Whisper a Prayer

When I was 9, I was the female lead in my first play- it was THE play- the one that infected me with the acting bug. It was the Christmas play at our church and it was a pretty big deal. I was so excited, I memorized the entire play, not just my lines. I loved all the songs and tried my hardest to get the moves right for the dance numbers, but as my old VHS copy of the play proves, I am the only 9 year old who looks like she’s having a seizure while moving her arms in a circle along to a strange beat that no one else can hear.

Since I was the female lead, I had the high honor of having a musical solo towards the end of the play. The song was called, “Whisper a Prayer,” and it was about how close baby Jesus was to us- the three friends who were looking for the King- so close that we could have whispered a prayer and he’d have heard it.

Whisper a prayer, Jesus is there. He’s just a whisper away….

Now that I’m an adult, I have found a different truth to that song. Right now, I’m not in first century Bethlehem where I could be right around the corner from baby Jesus where he’d be so close to me that I could whisper a prayer and he could hear me. Right now, I’m an adult and am going through a rough patch in life and sometimes I’m not strong enough to verbalize my prayer. Sometimes all I can do is whisper my prayer through the tears and find comfort that He is still close enough to hear me.

I was going to tell y’all about my trip to Melbourne and the Australian Sheep and Wool Festival, but that’s a story for another time. This story starts on the morning of my birthday, which in Australia is always a day ahead of my US birthday.

I was startled awake with urgent texts and skype calls from my sister. At first I thought she was just really excited to remember my birthday was “today” rather than “tomorrow” her time. However, a happy birthday was not on the docket for me this year.

My dad was rushed to the hospital and was currently unconscious after telling my brother he “wasn’t feeling well” just a few hours earlier. I thought, “Oh dad. You’ll be ok. You’ve pulled through lots of things before and this will be no different.”

The news from my brother kept coming back, more and more negative. If he did wake up, he’d most likely lose the ability to move. He might be a vegetable. He wasn’t responding to treatments. He wasn’t going to make it past the next 24 hours.

Then, the news that no one is ever truly prepared for: He’s gone.

It happened so quickly and unexpectedly. My big strong daddy- the man who taught me to play basketball and how to drywall a house ,the man who promised to protect me if anyone ever tried to do anything to me, the man who couldn’t wait to get a tattoo of his first grandson’s name on the empty space on his arm- was gone.

It was 5 hours from the time I woke up to the time I was at the airport boarding the plane to New Mexico with Little Mister. It was another 2 days before I made it home. Travel from Australia is difficult, to say the least.

It’s been a whirlwind ever since. I volunteered to write his eulogy which was one of the most emotionally difficult things I’ve ever had to write. My dad loved to laugh so I had to include his humor in there, but the fact remains that I had to write about my dad in the past tense. How can this be?

It’s now been a week since his funeral and Little Mister and I are still Stateside so that I can hopefully get the ball rolling to ensure my grandmother is taken care of. She’s 92 and has survived all five of her sons. My daddy was the baby of the family. She’s not doing well and I’m sad to know she most likely won’t be around much longer, especially since I don’t think I’ll be able to make the trip back here when the time comes.

So, I’ve been whispering prayers. Whispering for strength through the travels alone with my now one year old son. Whispering for the words to pay homage to my dad when wrapping up a whole life in five minutes is next to impossible. Whispering for the wisdom to choose the right caretakers for my grandmother. Whispering for guidance in my now fatherless future.

Guys, I could really use some extra prayers to bolster my whispers. Especially in light of the long journey back home to Australia at the end of this week. I so wish my Mister could have come with us and I can’t wait to get back to him. I so wish that many things could be different right now.

I so wish my daddy was still here. I really miss him.

What's Up?

Testing. Testing. Is this thing on?

Hey, y'all. Just wanted to pop in here to put those old rusty typing skills to the test and to say, HIIIIII! (as well as, What's going on, Linda Perry?)

How is it that I have tons to say and then leave for a month (or so) without so much as a, "I'm super busy but will be back soon!!" I mean, it's really bad when you forget your password to your blog. (Well, almost forget. I'm happy to report that my old grey cells are indeed working.)

So. Hi.

Ummm....I have soooo much to tell you. Like how potty training is going and how that darn poop manged to get me with a sneak attack. Or how Geanie and Meanie have a thing or two to say about how I ran (RAN!!) a 10K two Sundays ago. Or how I haven't yet unraveled Little Mister's blanket all the way just quite yet because I had an intense need to make something RIGHT NOW and have a finished object with which to soothe my despondent spirit. The result of which is a collection of THREE shawls (What??!? I know, right!?), a pair of infant mittens, 4 Batman hats (WHAT?!?!?!?! I KNOW, RIGHT???), a bookmark, a pillow, and a partridge in a pear tree. Well, maybe not that last one, but I did finish something that's been haunting me for a long time now. I'm talking about the mother of all UFOs. Something that I needed to finish prior to attending the Alice Springs Beanie Festival. (Yet another blog post!)

WHEW. I's been busy, y'all.

So, now that I have gotten a lot off my chest crochet-wise and have overcome that despondent spirit (not all of which is due to Little Mister's blanket...at least I don't think that's why I was *thiiiis* close to a panic attack on my way to Target...), I think I can finally let y'all know what's been going on.

HOWEVER. Not tonight. (neener neener.)

Until next time...

Stupid Mickey

I am despondent, people. DESPONDENT I SAY! Life has lost all meaning and the unicorns are farting in grayscale. It’s so bad that I made a fart joke and barely even cracked a smile. DESPONDENT.

At first this funk started with the conclusion of the book I was reading- The Fault in Our Stars. What started out in a witty, irreverent fashion couldn’t keep up the lighthearted feel forever- like I said- a teen with stage IV cancer.

