Scarves!

I don't know why, but here lately, I've been on a real scarf kick. Making, them, I mean, not wearing them. Jesus, it's been hot the last few days. I guess I slept through the day that Arkansas experienced some kind of geological hiccup that left it somewhere below Missisippi.

But yeah, scarves.

I don't know what it is about a scarf that fascinates me so. It may just be that they're such an easy project. Here's a beginning, here's an end, here's a million variations of color, stitch, pattern, and length. Kind o

f like knitting itself.

I guess I'm just suffering from a terminally short attention span right now (always). If a project hits that magic eight-hour mark, it's game over, at least temporarily. Over the years, there have been exceptions to this rule, most notably a scarf I finished in a single twelve-hour sitting, but by and large, if it's more than a certain number of hours, or if the progress is slow, it's just not gonna get done.

I like seeing the results of my work, which is why I still have yet to produce a full sweater for anyone.

Anyway, I'm not really trying to tie up everyone's ears and time with a long piece. Just wanted to update so people know that I'm still breathing -- reading, swearing, and occasionally even venturing out of the house. Talk to y'all later.

~namaste

Confession time

Wow. That's all I can really say. Wow. The last two weeks have been interesting. I've been running my legs off some days, feeling like there's no way in hell there's enough daylight, and then crashing the next, burned out on the bureaucratic process.

Okay, I might as well start here.

I'm not working at Goodwin's anymore. I'm not entirely sure why. All I know is that I was in Little Rock, on my normal weekend trip, when I got a phone call just as second shift was starting. I was being let go. After three years of working just above minimum wage, three years of never taking a vacation and barely taking a sick day, I was being let go. Oh, wait.

This is starting to sound like one of those problems that isn't really a problem at all. I have been inconvenienced, but I will not be silenced. I am also not going to sit and sulk about this. Let her do whatever it is she thinks is best for her business, and I will get on with my life. And I have. Cody, magnificent man that he is, has taken it in stride that I've moved in, thankfully, and I've got a new job, one that's paying me more than Vicki ever paid me or thought of paying me. In spite of everything, I'm going to be okay. Better than okay.

It hurts. It's never fun when you get to see exactly what was hiding behind all of those "I love you" speeches, when people prove themselves to be unworthy of your love, affection, time and attention. I won't lie and say that it doesn't hurt to realize that I was being lied to by someone who realized that the only way I would stick around is if I felt special and indebted.

Indebted. I can't tell you how many times I've heard the words "after everything we've done for you." As if I haven't given anything in return. As if I haven't worked, and sweated, and cried, tearing out my hair and beating my brains out trying to figure out what I could do, what could I possibly do, to give a little more of myself, every day. For what?

For a future with no hope or possibility of advancement, whether in respect, privilege, or pure earnings. For a future with no life, giving more and more of myself, a little more with every passing day, until...what? Where could that place have possibly taken me except downward?

Maybe I'm being a little bleak. Maybe there is something in there somewhere that sees and regrets what has been done. Maybe.

Maybe.

I'm choosing to look at this as an opportunity. As a fresh start. As a good riddance to the control and paranoia I've been subjected to over the last couple of years.

In all of this, I want to thank Cody, the wonderful guy who has made this possible and kept me sane, who has kept me going when I thought I could not move another step.

I love you. With every bit of my heart, I do.

Changes in Attitude

Well, I think it may have happened. My brother is sleeping on the bed in my living room. I hate to see it, but you know, he's my baby brother, after all. There's worse places for him to be. No further comments. We'll get all that sorted out later.

So....

A lot has changed in the last few weeks. I cannot get my head around the fact that in two months (less than two months, really) I will be leaving the area, hopefully for good. I will miss all these people around here, the hills and secretive hideaways that have been, for so many years, my home, but the time has come for something new. I'm moving in with Cody, starting school, and leaving behind me this job and life that I've been living, in exchange for something new. Bully for me.

On a lighter note, I've been sewing more and more here lately. Examples include:




Now, I know that I'm the world's worst when it comes to procrastination. But I'm going to try to get better about posting blog entries, writing about the twists and turns my life is taking, and, once I get moved in in Little Rock, getting my handsome boyfriend to do a fashion shoot for me. I've been stenciling and making t-shirts like a man possessed, and the only reason I am not currently sewing a creature is that I have run out of the little plastic beads that I use for weighting their feet. Yesterday I did a painting, and it seems like wherever I turn, I'm finding inspiration.

For as long as I can remember, I've been doing this. Ideas, slippery little things that they are, come and go, and I am increasingly eager to catch them. I credit Chris for this, and it's on this point I must digress for a moment.

