Pubs and Knitting Circles

Accountants can knit.

Proof anything can happen in the pub.

Knit one Purl one

Writers can knit while drinking a nice glass of ale.

Midwives can rattle a stick.

Spent last night in the Wise Hall Lounge at the first meeting of my knitting group.
Interesting women from 30 - 60. A range of skills from beginners to knitting two socks at a time on one needle. Included a writer, an artist, a midwife, an accountant and others.

So we sat with our ale and knit the night away. We talked wool, stitches and knitting sites and stores.
Turns out any people learned to knit off of You-Tube.

Em was the most experienced knitter. She talked needle sizes and wool thickness. She pulled the raggedy group together. We all talked about different knitting styles and how hard it was to learn in the beginning.

Double projects done to show the rest of us up.

We talked abut life, birth, relationships and death. Law, community politics, housing, education and teen boys. I had the most experience there as I had four and did it pretty well if my kids are any indication.

I think I talked Em into knitting me naughty hats for small talk Gallery.

So I will meet them next Tuesday for a drink, a bitch and a stitch. And I will finally learn how to knit properly. 

Travels With Vikings

Rod, my favourite Viking, called today to tell me he wanted to take me on a little creative journey.
He did a gallery tour of Seattle and thought it would be more fun if I was there and that it would even be more fun if we went to Portland for a few days.

Very nice.

I told him I was retiring my status as a fun weekend date. I was cutting my hair, putting on painty sweat pants, blowing my nose on my sleeve and signing up for the Legion Bingo games.

Lovely Viking said that would be even better because no one else would pay attention to me. He bought and refurbished an antique projector to go with the antique films he gave me last year.

Oh dear...

He has this fantastic collection of felted monsters in his little Smart Car and lots of wicked finger puppets to play with. He collects incredible places to eat and drink. Waters me wth hot sake and aquavit. And hand feeds me things like candied hibiscus flowers and juniper soda.

I told him I was tempted but I was still throwing up and if he planned on kidnapping me he would have to keep me in his beautiful house on the beach. And that I was going to out the fact that he liked pitiful women artists. He agreed and said something in Danish that sounded appropriately rude.

So Seattle it is. With a rude Viking. When I can find my glasses.

Specimen

Specimen Patricia Chauncey 2011 Mixed textile process

Vivid dreams with my afternoon nap.

Dreams of being underwater and floating through sea weed. Tiny creatures devouring everything in sight.
Too small to do damage to anything larger than a pebble. But greedy and perpetual grazers.

I am fascinated by their voracity.

I watch and they start to move in slow circles. Florescent. Like someone using Glo sticks to create patterns in the dark. They start to create a vortex and pull others into their circle. Each slow circle sucked into the other in a rocking but consistent rhythm.

I know that each one is barely aware of the other. There is no leader. Not one creature left out. But each propelled to join the spin. It becomes an inescapable sensation. Soft swirls. Soft pulses. Soft light.
 It stops abruptly and each leaves the circle.  And are once again solitary diners.

I grab one and it is so delicate. It is wrapped tissue and fibres. There is nothing internal. The creatures have worked together to create each body. Nothing but tissue and fibrous strand woven together.. And when touched they turn to powder.  

Kick Ass Life.

Finished with the injections for this month. Not bad this time. Tolerable.

The drugs are working and my tumour marker counts are far enough down to hold the cancer cell development at bay for now. This is great news because the longer I can last the more likelihood there is at being able to try the new treatments that are killing Stage 4 cancers.

I am pretty remarkable according to my Oncologist.

My reward is peanut butter, vitamins, a spritz of lemon and a whole baked potato!

So my goal is to live the most kick ass life I can.

Knitting Companions

My new knitting circle will be starting in a week or two.

Ems made a moose hat which I will steal the second her sweetie takes it off his head!!

My companions prove to be promising and compatible.

Another Day

Today is another day. I am feeling well enough to go for a walk.
I have a little fever so Tim thinks I have an infection or little virus.
Blood tests and a check in with the Doc.

A package I was waiting for arrived with a manageble little textile challenge.
This has to be done in a short time so it should be managable.

So up and at it to find another day. Fresh air can be a lovely luxury.

Drained

I am drained, demoralized and exhausted. All my own fault.

I have been over functioning again. Afraid of missing one minute
Just did and felt too much..

Not even able to climb out of bed for five minutes at a time.
I was invited to coffee this morning just around the corner and got dressed
and didn't have enough energy to pull on my socks.Sleeping doesn't help.

This medication is starting to get brutal. I am due for another injection
in a day or two/and they really hurt. Not little injections. Two big viles of
freezing cold molasses gets pumped into me every twenty eight days to destroy
any trace of estrogen. My Doctor says she marvels at my pain tolerance. But it stings
like wasp stings and stays that way for about a week. I want to slap her hands away.

The other drugs taken have side effects and mean eating favourite  foods or drink
is becoming more limited by the day. I'd kill for a banana, orange or lovely huge feed of potatoes.
Tofu is gone. Chocolate, wine, shellfish tomato. And the adrenal tumour, past steroids and pain
mean there has been a huge weight gain. Really not my fault. But people don't know that and do the
equivalent of serious bullying by talking about proper nutrition like I am mentally disabled.

I spent last night vomiting and choking for air.

I am cranky and unreasonable. I hurt. Fear keeps creeping in and one important person
 I thought would be kind and understanding was the opposite.

Cancer is not for sissies! So I get up and try for another day to find joy, sensuality and sweetness.
And a real and rich life. Sometimes I just can't. And I need to finish this quick before someone prays 
to earn their narcissistic way into heaven.

I still walk, talk and breath still. Apples taste sweet  and my quilt is my best friend.

My self indulgent rant.

My creativity doesn't stop but I feel blocked when it comes to action.