Context is everything. I have been feeling low, sad, sunk, blue and every other word you can think of that describes "wanting to crawl inside a hole and sleep until everything is better." Today, with the weather up at a fabulous 2 degrees that includes melting snow, bright skies, and hopefully cheeping birds, I feel like I not only have to take on the world, but I want to. Two little degrees above zero. If the temperature crashed to two degrees in August, I'd be freaking out. But as my opener suggests, context really is everything.

Of course, it doesn't hurt that I've been having a simply fabulous weekend. I really need to shift practices to Sunday if possible, because going without Saturday afternoon troupe practice frees up a whole long stretch of awesome from Friday to Sunday morning. I love dancing, don't get me wrong, but this schedule makes such a difference that I'm having trouble believing it.

On Friday I took Mason to his first Geoff Berner concert. He's been taking care of Ear Infection Sage (now with less predictable naps!) all week, so he was pretty run down as of Friday afternoon, and there was a lot of talk about just staying home. However, there's just something about Geoff Berner that makes me less willing to give it up: last winter I took my brother, after all, and I was ready to go alone if need be. But Mason rallied at the last minute, and after an hour on the couch with our knitting, we rolled into the Annex for Chippy's and music.

We got there just after the doors opened, and ended up dragging some chairs into the light so that we could a) stay awake and b) see what we were knitting. Good thing we brought something to do; the first act, The Forest City Lovers didn't go on until near 10, which is late when you're old and run-down. The FCL were a slow-burn band, sort of boring at first but growing on us to the point that by the end of the set, we were clapping along, finding nicknames for the drummer based on his 30's style bohemian hair (George Orwell was the favourite) and trying to estimate how long it would be before the singer and the drummer were recruited into BSS. (Get on that, K Drew; they're awesome.)

I had brought along my camera with my knitting, figuring that I could finally get some shots of Geoff. I didn't count on the idea that he would have his entire klezmer trilogy together, and the resulting show would be far too exciting to think about pictures. For three people, they make a huge sound. When I wasn't singing and clapping, I was dancing. When I wasn't doing either of those, I was snuggling under Mason's arm, singing lyrics both horrendously callous and funny along with the band.

Oh, and there was the conga line during "King of the Gangsters" that had us hopping through the club in a mass-abandonment of Toronto tight-assery. (He basically dared us, and although I would do almost anything he asked, I'm certainly not going to refuse a dance bet. Does that sound like me??)

It was one of those concerts when you don't notice the passing of time, when you dimly realize once the music stops that it must be gone one, but you would listen to another full set if that were in the cards. This is the fifth GB concert I've gone to (if you count all of Stanfest as one) and this was, by far, the best. I can't believe there's room for him to get better, and then he goes and does.

After the show, I walked up to him to tell an abbreviated version of my accordion woes.

I don't know if you remember me: I'm the World's Worst Teacher. ["From Hugh's Room?" he confirmed.] My husband and I were so influenced by you that we bought an accordion. Actually, [Mason] was with me when I bought it. My husband learned how to play it, and it was so cool. In the mornings I would have to yell down the stairs, 'quit playing that accordion! It's time to go to work!' Anyway, when he left me about a year ago, he took the accordion with him. [Geoff grips my arm, his eyes wide.] But my boyfriend bought me a new one. He even bought a little one for my son, too. So we're all stocked up again.

I thought it was a nice counter to the classic joke about the B&E with the accordion. Geoff seemed to appreciate it. I'm glad I got to tell him how much accordion geekery he's brought to our lives.

On Saturday, we woke up late-ish and hurried to the Wychwood Market for the end of the selling day. Although they'd run out of empanadas and the place was claustrophobically packed, we also ran into Cheryl's family and then, to top off the weird, Seth with his wife and cousin. (Brief aside: my friendship with Seth dates back to the earliest days of university; on a par with Palaver & Preacher. Here's how long ago this was: he knew me when I was dating Alexi.) Despite the fact that we maybe see each other once a year, he still remembers what I do, what my kid's name is, and where I live. Amazing. I didn't even know that he was married, and they're already expecting their first child in the spring. Again, amazing.

