paste-eaters anonymous

Everyone can use a break...

So I spent the entire weekend in a classroom writing about ways to get in touch with my feelings. Which might be good, but I really had to force myself to stay awake, pay attention and avoid logging on to Facebook. My feelings are boring. Should I be worried?

Perhaps I only need a break.

No Shoes Is Good Shoes

There have been no slippers, magazines, oddly-addressed envelopes or bags of old clothes left at our door lately. Don't worry, The Admiral--as The Husband now calls our peculiar friend from downstairs--is still very much around, but I guess not feeling as generous as he was a few weeks ago.

The last "offering" was early one Saturday.

"Gee, what's behind Door No. 1 this morning?"  I asked The Husband as he was on his way out to clean more snow off of the car.

Turns out The Admiral was right there, leaving behind the aforementioned bags of old clothes. 

"These are for you."

A nice gesture, but we're not the same size. We had been letting what was left at the door sit there, and later it would disappear as mysteriously as it appeared. Same with the clothes.

He is still very much a presence in the building. Sinatra and Streisand at full volume. Today it was some kind of rap, which I find pretty amusing. Out of nowhere he'll start banging on his ceiling--our floor--with a loud rhythmic thumping. I don't think we instigate it, unless my knitting is too loud. It scares the hell out of the cats, but everything scares the hell out of the cats; I can only assume it was a traumatic kittenhood with children. Anyway, except for those occasions, it's been pretty boring around here.

A friend is convinced that he's going to burn the place down and that he's trouble waiting to happen. It did smell like burnt toast in the hallway last night. But that could have been any of my neighbors. It was the landlord that accidently started the last fire, so who's to say?

He must have about 4 or 5 people who check in on him often, as well as two women who stop by to take his laundry, so I know he's not completely alone.

So maybe the meds have kicked in, or the folks around him are retrieving stuff before we notice. All I know is when I find nothing at the door I'm relieved I'm not involved in someone else's insanity but also a bit disappointed that I can only dwell on my own.

The Return of the Madman

"You have too many shoes, I'll give you more"

He knocked on the door at 8 a.m. on Wednesday. I was still in my jammies and not feeling well--some kind of stomach bug--so I didn't catch every word. Something about telling Anna that he loves her dearly, he is not a thief and that he has a court date on the 5th. I "okayed" him until he left and I went back to bed.

I chalked it up to being an interesting way to end the year.

I think his date with justice might have something to do with an item I read in the local paper's police beat about stolen gifts found at my apartment building. There were no arrests, but The Husband did see two police cruisers outside the building on the day of his last "visit."

All was quiet until yesterday, which was still quiet, but when we opened the door to go ice skating we found these slippers. Again, we snuck them back downstairs to his welcome mat with no repercussions.

I'm still trying to figure the reasoning behind giving us more shoes. I thought for a moment that maybe it was a hint that we make too much noise, but the dude is deaf as a haddock; let's just say he loves his musicals. And much to my dismay, our apartment has wall-to-wall carpeting.

I can only assume that since we have a habit of taking our shoes off before we go inside, he has seen them and decided we like beat-up old shoes.

He does have folks who stop by and check in on him and there have been other "visits" to my neighbors. I think that his court date might be more about being able to live on his own than about stolen gifts.

Too bad. I think we have the same shoe size.

Tuesday is the New Monday

Yeah, Yeah, I know I said that every Monday I would feature a new store that I liked. But that was when I was full of coffee and feeling like I could fit one more thing to do on my plate. So it will be more of a random thing, fitting in well with way this blog works. What would you expect from someone who eats paste?

This is a paper writing week. Feel free to let me know your feelings on the state of American Education or the impact that multi-tasking has on society and the environment, and I'll share mine. Eventually.

Gotta get writing. TTFN.

Hair-Raising

Not me. The husband. It's time for a haircut.

I went to Wild and Wooly on Saturday and went a little wild myself, purchasing goodies with my Christmas gift certificates.  I'm just not comfortable spending huge amounts of money--even if it's "free" money--and almost needed a therapeutic intervention. Guess I've been broke for so long it's gone to a cellular level. 

But I got over it. I purchased the Noro I've been wanting, Kureyon #195--with the idea of making some kind of pullover, two skeins of the new Kureyon sock yarn--one for gloves, one to play around with, some Addi turbos (my first!) for the CPH I'm working on as well as some stitch markers--an extravagance for someone who usually uses twist ties and scrap yarn.

All in all, a big day for this humble knitter.

Emerging from Hibernation...

...man, that light is bright!

School's got me busy, but I'm lovin' it!

I've managed to be a Subway Knitter (Hi Colleen!), on my way to class and finished this (about a third complete in the picture). After four skeins, I think I'm over my Noro obsession.

I am thinking about tackling the ribby cardi sometime this winter. I'm imagining a coal gray or black, or a black and gray print yarn.  Since I have hips like a Buick, I don't think I will have the hem come right to the top of them, instead making it a little longer. If I make the sleeves without ribs, except for the cuffs, does that still make it a ribby cardi?

Looking in a new way

Like this sculpture (Knot by Cosimo Cavallaro) at the DeCordova Museum, my knitting looks a little rusty. It's not from a lack of trying--I think I've cast on a hundred things over the past two months. But it seems all I can produce are fingerless mitts. In stockinette stitch. In fact, except for an occasional cable or rib stitch, my knitting is downright mindless.

And that's how it's going to remain for the most part--I'm sure I will get all enthused about some lovely pattern and attempt to give it a whirl--but it will be tiny knit stitches over and over again.

Unlike the amazing knitters who raise children, attend law school, work on biochemistry wonders or software programs, and then knit these incredibly complicated patterns (which they designed), my tiny brain can only handle so much. I'm going back to school on Thursday (7 years after the last attempt) to finish my undergraduate degree. This is one UFO I'm determined to finish; no more sheepishly stuffing what I have learned so far into the closet or under the bed. I've got a year's worth of work left. I hope to graduate with enough behind me to get into a good graduate psych program that will lead to a degree in Art Therapy or Counseling Psychology--and work in trauma and recovery.

I hope to explore how knitting and creativity in general teaches discovery, communication and reflection.  There's a wonderful article in Sunday's Boston Globe about this topic and why the arts are so necessary for teaching in schools. I know I'm preaching to the choir here; we all understand the power in what we've created and sharing our work with each other, but it's nice to read something so affirming. 

It's great to have so many resources (your blogs and comments) on the topic already--a big thank you to you all!