calls for casting on more than 475 stitches is nuts.

Oh, but it gets better. The book is written for hem-up knitting; I am going to reverse one of the patterns and knit it collar down.

And mind you, I've never actually figured out how to do one of these in proper order, so naturally I'm going to do it all cattywhompus and expect good results. In my favor is one of those just-ab0ut-to-go-to-sleep moments of revelation, where everythe falls in order and makes perfect sense. And then I have a good night's sleep because I managed to figure out something that's been driving me nuts for years.

The only downside that I can figure out is that I'm going to have to get more lace needles...wait a minute, I'm not sure that qualifies as a downside....

I'm pretending that the instructions don't call for lining. Don't attempt to disillusion me.

I have a chair and I'm not afraid to use it

I think everyone should have a place to knit, don't you? For the longest time I haven't had a place where I could duck all of my responsibilities for wool's siren song (i.e. knit until my eyeballs dry up and fall out.) This is now my Knitting Chair.

To be sure, it is much too big for the area it's in. It's huge. Even I can curl up in it and these days I take a lot of curling! There are about 8 inches between it and the bed. It dwarfs the room. And I absolutely love it. I've got my boombox and my knitting project and although you can't see it, I have the requisite gaggle of remote controls if I want to watch t.v., vcr, or dvd.

Why is it in the bedroom at all? Cats. I like the cats but they tend to treat our furniture badly. The Banshees have actually gotten to the point where they're easier on the furnishings than the clawed critters. It's an accomplishment I didn't think I'd live to see. Also, our living room is to-the-gills filled with other furniture. Now some of that has to go eventually -- so do the cats, for that matter* -- so when the time comes I'll probably move The Chair into its natural habitat.

Or not. I can put my feet up and watch both versions of 1408 without worrying if the Banshees are behind me. I'm still trying to figure out which version I like more, if you must know.

How did I get this lucious piece of essential knitting equipment? My step-mother-in-law. It's hideously expensive by my standards so I don't understand getting rid of it for anything less than Katrina-sized damage. However, they just built a new house and evidently this chair doesn't match the decor. Do I look a gift-sofa in the spring? HA.

The drawback to it and the other bit of hand-me-down furnishing is that we have to rearrange a couple of rooms -- which I like -- but it involves actual housework, which I don't like so well. I just keep telling myself that I need to get rid of 3/4 of the clutter and life will be so much easier. Yeah, and I'm going to be able to give up that Opal addiction any day now too.

*natural causes for furnishings and felines alike, so quit looking at me that way!

Not the most promising of starts

October 1st. I had all sorts of plans for this day. The Banshees and I were supposed to make a Halloween tree (half the fun is figuring out what it's supposed to look like. The other half is figuring out where in the house to put it.) This, of course, was before the horrendous awful terrible and inconvenient cold virus got me. I mostly orbited the house like an eccentric satellite and said things like, I really do need to get to that. or Man, what I would do if I could sleep for a week. Fortunately there was lots of ready-made food in the house for mate and offspring to feed themselves, because I surely wasn't getting much done.

Okay, I did get a partial crochet square done for MB's Christmas blanket. I was going to do more but I just couldn't find a place that was comfortable that didn't have the entire tribe of Banshees doing something that would either wake me up or get my attention in the thousand and one little ways they've managed to contrive.

A friend offered to get me some lucious sock yarn and I managed to hold on to some sort of iron will (or, considering my proclivities, perhaps nickle-plated will) long enough to choke out no, thank you so VERY much. It wasn't that I don't want it. I want it! I want to bring it home and wind it into little center-pull balls and knit grand and wonderful things with it. However, I reallllllly am trying to knit down the stash. I have some Lorna's Laces Flame from (pause to count on fingertips) seven years ago. If that lovely stuff can kick around my stash this long without being knit into the socks it so richly deserves to be, then I have way too much yarn at my disposal.