Not having met his wife before, we were introduced, and before I could check myself, I had said one of those unconscionable things for which I am notorious. It was during the round of names, when immediately after absorbing that Seth was now married, I introduced Mason as "my post-husband boyfriend." The problem is, I think I'm funny. And many people, Seth's wife included, are too clever to be phased by my social inappropriateness. For that reason alone, I think he married well.

The funny part is that I was just whinging to Mason that all my old university friends have gone away in the last few years, with some few exceptions. Within hours of this bitch, I was served. And also told that Seth was joining several other res friends that very afternoon. It was like 1996 all over again, except for the white hair (him) and stretch marks (me).

After the market, we dropped by Knit-o-matic to make impulse yarn purchases, and then back to Mason's neighbourhood for lunch. Mason's local doesn't make a lot of food that I like, so I snuck in a bakery sandwich of turkey, stuffing & cranberry sauce from up the street. Fortunately, Mason's rep is so established there, that we were not scolded but given plates.

When we got back to my town, we rushed into an afternoon showing of Coraline. It was one of the most amazing children films I've ever seen, and the 3-D effects had me cooing and gasping with pleasure. It's one of those movies that I'm going to see no matter how it turns out; it was a lovely bonus to see how perfectly it was realized. And stickler as I am, I didn't even mind the changes. Awesome stuff. And then home in the dark for perogies, olives, beer & Buffy. Is it any wonder my weekend has been so great?

Today I slept as late as I could without missing Blake's drop-off at church, then hurried out in a skirt for the first time in forever. Blake was unusually well-behaved the whole morning, and I was unusually patient with him. This probably correlates, now that I think about it. My favourite moment was when we were quietly reading books in the nursery, and he showed me the Barney book. I made a raspberry noise, to which he replied, outraged: "don't spit on him! He loves you!"

Barney as Messiah. What a terrible comparison to make.

Mason slept through church (this was his long-delayed rest period, after all) and I came home full of energy and ready to go out. When he was ready we got lunch, then headed out to the Old Schoolhouse for their Valentine's Day open house. I had seen this announced in the inter-board page, that they would be doing Valentine crafts but also bringing in a spinner to demonstrate drop-spindles and show her spinning wheel. So Mason & I went for a free spinning lesson.

I've been avoiding spinning because I don't like to have too many hobbies; it makes me feel guilty. All of the knitters I know who've tried spinning end up with thousand dollar wheels and fibre stashes, so I've been keeping my distance from the craft. But ever since Sayward gave me a drop-spindle for Decemberween, I've been curious. Turns out that I love spinning. The demonstratrix even offered me the use of her spinning wheel, so I got a taste of that particular drug too.

Now I have a tiny little ball of yarn I made myself. But only the first taste is free…

Labels: blake, church, crafty, movies, music, outings

Hey, all y'all. Bet you thought I wasn't coming back till 2009. I hope we've all set up our RSS readers, 'cause I don't think I'm going to be posting any less erratically in the new year. (Or any more erotically. You can get that elsewhere on the Internet, or so I've heard.)

Dudes, I actually have to look up what was happened when last I wrote…

Oh yeah. Blake's birthday.

My whole strategy this December has been to focus only on the next goal. First it was Blake's birthday, which, despite the lack of party, was kind of a big hoohaw. After that, I was spending the week making my costume for my (major) student recital debut. And when I say "making," I'm talking about hemming the places where I turned a sleeveless velour turtleneck into a v-neck choli (almost like turning a sandwich into a banquet), stitching up my troupe armband by hand in the midst of a wildcat sewing machine strike, knotting lengths of novelty yarn onto an elastic waistband, and assembling all the makeup I've accumulated in my life. Also: I painted my nails for the first time in about 7 years, and tried to convince Blake that I was turning into a cyborg. He remained suspicious. "It's just paint, Mommy." Jessamyn painted henna on my arm, a design that's lasted till now in certain parts. I was ready.

