The Fault in Our Downton Abbey

I'm in the middle of The Fault in Our Stars, but I did not end up reading it last night. For all that talk of cheating on my crochet, I ended up crocheting after all, but in my defense I had too because I cannot watch television without having my hands or something in constant motion. Call it a curse of ADD or something, but I need to be in motion, even when at "rest" so it was either crocheting or doing leg lifts but since we all know I already have buns of steel, well, my decision was an easy one.

So, instead of reading my book last night (which is an AH-MAZING book so far. I started reading it during Little Mister's naps today and I've laughed, I've cried...it's moved me, Bob.) I was totally and completely drawn into the last couple episodes of Downton Abbey. Now, I'm sorry for this post because I'm going to go on and on about how amazing this show is because I don't have anyone with whom I can talk about it in real life and real time. My Mister has been watching it with me but, to assuage his guilt for his "non-manly" TV watching, he refuses to discuss the importance and nuances each head nod and sly smile Mary and Matthew share with each other and instead constantly tells me, "Don't cry! You're always crying!" But I swear he's wiping his own tears when he's pretending to be absorbed in his web browsing. (You can't fool me, Mister! He always makes me pause it when he gets up and has put on the subtitles by himself so he can follow along more easily and not miss that sharp and witty dialogue of the the Dowager. We all love the Dowager- Maggie Smith, will you marry me?)

So last night we watched the last episode of season two and started the Christmas Special episode. We couldn't finish it because it was late and we had to go to bed so I've been ever so patiently waiting for dinner tonight so I could finish it. Thus, I've been occupying my time by getting wholly and completely entangled in The Fault in Our Stars. UNTIL DOWNTON TIME!

OH.MY.LANTA. I was a bawling mess last night watching *SPOILER ALERTS!! DO NOT CONTINUE READING IF YOU HAVE NOT YET WATCHED SEASON TWO*

*I MEAN IT!!*

As I was saying....I was bawling when Bates and Anna FINALLY were able to get married and consummate their marriage. I LOVE them! Anna is just a pure angel and nobody deserves her because she is so pure and perfect and sweet and I LOVE HER! And then, Lavinia. Oh my...I wanted to hate her because she is coming between Ross and Rachel Matthew and Mary but OH MAN! She is another sweetheart and I just cannot hate her. I can't hate Matthew for the whole ordeal because he was quite noble in his intentions and...umm...have you seen Matthew? EXACTLY.

SO, my Mister had to tell me AGAIN, "Don't cry!" when Lavinia died. It's like telling me, "Don't breathe," or, "Don't eat Nutella," or, "Don't fart." I CAN'T HELP IT! An angel on earth has left us and somebody better ring a bell so she can get her wings because if there's anybody who deserves to flap around joyously naked on clouds, it's Lavinia.

BUT! Oh.my.lanta! How excited I was at the end of the Christmas episode when Matthew and Mary FINALLY FINALLY FINALLY!! got engaged. Oh man. If anyone will make beautiful babies, it's those two. GAH! Cannot wait for season three! CAN.NOT!

Ok. I can go on for about 5 more pages since I haven't discussed Lord Grantham and that slutty hussy of a whore Jane, or how Sybil and Branson made me squee and, yes Honey, cry yet again. Or OR! how stupid Thomas weaseled his way to not only work again at Downton but also finally become Lord Grantham's valet. GAH!!!!  And, most importantly, what the heck is going to happen to my poor loverlies Bates and Anna??? I'm so glad he's not going to die but STILL!! Poor, poor perfect little Anna!

Ok. So now that I've gotten that out of my system, I can finally wipe up my tears and finish up The Fault in Our Stars. Oh, who am I kidding. From what I've heard from my fellow Book Clubbers, the tears are just beginning to flow because oh.my.lanta y'all. It's about a 16 year old girl with stage IV cancer.

I KNOW, RIGHT??

So, for now, I'm going to bask in the feel-goodness of the Downton Abbey Christmas episode. It just finished and, as my Mister said, "Don't cry! You are always crying now! You are such a wussy!"

Cold, heartless man. ANGEL WINGS, MISTER! Angel wings!

A Little Sumpin' Sumpin' on the Side

I've been working pretty feverishly on Little Mister's Blanket-o-Love these last few days because I really really want to finish it once and for all. Seeing the large, rewound balls of yarn slowly getting smaller and smaller gives me both a reassurance that I'll get there soon, as well as a pit of impatience because HOLY CRAP I ALREADY CROCHETED THIS STUPID YARN!