Hence, of course, Christmas blankets. Great stash busters and it helps tremendously that I have two of them to knit or crochet by December 25. Crochet is really helpful because it's a yarn pig and it goes so quickly for me. I have about a third to half of the the blanket done in less than a week. And if I hadn't gotten sick I most likely would have had more done today, not to mention killing of the kitchen monster once again. I get sick, this house falls apart. It doesn't have that far to fall, mind you, but I do like keeping it at that teetering brink. I even managed to teach someone how to knit this week -- she's got lots of sheer talent, so it was mostly here, let me show you...er, looks like you've already got it! So I gifted her one of my Red Heart skeins and told her to have lots of fun, and also to ignore her husband who seemed to think that she was going to get a sweater out of it. Jeez, some non-fiber types!

Ravelry

Got my invite Friday. 'nuff said.

maybe the emergency reprogramming tool works on ac units too...

Okay, I'm depressed. It always happens when there is a money issue, and it's always compounded when the ac unit takes a dive. Again. This is when I really wish the emergency reprogramming tool happened to be universal -- but what scares the computer makes the ac unit laugh uncontrollably. I swear.

I was going to soap tonight, but instead I'm going to haul the wheel out and spin the rest of the merino/tencel. Then I'm going to savor an Arrogant Bastard (which is a beer, a nice hoppy works-if-you-haven't-brewed-your-own-in-a-while beer) and fall the heck to sleep, hoping that tomorrow will be better.

Tomorrow probably will be better, given enough sleep and wool tonight.

***

Well, how d'ye do! The ac just kicked on. Either the axe works or it took pity on me. I'll take what I can get!

Well, SOMETHING had to be The Knitting Blog

So, for the all of one person out there who actually reads my blogs, here's the official knitting project blog. I'm sure you've all seen the Opal before, but I'm still very proud of this sock. It's moving quickly except for that fiasco with the heel -- and there was that whole ripping out the toe and starting all over again from the other end of the yarn -- but that's behind us now. Tomorrow we start ribbing.

Oh, I'm in love

Good bookstores are always worth seeking out. The knowledge of this one was dropped into my lap by a Washington Post comments list -- who knew?

I think I'm going to start designing a Grand Book Tour for when I have enough MadMoney to afford it. So far I have two destinations, Acres of Books and Powell's. Maybe something on the eastern seaboard is in order -- and surely there will be something between the two coasts that's worth stopping for.

Actually, the Grand Tour and even the book bill won't be the expensive part of the journey. The major financial drain is going to be the new house that I'm going to have to build to house the library.

Welcome to the new blogger, anyone want the old back?

Well, me, because the old blogger actually had HELP and pointers to get where you wanted to be. The new blogger doesn't have any of that, just 'known issues' and 'blogger buzz' and 'blog help groups' -- none of which help, thanks.

And History rolls on.....

Can't say the last few months have been a bed of roses...they haven't. I lost the child I thought I was going to have. My doctor said it more compassionately (she's a real and rare gem) but it basically came down to this; I had everything required for a successful pregnancy...except for an actual baby. I spent New Year's miscarrying. NOT the way I wanted to start the year.

And seven days later I lost an uncle. I'm hoping that this is my final dose of tragedy for the year. I've earned a little peace, really. I know life doesn't work that way. There's no way to bargain with fate, no way of metering the tragedies that come. I cling to the good events and small blessings to keep me going.

On the brighter and admittedly more recent side, I attended my first ever Brewfest. Oh, what a blast! For the price of a membership in the California Homebrewer's Association, one gets a pass and glass and samples of various brewclub experiments. I may be in a minority here, but I mourn that beer has alcohol in it. I didn't drink nearly as much as I wanted to because of that irritating side-effect. They had something for every taste. There were sweet meads and orange blossom ales (and an orange-blossom mead with a divine taste and a kick like an ornery mule), double IPAs to savor and red ales...I even got a lambic, which (to me) tasted like a fruit punch on the wild side. The very, very, very wild side. Unfortunately it is an acquired taste that I have no intention of acquiring, but I liked being able to try it.

Yes, I brew. I mean, I knit, crochet, maul wood, make soap, garden (badly), raise kids, cats, and spouse (well, we're both works in progress!), read voraciously, practice sewing, and dream about getting my own tig welder. Of course I brew too! Better than snail ranching (my mother...and a long story...) Right now I've decided to pursue the elusive true red. It will take a while as I'm just a kitchen brewer. I brew for taste, and irregularly as I'm the only one who drinks it. Okay, I'm usually the only one who drinks it, but sometimes my friends find out there's a batch aging in the closet and then it's everyone for themselves .