The big day was…well, perfect. We were the only group to collectively choreograph our own dance – the rest were teacher-led classes and improv performances. We all looked AMAZING, and I even stopped minding The World seeing the belly I've been hiding since I came out of my mother's. We developed a new catchphrase ("It's okay, we're belly dancers") and spontaneously flashed our gang signal at each other before the dance started. We even had a miracle: Souzan does not perform in front of strangers, but she did, perfectly. (We all pretended not to notice, so's not to call her attention to her death-defying feat. She was our Coyote, but she got herself safely to the other side of the canyon.) I didn't screw up the improv verse under my leadership. It was so good.

With the dance debut done, I had a scant 12 hours to make ready for Mo & Brand's housewarming/xmas party. Fortunately, I didn't have to do anything but bake cookies and show up with the Blake. We had to miss Sarah & Leo's yearly do to dance, so this was our chance to sit and relax with the gamer geeks and geeklings. I miss those guys since I moved to B-ton. It just doesn't get any easier with time. But the party was nice, and the food was excellent and Blake accumulated many interesting new bruises and abrasions whilst playing in the basement.

After the weekend was done, it was just a matter of charging through my last week at school. I'm behind the 8-ball with two of my classes, so there was one period on the last day spent in tests with no fun at all. The others were treated to cartoons, although my 11 Faiths are apparently too sophisticated to enjoy the Tick. I didn't know there was such a pitiable condition.

The only other event of note in this week was when I scraped another car on Wednesday morning, resulting in a $500 cheque to some very nice people. Ho ho ho. It was totally my fault: I was trying to get through a gap in stopped cars, and I misjudged the distance. So in a week when everyone else in the GTA was skidding around in the winter wonderland, I just lack discernment. (Obviously.)

On Saturday I hosted a troupe tea to celebrate our successful debut and fight over Secret Santa stuff. Such a good way to end the year with the women who have changed my life forever. Sayward even give me a drop-spindle, a craft I was purposefully avoiding so that I could have the semblance of a social life. I can kiss that idea goodbye. Get ready for 2009: the year of the roving stash.

On Monday, Mason, Blake & I headed up to his parents' house for an Xmas sleepover. For people with four grandsons already, I'm continually surprised that they are so enthusiastic about seeing an honourary fifth. For me, the highlight was not the heated, late-night discussion of shifty Catholic priests, but rather the WWF wrestling ring of Mason's youth, unearthed for Blake's enjoyment. My boy had them all, including a ref. So we had the traditional Christmas smackdown, in miniature.

And then, on the way home, my transmission went on vacation. We were towed from the Kawarthas on the day before Christmas Eve, and the shop tells me that I'll be carless for a week into 2009 as well as on the hook for a 2 grand transmission. Ho ho ho…Santa, is there a mechanic in your family? Two repair bills in a week? Ho ho oh well. I've had a good run to this point.

Mason & I spent the time leading up to Christmas in an orgy…(wait for it…) of crafting. By the time Decemberween dawned, we had reduced the basement to a jumble of clean laundry, crafting supplies and a few unfortunate toys that got caught in the friendly fire. We spent almost all of the 'ween knitting, sewing and finishing things. And the best part was that it was fun. Blake was excited and happy, we were excited and happy, and there was a "Christmas in the trenches" feel to our final countdown of craftiness. Everything on my list was crossed off, with the exception of my mom's scarf that still needs an hour or two, but which I'd intended to finish on Christmas day (note to self: when hosting the family dinner for 10, don't expect a lot of time to sit n' knit).

I brought Mason to church on the 'ween, keeping him as far from my mom as possible. It worked, too: there was no apocalypse scenario, no fires to be doused. And I got to bring my sweetie to the big swirling chaotic mass of spirituality and grandparent-indulgery that is Xmas Eve. Also, for the second time in a lot of years, I didn't have the yearly "we are not going to your Mom's on the spur of the moment!" Decemberween fight that I've had with the Boy since we got married. Best Decemberween in a long time.