I finished reading it the day after I started and so began this whole, “Woe is me,” outlook. It’s a curse of reading for me. I get so wrapped up into the characters that I forget about real life for a bit. I don’t call it “escapism” for nothing, folks.

Anyway, my escapism into a depressing book isn’t enough to bring me down for long. It is fiction, after all. And, it resulted in a very good discussion yesterday at our Book Club meeting, so all was not lost. (So totally nailed the oral book exam!)

So what could have brought along this dark cloud of despair that has been hovering over me? Well, I finally finished Little Mister’s Blanket-o-Love. TA DAAA! That’s a big reason why I’ve been silent on here- I’ve been much too focused on crocheting my life away to spend on the computer. Or exercising. Gah. How the heck am I going to run in the 10K next month if I keep on making excuses to not exercise? (Yes, I decided to “run” a 10K with Miss A next month. May the Lord have mercy on my soul. And my butt. Can’t forget that.)

So you’re thinking, “You finished it?? YAYAY! Now show us some pics, monkey!”

I’m going to gloss over the fact that you called me a monkey (takes one to know one) and instead of posting pics, I’m going to cry just a bit more.

You see…..oh man…this is hard.

You see….Ihavetoripitoutagain.

That’s right. I HAVE TO RIP IT OUT AGAIN. AGAIN!!!!

Lest you think that I am on some sort of crochet masochistic binge and am using this Blanket-o-Love as some sick way to get my jollies, let me tell you that this decision has not come easily and it truly has ripped my heart out. I made a mistake. Not a, “I’m the only one who can see this mistake but I’m going to rip it out because I have OCD,” mistake. A, “HOLY MOLY HOW DID I MISS THAT???” mistake. A mistake that would cause you all to point and laugh at me a huge, Nelson-esque, “HA-HA!” A big, terrible, mistake.

My Mister said I should leave it in as a sort of “Hidden Mickey,” which, since I've already crocheted the same blanket twice, I thought might not be a bad idea. As I was mulling it over, he said, “So, are you going to leave your Hidden Stupid in it or not?”

Oh that honey-tongued love of mine. Always knows just what to say to cheer me up.

So, no. I’m not leaving in my “Hidden Stupid,” and instead have to rip out 58 rows PLUS the border. I actually finished it last week but have yet to rip it out because I needed a break from it to wallow in my grief.

Instead, I’ve been working on some of my shawl ideas because I wanted something that I could finish quickly. I really needed something with instant gratification. Except I realized that I’d never use this shawl the way it is (I miscalculated the increases and so it’s a little wonky. That, and it’s a shawl.) so I’m going to rip that thing out, too. Stupid shawl. Stupid yarn! Stupid hooks! STUPID STUPID STUPID.

GAH!!

So. Ugggggghhhhh. I decided to take the plunge and rip it out tomorrow so that I can hopefully have it done by this weekend. After that, I don’t care how many Hidden Stupids are in it- Little Mister will have his blanket and he will love it, I have spoken AMEN.

Since I have been (mostly) gone from the internets in the last week, I nearly missed out on a little something that actually has the potential of cheering me up. Libby is starting a yarn and tea swap and that sounds fabulous. You have until the 22nd to sign up, so get your butts in gear! And if you get me for a partner, the yarn you send better be simply AH-MAZ-ING because, you know. Despondent and all.

Ok. I'm off to melodramatically shower my pillow with my melodramatic tears yet again. Fare thee well, kind gentle folks. May your day be blessed, may your night be peaceful, and may your crochet not be filled with Hidden Stupids.

'Allo, Guvnah!

So, in the last few days, I've been working feverishly on Little Mister's Blanket-o-Love. So feverishly, in fact, that I've gotten quite sick. No, not of the *cough*cough*I'm gonna die!* variety, but of the *holy moly*I want to crochet something else now* variety.

I'm almost done. This is good because good golly, Miss Molly, I can't wait to be done with it. I know that I'm getting itchy to do something else because I'm spending a huge chunk of time on Ravelry looking at shawl patterns and randomly taking out my lace and sock yarns and petting them in a way that makes My Mister a little jealous.

Why shawls? I don't wear them, so why make them? Because in my head I'm a raging fashionista with a long cigarette holder and huge bug-like sunglasses and say things like, "Oh, dahling," and, "Chip chip cheerio," and other random British stereotypical phrases while effortlessly tossing a shawl end over my shoulder and laughing a coquettish trilling, "Oh haha, dahling!" way instead of a, "BAHAHAHAHAHA! *snort*" way.

Could this highly improbable vision of myself be due to watching Downton Abbey last week and episodes of Agatha Christie's Poirot and Miss Marple this weekend while I slave away on my blanket? NO!! And get out of my head, Freud!

*stupid yet awesome British shows* *sulking*

I am really almost done and instead of getting a few more rows completed this evening, I've succumbed to the allure of my stash and have started a new project that had been swirling in my mind for a while. I'm both excited and ashamed of myself. As My Mister said, "You need to finish this project sometime!" Except my overly sensitive and slightly neurotic ears heard, "YOU BETTER GET THAT YARN MOUNTAIN OUT OF OUR LIVING ROOM NOW, WOMAN!"

Granted, he said that after I started hyperventilating because I thought there was a mistake 10 rows down and was about to rip them out again. His well timed verbal slap in my face brought me back to my senses and I realized that I was fretting over nothing. My work is perfect and all is right with the world.

SO.

Hopefully I'll FINALLY have some pics to share by this weekend. Crossing fingers they'll be of Little Mister's blanket and not of some really awesome addition to my shawl UFO pile.

Where's my hot toddy, O'brien?! And some petrol for my lorry? The raaain in Spaaain fauls gently on the plaaain. G'night, guvnah!

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!