Last week, I had a dream. I wound my way to a dead woman's house, somewhere way out in the sticks, and found a low-roofed mobile home filled with boxes. I started digging, when all of a sudden, I felt a presence behind me. I whirled around, and found myself face to face with an old lady, dressed in white with a huge grin on her face. She held up her hand, then began rummaging through the boxes. She knew what she was looking for.

Suddenly, she stood up, holding out a white skirt. It was short, about mid-thigh length, with a high waist and crisp pleats. She let me look at it, then snatched it away again, writing on the back of it with long, scrawling strokes. She gave it back, then took me by the shoulders and smiled. Her eyes were radiant, the brightest blue I'd ever seen. She vanished.

The next day (or maybe the day after, I can't remember), my mother came in to see me at work, and she had a little wooden box.

"Miss Nancy's been going through the stuff at her friend's apartment," she said, pushing it across the counter. Nancy is her neighbor. Nancy's friend, Chris, was in assisted living, and died a couple of weeks ago. I didn't know what to expect, only that I was getting a gift from a dead woman. The box had a palette, palette knives, paintbrushes, turpentine, and a little clip-on bowl for putting turpentine on the side of the palette. At this point, I had no inkling of doing any painting. My gesso has sat in my cupboard for well over eight months, and I have never experimented with oils. But, a sign is a sign, and lo, I sat down yesterday and did a project. I have never had so much fun with paint. So Chris, wherever you are, my dear, I say thanks, and more thanks.

~namaste

Alchemy

Call me crazy, but the new boyfriend has got me thinking fashion again. Yeah, yeah, so I'm twitterpated. But he's amazing. And inspirational.

I'm wondering.....see, I know a lot about magic. Not Disney magic, but magic from history. The alchemists, the Druids, the rune-readers of the frigid north: all of these have fascinated me through the years, and I'm thinking that should be where I'm pulling my images for graphics and logos. A kind of pop magic, if you will, urban wizardry. These symbols are so much a part of our culture, a part of human culture, but still foreign to us in our supposedly more enlightened age.

The alchemists, in particular, fascinate me. Here was a group of men dedicated to the impossible, men seeking after a fever dream of immortality and boundless wealth. They laid the foundations, in a way, for our modern understanding of the universe........

On another note, I have been drinking green tea at the rate of four cups every two hours. What's going on here?

Dark have been my dreams of late....

In my dreams, heaven and hell are the same place. Hell is a restaurant, staffed by picky eaters, poor tippers, and rotten, impatient rude customers. Heaven is getting to go and eat at that restaurant.

I think everyone should have to work on the wrong side of a restaurant counter for about two weeks at some point in their lives. No exceptions. It would make us think long and hard about the shit we put our servers through.

"Could you go light on the mustard?"

"I would like that lightly toasted."

"Are you sure you can't do breakfast? It's really easy...."

"Could you make that extra crispy?"

"Leave off the bell peppers...."

"Could you put that on the side for me?"

"Timmy, tell the man what you want..."

"It's how much?!?!"

I'm gonna address that last one specifically:

Listen, you senile old fuck: at some point between 1950 and 2010, inflation happened and prices went up. We are not trying to screw you out of your pension. We are not hiding food or menu items. And, while we're at it, if you want to be waited on hand and fucking foot, learn where the tip jar is and how to use it, you miserable, cheap sack of shit. I didn't just cook dinner for you and your pack of yowling grandchildren just for kicks.

As for the rest:

Fuck you. If there is one thing on this earth that I cannot understand, it's a picky eater. I just don't get it. It's food. Shut up and eat it. Why is it that we feel the need to assert our individuality by making people's lives a living hell? If you have to give a server ten minutes worth of instruction before they can take your food to the kitchen, then do us all a favor and stay the fuck at home. A bell pepper will not kill you. You are not gonna die if you get a teeny bit too much salad dressing.

Learn to cook for yourself.

Here's another pet peeve: if you're gonna call in an order to a restaurant, know what you want before you pick up the phone. Don't keep someone on the phone while you wait for dad to get out of the bathroom so he can tell you what he wants on his burger. I am so sick of hearing people yelling across the house.

"HEY, JOHN! WHAT DO YOU WANT ON YOUR BURGER?"

"WHAT DO THEY HAVE?"

"What do you have?"

"WE HAVE THE SAME STUFF YOU'VE BEEN GETTING ON A BURGER SINCE YOU WERE OLD ENOUGH TO EAT SOLID FOOD!!!! Could we please hurry up with this order? I've got ten customers waiting impatiently at the counter."