Yesterday I hosted my family for Christmas dinner. It was pretty good, right up until the point when the hat I'd made for my dad was widely mocked and I felt the need to retreat to the laundry room with my glass of wine before I burst into tears. I got over it. I had to. And everything else was excellent. My first turkey was juicy, completely cooked and, well, still had the giblets inside, but that wasn't a huge deal. The only snag was my spectacular lack of drinks, leading us to forage through the liquor cabinet for half-forgotten bottles of novelty whiskey. Even that was sort of fun, in retrospect.

And with the spectacular exception of my dad, all my other presents were well-received. It was a good Christmas. Of course, this one had no marital trauma, but it wasn't that that made me the happiest: it was putting my Blake to bed in his new pj's and then going to snuggle Mason while he finished reading "World's End." It was talking to Preacher on the phone. It was knowing that I had lots to do and many new things to be this year, and most of them were wonderful tasks and interesting identities. I'm happy. Merry Christmas, my peeps.

Labels: blake, crafty, dancing, family, friends, house rich, mason, outings

Back in Vancouver. Although the Lawyer says with typical confidence that there’s not much to this city, that may be because he’s leaving this month. Granted, it doesn’t have the obvious, roll-over-and-beg-for-treats wonderfulness of Seattle, but it’s an excellent place when the sun is shining. Did the aquarium this morning – the perfect place for Blake. From his youngest days he’s loved fish tanks full of motion and colour. Now we get to dazzle him with slick otters, bellicose sea lions, showy dolphins, irritated sturgeon, and miniature frogs like a scattered handful of amphibious jewels.

We took a tourist trolley around in the morning so we could cover ground and kill time until the aquarium opened. It was a good introduction to the city, although there was some tension when Blake had to suddenly get off to use a bathroom. [redacted rant about my parents…again] I’ll be glad when I won’t have to dread Blake’s misbehaviour at yet another restaurant.

Anyway. Vancouver. Vancouver reminds me of Mason, or it’s the kind of place I want to be with Mason. I constantly dream of the Boy and wake up irritated. I feel like I can’t clean the slate in my mind.

Saw the Lawyer this afternoon. Typical Lawyer; he dropped two big bombs within minutes of getting me into his car. He’s moving back to Toronto this month, and his wife won’t need a job because she’ll be raising their baby come December. Now I need to knit a layette. I’m inordinately excited.

My God, I miss home. I miss my bed. I miss my kitchen. I miss my garden. I miss Mason. I miss the phone that never rings and my stereo and my pictures. (I didn’t bring any music on this trip, grudging the luggage space. This is the first time since I was a preteen that I’ve traveled without a protective bubble of melody.)

This time I’ve just had to write comes to me courtesy of Javina, who is a bit late for our meet up. I’m excited, but I never know what to expect. I hope I can bring good news back to Toronto. And with that, I run out of space in this DiDi journal. Eeek.

Later:

Yes, all is well with Javina. She’s healthy and happy and I’m so glad to see it. Of all my long-distance friends, she’s the one I worry about the most. But not only is she thriving in paradise, she’s crocheting. I got to take home an octopus, which tickles me immensely.

Labels: blake, crafty, friends, vacation

Trying to gather my thoughts. I’ve been painting for 2 days and it’s taking a toll on my coherence. It's not just the fumes; it's also the fact that I listen to the same CD over and over until the painting is done. Last summer my album was “The Else” by TMBG (I still can’t listen to “The Bee of the Bird of the Moth” without thinking about edging my kitchen). This year it’s “In Our Bedrooms After the War” by Stars. Yes, I still manage to be electrified by bands everyone else has known about for years. At this point it’s a lifestyle choice.

So! Painting. The good news is that the second coat is drying in Blake’s room, and it is BLUE, baby. The bad news is that now I really, really want to make him some curtains. With some appliqué stars and planets and a rocketship. I think I need someone to talk sense into me before I go to Fabricland and set up my new-to-me sewing machine and spend days cursing about my seam ripper.

Speaking of crafting obsessions, here are some photos of the projects I was yammering on about last time:

As always, click through for more.