And for the cousin who is, so far as I know, the only person besides myself who will ever read this blog -- Hi, Angela!! Hope you made it home in one piece!

PS -- everything I wish someone had told me while I was in high school. There's good stuff here even for us old, decrepit critters.
http://paulgraham.com/hs.html

Getting back into writing mode (and other obsessions)

Every time I get into my blogs I want to reinvent them -- there are so many cool blogs out there that do so much more than mine does and I want to know how to do that too! But blogs are just a symptom of what ails me. My overwhelming disease is simply a need to know. My nephew characterizes this as 'useless knowledge' and I'm still waiting for the opportune family gathering to pin him to the wall and get to the root of such a bizarre mind-set. It's a philosophical debate, to be sure, as to the nature of knowledge. Is it ever useless, even if the possessor never uses it? I'd say not; the more I learn the more I can learn, the more it leads me in directions that I want to learn. And who is to say what is useless? I may not use the initial bit of information that sends me webseining in the first place but I generally run across something that I can use in the course of my life. In fact, I'm the go-to-gal in the family when it comes to research. Steph, who is in line for the presidency if the President and the Vice President are killed/incapacitated at the same time? Speaker of the House -- it rolled off my tongue and I hung up the telephone, but some inner itch wondered how I knew it and if it was true. So off to the Constitution; nothing there. ??? Off on a search to get just the right set of search terms, and thus to the Codes that do indeed state that the Speaker of the House is next in line. Why? Got me, but it's so, and the legislation that says so is such a short and vague piece of work it sets up new worries. Who gets it after the Speaker? Got me pal; if the Malicious Powers That Be get the President, VP, and Speaker all at the same time we are really in trouble on a number of levels, not the least of which is the succession problem.

I know where to go to figure out how to create latex molds of faces. I don't think I'll ever get into it, but I know where to go if I or someone else needs to know. I've found the most interesting museums online. They range from an immediate urge to spend my life savings just to visit, to the 'you've got to be kidding me' reaction, to the 'I'd burn it myself if I had the chance'. I make no pretence that I embrace everything; embracing everything leads to idiocy and the dumbing down of the entire culture. I also do not pretend to be the uber-expert on all things artistic; what I do not like and refuse to embrace may still be art in someone else's eyes. When I figure out how to link I'll post one on the bottle-rack; the artist in this case took a manufactured bottle-rack, signed his name, and called it art. Now I think he had a profound statement to make, but I'll be double-dipped in resin before I'd call it art.

In the immediate future I'm going to attempt to kick-start my writing chops. I used to be fairly competent but lately my story-telling has lacked anything that would make anyone want to read it. Acck. I think I've given up on ever being published -- or even wanting to be published, really. My stories are content, even eager to be written down but I don't feel any great anguish over not being the next Stephen King or Ursula Le Guin. Except for the usual money problems (always wanting $20 more than I could ever spend) I am content. What I really want now is to figure out how the heck to get my blog to behave the way I want it too -- more webseining, to be sure -- getting the house clean, getting the beer brewed, the cheese made, the gingerbread cookies baked, figuring out a good female name for the new child (male name already picked out), find new communities to interact with, convince my spouse that remodeling won't result in death or divorce....oh, the list goes on. Right now, however, I have to clean off the kitchen table so the kids can art and craft to their hearts' desire. Oy, these could be blogs unto themselves, much less blog posts!

Okay, So Where Do I Go From Here? And an Educational Rant

The diploma is under my belt; the certificate and the transfer units are on the back burner but still viable. I have to reapply for admission to the community college since I took a semester off to settle my eldest child into kindergarten. I weigh 208 pounds but don't anticipate losing a whole heck of a lot for the next eight months or so. My obstetrician would probably have a cat if I attempted it.

Yup, child number 4 is on the way. Unanticipated is probably a mild adjective, but I have to say I'm giggly about the whole thing. My re-entry into the paid workforce has been put off for a few more years but I'll have to admit that I've finally adjusted to that.