When I stand in a line at a restaurant, I spend the time figuring out what I want to eat, so that by the time I get to the counter, I can make my order quickly and get the hell out of everyone else's way. Some people have no grasp of this concept. When they get to the counter, they suddenly realize they're in a restaurant, and their brains completely lock up. What do I do? What do I do? In desperation, they say the one thing that comes to mind, and it's the most irritating question you can hear at that point:

"What's good?"

or:

"Tell me what I want to eat" (usually accompanied by a nervous laugh).

I don't know what you want to eat. I don't have time to make recommendations. Besides, people who ask that question know what they want nine times out of ten. They want their minds read, and that one specific thing pulled out by a stranger who has to guess.

I won't say that I'm innocent of all this. I will not open myself up to accusations of hypocrisy. I will instead just say this:

I have worked the wrong side of the fast food counter. I know what it's like.

I will eat whatever is set in front of me, whether or not I ordered it, as long as it's not burnt beyond recognition or obviously spoiled.

I know what I want when I get to the counter.

I don't ask stupid questions.

And if, by chance, I should get on your nerves, or ask a stupid question, just remember: my minimum tip is usually 25%.

Love,

Paden

Okay!

A lot has happened since the last time I posted, as you may have guessed by the length of time that's passed. (What the hell happened to February?) Well, I had a lot of time to do some thinking, and a whole lot of cooking. Not to mention the knitting. My god, the knitting. I have gone on another sock kick, but we're not here to talk about socks.

I think that it's time to widen the depth and breadth of this blog. It's all well and good talking about my creature creations, but it gets old for me pretty quickly, to be honest with you. So I'm thinking about branching out, perhaps a little farther than I already have.

See, I work in a kitchen in a retirement community. That really opens up a lot of windows. I live in a small town, I read way too much for my own good, and even, occasionally, write a little something here and there. It's not much, but it's my life. I also love taking pictures.


I'm going to play this one by ear.

Oh, and the boyfriend is out of the picture. I can't really say that I'm too sorry to see him go. I learned a lot from him, but the time came for us to move on, and I have tried and tried to make that abundantly clear to him, but he' just not getting it. I wish I could fix that, but god knows we can't control anyone else's life.



Anyway, moving on (and I am trying), I went into Shirley, the town where I went to high school, and took a look around. I haven't spent a lot of time there over the last few years, so I thought I would take my camera down and have a look around. I have to say, the experience was unique. Quite apart from the fact that quite a bit has changed around town, there was also the plain and simple fact that I was seeing the town through fresh eyes for the first time, and my god, it was beautiful. Despite the clouds. And the recent rain. Not to mention the constant string of cars headed for more exciting destinations like....Mountain View? I don't know. All I know is that the pictures turned out great.....



Anyway, I'm rambling...the sleeping pill will kick in any minute, and leave me dozing until my alarm wakes me at a godawful hour. I'm going hiking tomorrow afternoon. I love you all!

~namaste

Some explanation is in order....

Here we go again.

I have not been writing enough. There's a reason. Their names are Schemp, Divvy, Cassie, and Chandler. They're greyhounds, beautiful greyhounds, magnificent dogs, but they took a big chunk out of my week because I was dog-sitting. I don't have a picture of Schemp. (He's a little camera-shy.)

So really, between Thursday, January 7th and Tuesday, January 19, I slept in my own bed a grand total of zero days. I went to see Lolo (more on him later...) and spent a night with Vicki, stayed with my dad for two days while the snow came down (more on THAT next paragraph) and then went to see Lolo again. Then I got called in a day early to sit with the dogs, got off Sunday afternoon, went on my first official date with Lolo, stayed through Monday (had an AMAZING weekend) and came home with a wonderful, sweet, adorable new boyfriend.

Snow. Snow. Snow. What can I say about the snow? Every year, the same thing happens in Fairfield Bay. The first snow falls, more than we expected, and we act like it's the first time it's ever snowed anywhere. Nothing was really ready, and the city had changed the snow route so that it went down a winding hill, a wandering deathtrap that ended with a five-foot drop into icy water at the bottom of a steep, un-snow-plowable hill. What geniuses they are. It was more like a sadistic joke than a safety measure. On top of that, everyone panics and wants to get out on the road to see the scenery and raid the local convenience store (us) for milk and bread. By ten, I was telling people that there was no safe route out of Fairfield Bay, that whoever designed the snow routes should be caned without mercy, and that yes, we were indeed open.

I spent two days with my dad, time well spent. We had a great time. I watched something like sixteen hours of Star Trek: Voyager and knitted two or three hats before crawling off to bed, muttering something about 'needs of the many...'

As for Lolo...

Only time will tell. All I can say right now is that I miss him terribly. He's a beautiful guy, inside and out. I want to say goodnight to him for a long time.

Enough sentimentality. Here's what I look like this morning, with no shower and a new haircut... Don't I just look radiant? A little ray of sunshine.

~namaste