Right now I'm at the place I was over a year ago on his blanket. A lot of rows of one color TSS which has really slowed my crocheting mojo. On the one hand, I'm able to zip along pretty quickly since it's just one color; on the other hand, I want to gouge out my eyes with my hook because I'm getting bored. I'm getting tempted to put it aside to finish the stained glass window blanket since I'm just about done with that one, too. Buuuut....I really really want to get this done. Like yesterday.

So, instead of playing the field with my other crochet works, I'm putting my foot down and staying faithful to this one.

Except....well, cheating on it with a book doesn't really count, does it? I mean, I have to read this particular book anyway, so....a little dalliance on the side is fine, right?

I finally started reading The Fault In Our Stars and I can say that this dude got me from the very first paragraph.

Late in the winter of my seventeenth year, my mother decided I was depressed, presumably because I rarely left the house, spent quite a lot of time in bed, read the same book over and over, ate infrequently, and devoted quite a bit of my abundant free time to thinking about death.

I mean, come on! How could I not love a book that started that way?? Actually, reading the first couple of pages made me love this author if only because he writes the way I think and the way I tend to write, as well. I like his humor. I am picking up what he is laying down, yo.

At dinner tonight, I told my Mister how excited I am to be in this book club and that I'm going to read this book tonight. I then told him that I also ordered the second book club book, A Tale of Two Cities- a book I'd eventually order for myself anyway since I love classics. He suggested that it might not be a bad idea to look into an e-reader.

Now, I've thought about the whole Kindle thing in the past, but as soon as the subject peeks it's little head over the clutter in my brain, I quickly squash it down, spray it with Raid, and say a couple Hail Marys just to be safe.

As I told my Mister, I love books. I love the feel of books in my hand. I love seeing the thickness of pages migrate from my right hand to my left hand. I love the sound of the pages turning. I love the smell of books. Reading to me is more than just absorbing lines of words on a page. It's an experience. 

I thought I expressed my passion for books well and expected a nod of agreement or a, "Yeah, me too," or something along those lines from my Mister. Instead, he, adopting a rather effeminate, lisping voice, said, "I love the way the cover slides through my fingers..."

DUDE. I didn't know whether to smack him upside the head for mocking me or smother him in hugs and kisses for really, truly understanding my book lust.

So, if you'll excuse me while I slip into something a little more comfortable, I've got a date tonight that I'm rather excited about. Sorry Blanket-o-Love. She really doesn't mean anything- you're the one I love. It's just for tonight...ok maybe tomorrow night, too, but I'll be back in your (unending) embrace soon. Promise.

Book 'em, Danno

In an effort to further my escapism from reality literary knowledge, and to get out of my comfort zone (a.k.a. my living room) and meet new people, I’m joining a book club for the first time in my life. I'm both excited and nervous about this since it's going to be the first time I leave Little Mister for longer than an hour alone with Big Mister. It's not that I don't trust Big Mister- he's a phenomenal dad; it's the fact that I suffer from a very acute yet crippling bout of separation anxiety just thinking that I won't be near him for that amount of time. I swear- Big Mister and I are never going to go on a date ever again and Little Mister is never going to school and he's going to remain my Little Baby Boy forever and ever and if he even thinks about getting married, I may have to pull out my crochet nunchucks once again. HI-YA!

Yeah. Maybe getting out of the house for a couple hours and having grown-up talk might not be such a bad thing after all...

The first book we’ll be reading is The Fault in Our Stars by John Green. I have no idea what it’s about, even though I have already ordered it and currently have it sitting right beside me as I type. Read the dust jacket, you say? Stop pressuring me and get off my back monkeys! I’ll read it when I’m good and ready to!!

Ahem. I am sorry for calling you monkeys.*

The truth is I’m unsure how this venture is going to go. On the one hand, I’m excited to find new books to read and it’ll be nice to once again get on a reading binge. Lord knows I need to stop it with the yarn-buying binge already. On the other hand, I can’t shake the feeling that this is going to be an awful lot like homework. Reading a book for pleasure is one of my very favorite things to do instead of cleaning my house. However, reading a book because I need to discuss it with a bunch of people (many of whom I’ve yet to meet…I missed the first meeting. Oops.) kinda puts the pressure on to write a good report so I’ll get an “A” on my analysis.

Should I take notes? Use a highlighter? Will they think me uncouth for dog-earing my pages? Do I have to look for a deeper meaning in a book that may just simply be a novel? What does, “It was a dark and stormy night,” really mean? OOOO! It means they’re constipated, doesn’t it!