I'll go after my cert and my transfer units, and I'll probably get further degrees as warranted and wanted but my disenchantment with the formal education system is profound. It boils down to a couple of elements: I'm already better educated that quite a few of the teachers in the system, and the system isn't at all about education. In fact, "education system" is oxymoronic when applied to the formal education infrastructure as it stands. Elementary, middle, and high schools are simply not producing well-prepared graduates, and the community college system isn't picking up the slack in any meaningful way. I admit I have no experience on the university system yet, but I'll be double-dipped surprised if it's much different in substance.

There are many remedial classes in place and I have no quarrel with them. They will always be needed for a variety of legitimate reasons. It is the level of education in my fellow non-remedial students (and, as mentioned, faculty) that is shocking and disheartening. The lack of rudimentary English skills alone is enough to send a person shrieking into the night. I've run into community college students and teachers who didn't understand basic grammar, had difficulties with spelling, and who lacked college-level vocabulary. College, heck. Elementary level.

I must acknowledge my own bias, of course. I am a long-established book-worm who was reading adult-level works when I was in elementary school. In fact, this a source of much amusement because, although capable of reading the books, I was still too young to understand and appreciate some of the plots. I did, however, pick up an extensive vocabulary simply because I read everything I could get my hands on. I also had parents who were unafraid of applying thumbscrews when it came to primary education. My mother drilled my brother and I until we thoroughly understood most of the vagaries of the English language and had mastered most of its spelling.

I also acknowledge that there are differing levels of talent and ability. Atrocious spelling does not by itself denote stupidity or ignorence. English is probably on par with Calculus in sheer ability to confuse. Creative sentence structure happens and I myself have used it on occasion. But, in greatest deference to such creative souls, all of this shouldn't be happening so awfully so frequently. Written language is meant to communicate; if the person using the language cannot do so, then someone somewhere has failed to teach this person true command of the language.

What I can forgive in friends, relatives, and colleagues is absolutely unforgiveable in the teaching profession. My child's kindergarten teacher routinely garbles grammar, and misuses both words and punctuation. This person is handling my child's formal education? She's a very nice person and it's obvious that she loves children, but if someone is tasked with teaching a child how to read and write, shouldn't they have complete command of the language basics? How about the college teacher who is more than two centuries off on the common definition of a word?

In short, those who are charged with teaching us are themselves failures of the system set in place to educate. Do I have all of the answers, or even a few of the answers that would work all of the time? I can't say that I'm that wise. But I do have a few requests:

Being an educator should be like being an anesthetist: on some subjects a prospective teacher either gets 100% or fails. Basic grammar, punctuation, word definition, and sentence structure are definite pass/fail subjects.

Ability to teach is a must; no more teachers who are in the system just because the system needs the bodies or the school lacks the ability to get rid of incompetence.

Do not, do not, do not treat the parents as if they are idiots simply by virtue of being parents. Don't discourage parents from teaching above and beyond what the classroom is capable of teaching. Think that last one is a stretch? It isn't. While my child's teacher has never directly said I shouldn't teach my child to the best of my ability, she discourages by saying the classroom activities are challenging enough, that they don't want children learning beyond what's being currently taught because "there will be nothing for them to do later on", that my child has never demonstrated any ability or knowledge beyond what has been seen in the teacher's classroom. The last is a head-scratcher; she's never been asked, much less encouraged, to show any ability beyond what is shown in the classroom, so of course she hasn't demonstrated it. It has been implied that the school's way is the only way and it isn't. My daughter is already so bored with homework that she already knows that I almost have to put her on a rack to get her to do it. Learning isn't a joy anymore when it comes to what the school sends home. Let her get her paws on a Dr. Suess book, however, and the game is on. I have to pry it from her fingers in a knock-down, drag-out, step-over-toe-hold fight come bedtime. She counts passing cars when we're out driving and I'm encouraging her to read street signs. Heck, grocery shopping is a reading adventure and it's all more interesting than the disconnected pap that they're sending home from school.

