art

Turtles

After I inflamed the tendons in my foot with sloppy treadling, I decided that I should mix up my yarn spinning by using a drop spindle every now and then. Eventually, I got a turkish drop spindle set.

Naturally I made a quick reference of video tutorials to ensure that I was winding the yarn on correctly to create a center-pull ball. I very quickly noticed that everyone was neatly lining up their yarn to make very neat “turtles” that visually look very neat. (Turtles are what they call the yarn balls that are woven around the cross sticks)

Context:

I’m an INTP. When I saw this video by Frank James about how the different personality types kill their relationships, my initial reaction was, “I would never go out in public wearing pajamas … but yeah, he’s spot on.” I’m not all that big on social presentation. I can’t remember the last time I wore makeup, and while I do clean house every day, I’m terrible at organization. I figure that I don’t have any room in my life for people who are going to be pissy about my house being full of children. There are toys everywhere. Deal with it.

So, when it comes to spending extra time making a temporary ball of yarn look pretty, I’m skeptical.

If there’s some other purpose, then I’m open to the idea. Does it tangle less when being unwound? Fits more yarn? I’m genuinely curious. I don’t mind spending the extra time if it somehow benefits me later — I’m just not going to do it purely for aesthetic. I’m waaay too INTP for that.

I almost asked about possible other benefits on one of the youtube tutorials, but was overcome with anxiety instead. Would my question be taken as an insult, and get me attacked and ridiculed? I daren’t say anything.

Which paints a depressing picture of how I’ve experienced socializing with other women.

Personality wise, I strongly prefer spinning wheels anyway. I’m only doing this to avoid aggravating the tendons in my foot again.

So I’ll just quietly do my own thing, and stay far away from those pretty little “turtles”.

About Me

Christmas Culture

I grew up in the sort of community where the entire month of December was dedicated to giving and receiving Christmas goodies with the neighbors. Sometimes I miss the connection of having lots of people to share with, but these days I daren’t risk offending anyone by putting both gluten and sugar in the center of their awareness — I’d never hear the end of it.

Besides, the Mormons already dislike (hate?) me enormously, and giving out treats would only make it worse. I hold the honored distinction of having been lectured by them for being too old fashioned, and that was before I discovered the joys of spinning and weaving. It’s one of those situations where there’s no possible way of winning, so it’s better to pretend they don’t exist.

The culture I grew up in is dead.

Everyone was quick to trade it in for social media dieting trends, so it wasn’t worth that much to begin with.

I’m the sort that lives life on my own terms, so I don’t sit around feeling helpless over small things. I make plenty of Christmas desserts for ourselves, full of gluten, sugar, and fat — all of those naughty things people tut-tut over. We’re happy, and that’s what matters. (We’re also healthier and more energetic than those on restrictive diets, but we don’t talk about that)

I hope that my children grow up into a better world, but in the off-chance that it doesn’t improve, we’ll still have each other.

About Me

Winter Solstice

Happy solstice everyone!

Yule is in full swing around here, and shall continue through January 1st. And, just like every other year, there’s a list of activities that I wanted to do, but didn’t have enough time to get around to, ha ha. Such is life.

Maybe I’ll be able to sneak in making some hazelnut brittle and fudge somewhere. After all, that liminal week between Christmas and New Year is perfect for a variety of activities, especially for people like me who prefer to avoid crowds.

It always makes me a little sad when the festivities are over.

For now I’m cruising on coffee and sugar, going a little bit crazy, and having the time of my life.

I love holidays.

Photo by Jay Fauntleroy on Pexels.com

Byautumnrain.com

About Me

Countdown

Here we are, inside the final countdown to Christmas.

And I am up to my eyeballs in sugar and hyperactive children.

I’ve been seeing an increasing number of blog posts and Christmas letters summarizing how the year has gone for others, so I asked myself, do I want to write about my own experiences?

No. No I don’t.

I will say that last night I watched a movie with my husband, snuggled under a soft blanket, with sleeping children, and a three-legged cat, so things could be worse.

I wish it would snow more. Watching big flakes drift lazily down outside the window is so cozy.