Truth be told, I’ve never been good at finding the “deeper meaning” of various books. Let me rephrase that: I was never good at finding the deeper meaning when reading for and by myself. Mainly because I’m devouring the book for the wonderful story that is unfolding before my eyes. Why ruin it with trying to find all the symbolism that may or may not be there? It’s not like finding an Easter Egg on a DVD where you feel proud of yourself and are treated with some cool, funny, or sometimes stupid behind the scenes stuff. It’s usually very frustrating and headache inducing “seeing” things where the author may or may not have intended something to be seen. I remember reading The Great Gatsby in high school and being all, “What the heck are they talking about?? What symbolism? That eyes and glasses billboard was just a detail seen on the road by an obviously non-ADD person, not some creepy symbolism for being watched by Big Brother,” or whatever the heck they said it was supposed to mean. (Note to self: re-read The Great Gatsby.)

However, once I knew what they expected me to see in between the lines, I was able to “see” symbolism everywhere. I nailed all the symbolism in every novel thrown my way and did indeed ace my book reports. Didn’t mean I agreed with it or even really got the full meaning, but I was able to find it none-the-less. (Sorry Mrs. Pittard!)

One such book was A Tale of Two Cities. I remember I really liked it but I don’t remember too much about it since it’s been at least five years since I read it in high school. (Ahem). I remember Madame Defarge knit people’s names in her longest-scarf-in-the-whole-world (or whatever the heck it was) and now that I know about double knitting, I do wonder if that was the method she employed. Or was it simply purling on a knit row? If that’s the case, she wasn’t very devious. I could even do that.

The exciting thing is that A Tale of Two Cities will be the second book we’ll be reading, so I get to revisit any symbolism I may have already identified and have subsequently forgotten in the mrfmrfmrf years since high school. And, I’ll get to really pay attention to the knitting part which, of course, would be even more awesome if it was crochet. However, a fiber lover is a fiber lover, no matter how insane and duplicitous she may be. I love you, Madame Defarge, you crazy old bitty, you.

I was informed that a book discussed as a possibility for inclusion in our reading syllabus is Fifty Shades of Grey. I must confess I had never heard of it because I am not a pervert. I don’t know if we will end up reading it, but egads. The symbolism that must be in that book, right? I mean, sometimes a sexual deviant really is a symbol for constipation, no two ways about it. Heck, I know I turn at least 30 shades of grey when things aren’t moving along as they should in that department. He could save 20 shades of grey by simply taking some Metamucil.

Heehee. This is going to be fun.





*No I’m not. That’s a lie.

(Btw: I'm going to be tweaking things on the blog for the next few days....sorry about any seizures this may cause you.)

Back to Life, Back to Reality

I’m an all-or-nothing sort of gal. I have a difficult time devoting a little bit of time to any one thing without devoting all of my time to that thing. Either I’m hyper focusing on something, or else I have the attention span of a gnat. Once I get started on an idea, on a project, on an obsession, the ties that bind me to it are virtually unbreakable. (Unfortunately, this is only true with things that hold my attention- housework….not so much, much to my Mister’s chagrin.) This is even truer when it comes to books. If you are a reader, you know what it’s like to lose yourself in a book. To voraciously devour word after word and not notice the pages as they swiftly fly by until you subconsciously notice that the end of the story that has trapped you is in sight. Now that I have allowed that first love back into my life, I am completely under its spell and am having a difficult time breaking off the imaginary tales spun from an author’s deft hand and living within the confines of my “real” life. (I think that Libby from yesterday’s comments understands this. She’s my new blog friend- you should check out her blog- it’s filled with both crochet and knit loverlies!)



I have now started a book entitled, The Thirteenth Tale. I am totally and completely ensnared. This is a wonderful occurrence in the life of a reader, when the story encapsulates you wholly and completely until the very last words on the page releases you from its iron clad grasp. However, it’s not so wonderful when the lines between real and literary life begin to blur. I get stuck in a daze reliving the lives of the characters in my mind’s eye when I’m supposed to be living my life at home or at work. Their adventures are projected on my internal movie screen during any idle moments I’m able to snatch throughout the day (driving, in between clients, during private times utilizing the facilities….) and I end up being jolted back to reality with the adrenaline rush experienced when you are suddenly woken up out of a deep sleep.


Even though I know that reading is my escape mechanism of choice and that once I’ve “escaped” it’s ever so difficult to reacquaint myself with reality, I don’t care. At least, not right now. I NEED to finish this book. I cannot resume normal life activities until I know what the Thirteenth Tale is. Crochet and laundry and dinner…what are these next to the thrilling escapades brought to life in the pages of this book? Every time I shut it so that I can do something silly like earn money, I feel like I am somehow pausing the lives of these characters. They cannot exist unless I am there to see them live. They only have 400 pages to live their life- if my daily life must be put on hold for a few hours to allow these characters to flourish within the confines of these covers, then so be it.