The funniest (albeit unintentionally) letter the teacher has sent home to date was the one where parents were encouraged to make reading fun, because after all of these years they've finally figured out that if it isn't fun, kids won't read. Okay, how many studies did this take? But the truly ironic part is that what they're sending home in the way of reading homework is deadly dull, horribly disconnected, and in no way an encouragement to read. My daughter gets a little photocopied, hand-stapled pamphlet that she's supposed to color and circle key words in. There's no story, just a bunch of unrelated sentences. The words in the sentences are important and the sentence structure is important, but where's the hook that keeps a child's interest? Where's the plot? The crisis? The resolution? For pete's sake, the first thing they (used to) teach about writing stories is that there's a beginning, middle, and end. Grab someone's attention and make them not want to let go until the last page. And it can be done with beginning reader stuff; look at Dr. Suess. Please.

If it weren't for my dearest husband's objections I'd homeschool. Heck, that's what I'm doing now despite her being elsewhere a few hours every day. As well-intentioned as some of the members of the public education system are, the system itself is badly broken and I don't see it being fixed in my lifetime.

Back again, anybody miss me?

Well, didn't think so. One more semester, one more year, but at least I've got my A.S. degree under my belt. I received mail last week that said I'd been approved, and that I should be getting the degree in the next three months or so. Yahoo! But it looks like I won't be getting the paralegal certificate until hell freezes over. It tends to be in the middle of the spouse's work week and I don't have a babysitter I can rely on for the next 18 weeks or so. Grouch. On the other hand, variations on my transfer units are all available online, so maybe I'll be getting to the university before I get the cert, lol!

Still weigh too much (215 but who the heck notices) and still under too much housework. But at least I think I'm finally settling into this housewife thingery. Just told the spouse that if he brings in the money and doesn't give me grief about what I do and what order I do it in, this house will be a lot happier, healthier, more picked-up place. I think he's just desperate enough to do it :)).

Short, weird, & wild (and some unusual swearing)

From the ashes and thick, obscuring smoke, to the computer virus that nearly ate my computer, it has been a very odd month. I found out just how quickly I can load up a van with the essentials. I also found out just how ineffective these large media outlets can be. You want world news? CNN is great. You want something going on in the nearest large city and/or richest suburb? The 'local' news is the place for you. If you want to know just where the fire is (and more importantly, where it IS GOING) that has caused the evacuation notices in your town, you are most sincerely and without a doubt fucked. Heck, all I heard was that my town was being evacuated and that was it as far as the media outlets were concerned. They showed a lot of scenery that didn't belong to any geography that I live around and promptly went to where they could (a) put their reporters in the most danger or (b) where the rich folks' multibuck estates might go up in flames. I've got smoke turning the sky black and ashes falling on my home; I want to know where the fire is, where it is traveling, and whether or not I need to get the hell out of the way.

As it turns out, we didn't have to move. There is a local a.m. radio station here -- and by local, it is in this valley and concerns itself with this area's affairs -- that literally talked itself laryngitic keeping this community supplied with useful information. They kept us up on the areas being evacuated. They told us why the places were being evacuated, where the fire was, where it was going -- in short, absolutely everything that we needed to know to keep ourselves safe without panicking. They told us about evacuation centers, who needed what, where supplies were being gathered. It's what we needed and was the best argument I have ever heard against multimedia conglomerations taking over every nook and cranny of the media business. If CNN had owned that little station I would never have known what I absolutely needed to know.

On a lesser note, if you don't count my online class, my computer caught a virus that really did a number on it. We've had the computer for more than two years without trouble, and this worm came along and ate it. Okay, the virus had a lot of help from a computer ignoramus (ME) who thought she was capable of removing it without really screwing up vital software components. It took a computer buddy more than 6 hours to fix that mistake. Our computer is scrambled, guys and dolls. It works, it has been patched together rather effectively, but a lot of the software programs aren't playing nice with the other software programs. Error messages, mysterious shut downs, 'component didn't install correctly' messages....oh, my aching skull. I think we'll probably reformat the harddrive and start over. THANK YOU MICROSOFT for making this migraine possible.

Still, the kids are in good health, the cats are still with us, the dog is loyal and loveable, and my husband hasn't divorced me and hasn't begun talking to guys nicknamed "Killer". Life is good and looks to continue. I have been somewhat sidetracked in my scholastic career by a sudden and vehement desire to learn computer science, but I can probably keep that to just one class per semester until my transfer and poli sci classes are out of the way. I just want to be able to know what software I actually need and what configuration to run it in so it plays nice with other programs. Really. I should be able to stop there. (And you will just have to ignore my husband's disbelieving laughter in the background. All those years of marriage have not made him the absolute expert on my behavior. Trust me.)