This Friday I got a haircut, which I immortalized at the same time Strong Bad was trying to get into Scherezade’s email.

This isn’t so much a photo of my hair as it is a photo of me and Scherezade in the park near the flatiron building. We tried to get a photo of my hair, but the results weren’t that striking. Suffice it to say that I walked into Destiny’s salon with serviceable but boring shoulder-length hair* and walked out with a bob. I even let her give me a fringe, as it’s summertime and it’s not critical that hair stays out of my face. It makes me feel like a flapper. And so damn cute besides, especially when I wear one of the few baby doll dresses that hide in my wardrobe, and I’m not speckled with blue paint. Cosmic Pluto was inspired to ruffle up the back without warning. It’s that kind of hair.

* Tomorrow is my eleventh anniversary of this journal. I’m pretty sure that when I woke up on Friday morning, I had the same hair as I had when I banged out that first semi-coherent entry. Plus ca change, etc.

Labels: crafty, friends, hair, house rich, on-line diaries

So, for just about all of my Blake-less summer vacation so far, I have been vegging. I had thought that it would be really hard without him for so long, and I did cry the first day when I saw a little guy splashing in a public wading pool, but mostly my angst has been reserved for me. Since the first shock faded in January, my loneliness and feelings of abandonment have never been as strong as they have been this month. I find that more than ever before, I long for the Boy. The interesting thing is that despite this desire, I don’t particularly want him back in the state he was when he left. I can recognize the nostalgia in my thoughts and I’ve decided to give it free reign. As long as I don’t get maudlin and start drunk dialing him and begging him to take me back, I’m going to accept these feelings as part of the process.

I’ve been telling people that getting separated is like getting ready to eat a pie. People like me tend to think that they’re smart enough to avoid certain pieces and they can throw away a bunch of the pie uneaten. The bitter truth I have found this summer is that I have to eat every damn piece of sadness, every piece of nostalgia, every piece of insecurity and fear. I do not get to skip a slice because I’m clever, or because I’m aware of the dangers or because I’m trying very hard to sympathize with the Boy’s decision. The pie has to be eaten regardless. And no, it does not come à la mode. (Unless the ice cream is made of tears, that is. Salty salty ice cream of tears.)

But! On a happier note, my mood has improved in the last 3 or 4 days, and I’ve mostly gotten over the hump of inactivity. It took a lot of aimless wandering, but it seems to be over. Yesterday was the first day that I felt normal and even happy to be out and scooting around the city. Which is a good thing because there were so many good things yesterday that it was more or less my birthday: first, a matinee of Die Roten Punkte that had me wishing for even more rock, then dinner at the Corner House for Summerlicious, and then a long and happy Stitch n’ Bitch at Lettuce that incorporated Little Mousling’s search for anonymous sperm donations (“just go to the Brunny and stand for a pitcher,” I counseled) as well as the memorable phrase “reach-around colonoscopy.” And Denny wasn’t even there to hike up the smut levels…we did it all on our own. I blame German performance rock and really good wine and the never-ending medical talk that practically begged for a punch line to lighten the load.

Yesterday and today I prepped Blake’s room for painting, and I hope to be done my taping in time for Saturday. I even bought him a fan, so that when he insists (as he does nightly) on going to bed in long pants and snuggling under a comforter, he might not die of heat exhaustion. (I find myself in the curious position of begging him to wear less clothes now that we’ve hit the warm weather. “Come on,” I whine, “don’t you just wanna wear your undies? Or nothing?” He makes me sweat just looking at him. And yet he springs up every morning refreshed and ready to snuggle in my bed. I don’t get it.)

I’m feeling a little guilty for taking advantage of his absence. Blake has been quite vocal about his desire to paint his own room. He’ll probably have a freak out when he finds it’s been done without him, and small wonder. Still, my guilt can’t quite overcome the sheer lunacy of single-parenting a 4-year-old while I paint his room. No dice, Blakers.