My Mister knows this about me. He found it out early in our marriage when he tried taking my book (Hercule Poirot’s Christmas) away from me as I was brushing my teeth. I had it clasped so tightly in my hand that it ripped in two. (He was trying to have a conversation with me and was trying to be “playful.” He’s lucky he still has his arms.) It took me a verrrry long time to forgive him for that. He knows that it’s virtually impossible to get me to focus on something if I have yet to finish my book (or purse, or Mario blanket). He really is a very good man and is extremely patient with me. He’s the organized, logical, neat-freak and I’m the impulsive, disorganized, dreamer. We have enough differences to keep it interesting and a lot of love to keep it together. Sure, I’m a dreamer, but I’ve got enough of a Realist in me to realize I’ve got something good and no book or other distraction in the world will be able to tear it away from me. Even though I get so easily lost in other characters’ stories, our life story is The One I cannot get enough of and I am anxiously awaiting to find what is on the next page.

Until my next reading break, it truly is back to life, back to reality.....

Hooks, Books, and Me.

Last night I did something that I hadn't done in a few months.  I read.  Shhhh!  Don't tell my hooks and yarn!  I still feel like I'm cheating on them when I pick up my books, but in all honesty, my books are my first love. I keep practicing in the mirror saying, "Listen, Hooks.  You are the "other woman" so you shouldn't be jealous about the time I spend with my Books. So....there."  (I resist the urge to stick out my tongue at them because that would just be silly.) Just as I get my courage up to tell them in person, I realize that the Hooks are the ones who can gouge out my eyeballs when I'm asleep whereas my Books can merely give me a paper cut.  However, if the Books were able to find the lemons and sadistically squirt my paper cut, or if they decide to band together and "accidentally" drop on my head, then I may need to forgo all relations with either Hooks or Books and....sleep more.  Hmmm....that may not be a bad idea since I am now picturing an army of Books that look a lot like Whomps slowly doing their death march holding the Hooks as weapons doing the "Oh eeee oh....ohhhh oh," chant from the Wizard of Oz.  Yipes.  Must.Sleep.More.

So, I stayed up till 2 am ravishing finishing off my book.  Hey!  It's been a long absence and we just got caught up in our torrid affair!  One page turned into another and....we just got carried away.  Don't judge me.

What literary trollop had me stray from my hooks, you ask?  Anne of Green Gables.  Now, I am terribly ashamed of this.  No, not that it was a "children's book"- some of my favorite books are "children's books."  It's just that.....I can barely get the words out.....I had never read it before.  WHAT?!?  I KNOW!  I am ashamed.  What kind of book obsessed poseur am I?  I have been reading since I was 3 years old.  Laura Ingles Wilder's The Long Winter was the first chapter book I read- I was 6 in first grade.  We had a Book Caterpillar that would "walk" along the wall, growing a leg with each book the students read throughout the year.  I made up more than half of that caterpillar all by my lonesome- it almost made it around all four walls.  In the fifth grade, we went to the library every two weeks and were allowed to check out 2 books each.  The librarian would hold me after my class left and let me check out 5.  I first read Are You There God?  It's Me, Margaret that year and would secretly chant, "I must, I must, I must increase my bust!" while flapping my arms like a Dolly Parton obsessed duck in my bedroom.  When I finally read the Harry Potter series, I read all 6 books that were out at the time in between Christmas and New Years. I've since read them through twice more.  I love reading the classics and have all of Jane Austen's canon as well as the Bronte sisters', and most of Agatha Christie's.  

I truly love to read.  How is it that I have never read Anne???  I have no idea and I'm actually sad that I didn't read it as a child since I found a "kindred spirit" in that carrot topped, impish little girl.  The similarities between Anne and me are quite striking- impulsive, chronic daydreamers who love to read, have a flair for the dramatic, and graduated first in their class.  (Yes, I was class Valedictorian- don't act so surprised.....jerks.)  Where Anne beats me is that she can both knit AND crochet!  She and I would have been the best of friends growing up.  My in-laws bought me the first two books of the series for Christmas (along with To Kill a Mockingbird, which I have read previously) and I am just now getting to them.  I hang my head in shame.

Now, just so I won't seem like such an adulterer (or maybe to prove how much I like to play the field), I did crochet for most of the morning yesterday. I'm just about done with the Chocolate Strawberry purse (I need to finish the flap, but I need to take pictures of it for the pattern), and I made another Tri-Colored purse (I need a better name for those purses.....any suggestions out in blog land?) in blues and browns so that I'll have the pattern for both the hard and soft handled purses.  Yay me!

So, you see- I am perfectly capable of having more than one love.  I started on a new purse today- it makes me giggle and blush thinking about it.  I think I will be faithful to that tonight.  Wait.....what's that?  Why Helloo there, Anne of Avonlea.  How YOU doin'?