Now I have to go wrestle with a roofer that, like Godot, I have been waiting for an eternity for -- and, completely unGodot-like, called today and announced he could have my roof off before dinner. Contractors. This has been the best argument against building my own house that I could ever have had. And it has almost convinced me :)!

Ding Dong, the class is dead!

I cannot tell you how good I feel today. I feel like dancing, cartwheels...weeding the yard. More signs of impending Armageddon, but O, I feel good! Wednesday was THE last day for that 9-week, rather-eat-snails-than-do-again, Dr. Hair Shirt of a class. Yahoo! Yippee! Calloo, callay my frabjous readers!

I didn't realize what a burden it had been to me until after I had turned in my final. I found myself walking to my car singing 'Ding dong, the witch is dead' from the Wizard of Oz and trying to remember all of the correct words. I wanted verse and chorus, although if I remember properly there was only ever really a chorus. Still, enthusiasm triumphed over both memory and talent. If you were anywhere near me last Wednesday you might be forgiven for presuming I'd lost my mind. I didn't lose my mind, just a gigantic headache! O the stress is gone, my marriage might even survive, and the kids don't need therapy. Whee, what a week!

Tonight I continue celebrating with a cup of coffee, a skein of yarn, and the umpteenth millionth rerun of Pride and Prejudice. Caffeine, socks, and Jane Austen -- what more can a mildly-unbalanced mind need? However, in my defense, I did promise an awful lot of socks for Christmas...and Christmas is creeping ever closer on the calendar. Saturday I'm going to really celebrate: I'm going to San Diego to buy too much yarn and a few more needles than I need. More importantly, I'm going to be getting together with a friend I don't get to see very often, and she is going to ply me with gossip, greenery in the form of a mint plant, and the best calimari I've ever had. Come to think of it, the only calimari I've ever had...but hey, done properly, squid can taste good.

"What was I thinking?"

At nearly the same point in every semester (especially semesters when I'm considered a full-time student) these words cross my brain: "What on earth was I thinking?" I'm overwhelmed, unenthusiastic, and would rather do dishes than another quiz or essay. Me doing any sort of housework voluntarily is considered a sign of impending Armageddon among my friends and family.

So I grit my teeth and remind myself why I'm doing what I'm doing when there are times I rather be doing anything else.

Reason number 1: Survival.
This was formed in 1997 when I came close to losing everything I'd worked most of my adult life to achieve. I'd worked hard; I was a Journeyman Boilermaker, a certified welder, and there was no work to be had at all. The unemployment had run out and I was unable to pay bills. I remember looking into a cupboard and thinking that in a couple of weeks that food would run out and I didn't know how I was going to eat. Mind you, I was and still am a lucky individual. I have a family, both by blood and by marriage, that would take me in and take care of me until I got back on my feet. I readily acknowledge that this is a great alternative to starving in the streets. But I will never forget the embarrassment, the helplessness, the loss of every bit of independance that I'd been striving for since I was 14. I love construction. I have dreams about having a heliarc rig in my hands again. I never again want to wonder where my next meal is coming from.

Reason number 2: Intellectual growth.
I may have mentioned that I love construction. I do. I love the people I work with -- mostly men, and mostly good people -- I love the jobsites (okay, except for oil refineries), all grungy and gritty and challenging -- I love the work, the rigging and welding and fitting and boilermaking that make up a day. The major caveat: there is little room for learning anything outside of the world of construction. I don't drink with the guys (can you think of a better recipe for disaster?), I don't hunt, I'm not in the least bit interested in women from a...romantic...angle, and there's only so much I want to discuss about welding day in and day out. I know that there is so much out there to learn, and there are different ways of thinking that I want to know. In some ways this relates to survival; the more you know the better your odds are. More than this, though, I don't ever want to get to the point where I'm doing the same routine day in and day out. I want to learn, I want to know, I want to understand -- if not everything, then everything that I can. It's my form of exploration and most of the time it's my idea of high adventure. Shortly put, the minute you stop learning is the minute you start dying. I've seen it happen, and it is one of the most awful and tragic situations I've ever witnessed. Not for me. Not if I can help it.