I really should have taken some “before” pictures; his room is usually a cluttered mess of epic proportions and almost all of it has all been transferred to the closet. I wouldn’t have thought it possible if I hadn’t done it myself. I even vacuumed the baseboards tonight, seeing as I’ll be getting up close and personal with them before long. And if this painting job is anything like my last one, I’ll still be painting when he comes home. He’ll like that.

I’m also finishing projects every couple of days, with recent standouts being the De Profundis pillow (which combines knitting with cloth strips of text so that Mason can decorate his couch with one of the most depressing bits from Oscar Wilde’s letter from prison) and an amigurumi Strong Bad. I’m madly in love with Strong Bad, and have to stop myself from saying the same thing over and over: “Dear Strong Bad, How do you crochet with boxing gloves on? Yours, Rocketbride” I think the people around me are finding it old.

I got my big box of prize yarns yesterday. There is something absolutely magical about a box of yarn that is for me and me only. It’s a pretty interesting assortment; not a lot of anything I would choose myself, which means that I’ll have to stretch and do a lot of new things. And there’s nothing wrong with a big old stretch, especially when I haven’t done yoga for months. Did you just hear something crack?

In final crafty news, I’m wondering if I have the fortitude to enter the Summer Ravelry Olympics. I committed to doing a lot of amigurumi toys this summer for my co-workers, and it would be kind of nice to plow through them in 17 days. On the other hand, I’m going to the Ottawa Folk Festival in the middle of the run, and I can’t imagine that it’ll help my time. Still, a dozen toys in 17 days would be pretty cool. We’ll see.

Labels: angst, crafty, friends, outings, the boy, victory

Some pictures, peeps. I made a Cthulhu toy for the cool home ec teacher/game store owner who got a new job for September. It was half farewell and half payment for getting me started re-lining my favourite spring coat (translation: she traced, cut and sewed it together; now I get to sew it in. I'm cool with that.)

For those who worry, I am seeing a counsellor about once a month. I'm also reading some good books about CBT and one called Rebuilding After Your Relationship Ends which sort of makes me mad but has some good stuff buried among the patronizing points. Last night, when all I felt like doing was crying, Mason came over and made us supper. Good, healthy, fresh food does wonders for my mood. I even had the energy to clean up the kitchen before he arrived, which was an insurmountable horror when I was weeping into the tissue Blake so kindly provided. My parents are worried that I'll scar Blake with the tears, but the truth is that I cry very infrequently around him. Yesterday was a big exception. I worry more about the time I disengage, although I don't suppose it's any worse than what the Boy was doing this fall. I'm hoping to use the next two weeks to recharge and find my joy wherever it's hiding.

Labels: angst, crafty, health

I had a lot of fun this morning. As soon as Blake & I finished breakfast, we sat on the couch for some reading/chilling time. During this pause, I noticed something exciting across the street: a yard sale! Blake, despite his bad associations with the concept (think: Toy Story 2) and the fact he was still in pjs was easily convinced to go across the street. I found a haul of excellently tacky knit & crochet patterns, and managed to wander into a psychodrama.

"Blake, don't go anywhere," I cautioned, "we have to pay for these patterns."

"Nope," said the middle-aged man in charge. "Just take them. They're women things. She left me, and I don't care what happens to her stuff." He went over to another customer and continued, "all purses for a dollar. Women stuff. She paid twenty dollars – of my money! – for that purse. You can have it for a dollar."

It took all the social grace I had not to back away slowly, but instead to turn and walk like I heard this sort of thing all the time. As we moved around that morning, I continued to catch glimpses into the marital trainwreck across the way, courtesy of the curiosity of other customers and a loud cellphone conversation.

i keep typing "yarn sale" by accident

Gee, I hope she won't need that crocheted vest pattern now that she's living with her boyfriend.

In other crafty news, I managed to get myself a free afternoon while the boys were out buffing the hog, so I set up the sewing machine and started to make curtains. It took 2 hours, and I need a curtain rod for the final step, so I'm not done yet. Still, despite the extremely salty language that spewed out of me during the set up, and despite the fun of only having one plug (so I could use the sewing machine and the iron, just not at the same time)… I think I'm going to do this again.

Labels: crafty, humanity on parade