I might have enough time to try my hand at making fudge this year. How’s that for optimism?

byautumnrain.com

About Writing

Zombies

I don’t lurk around the internet as much as I used to.

Truth is, I don’t think that the internet inherently brings out the worst in people. I think that it’s being used to manipulate people into awful behavior.

But anyway, I used to really love blogs and read a fair number of them. As a writer, I’m a bit of a voyeur when it comes to other people’s minds, and blogs were the perfect way to peer into a wide range of thoughts and lifestyles. My reading list ranged from the-Mormon-next-door to BDSM sex blogs … Maybe I shouldn’t admit to that, lol.

Several years ago, a woman I followed had a miscarriage. In the ensuing emotional fallout, she broke up with her boyfriend because he reminded her of their lost baby, wrote about how she was drifting aimlessly, and frequently referenced how unexpected and painful it had been.

Last year, someone else I followed also had a miscarriage. However, this time it was referenced as a short note explaining why they were taking time off, and they were back to their usual posts literally three days later. The miscarriage was never mentioned again.

Philosophically, I’m a vitalist. Our existence as living beings matters.

The woman, who’s entire world was shattered over the loss of her baby, was fundamentally alive. She experienced and expressed her pain in a way that made sense and was relatable as a human being. While I didn’t agree with all of her choices (her boyfriend sounded like one of those wonderful supportive sorts, and breaking up with him when he was similarly hurting seemed pointlessly destructive), I could at least understand why she made those choices.

But, the person last year who had a miscarriage came across more like a bot. Okay, so they didn’t want to air their private life on the internet, but … only three days offline? Since when is that an appropriate mourning period for a tragic loss?

Heck, when I had my own miscarriage, I dedicated an entire month to mourning, wallowing, and tantruming, and even that felt like I was putting my emotional recovery on the fast track. Heaven knows how long it would have taken if I hadn’t so singularly focused on it.

Three days is just sociopathic.

I don’t like the comparisons between then and now. I don’t like knowing that the virus for zombification is electronically transmitted through the internet.

I don’t like peeking into other people’s minds anymore.

About Writing

Writing in 2022

I had made it my goal to publish a book every year, but at this point I can definitely say that it’s not going to happen in 2022.

It’s been a chaotic year.

At the very least, I can say that this year was dedicated to fairly big events, like having baby #6, and saving our cat’s life at the cost of her leg — there was never a point where I could have been writing, but just didn’t. So hey, good enough for me.

Dear master sergeant Hartmann, one day you will grasp the object of your desires. But probably not this month.

And CR1515 will have to wait until next year to continue his steamy philosophical rants. You have no idea how much I enjoy writing a cynical cyborg.

On that note, I’ve had this particular quote by CR1515 echoing in my head of late.

Humans have become the worst combination of lazy and entitled. They don’t want me to be relatable – they want to hate me because they know that I am superior to their celebrations of mediocrity and failure. They don’t want to achieve anything great, or even to manage their own basic survival, and they will attack anything that reflects their own pathetic state back to them.

This speech is promptly followed with lots and lots of delicious arguing, lol. Gosh I miss the bickering and ranting in that story.

Maybe (and this is a big MAYBE) I’ll get away with publishing both The Scion Suit Multiverse and CR1515 next year … provided no one loses any more limbs.

About Me

Continued

We ended up deciding to transfer our cat over to our regular vet for some extra care, so she didn’t come home until today.

She’s eating well, but with the broken front leg and the cone around her head, I’ve been helping with holding the food up so she can reach it more easily (I can’t figure out how to get the cone off for her to eat, and I’m scared to handle her at this point).

The kids are being really well behaved about all this. I’ve told them that they can keep her company sitting by the kennel, but they have to stay quiet and not touch her, and so far they’ve been perfectly obedient about it. Of course, she’s a pretty pathetic sight at the moment, and they’re probably just as scared of accidentally hurting her as I am.

Tired.

At this point, all that’s left to do is to keep an eye on our cat and keep up with her medications.

Probably time to catch up on some sleep.

About Me

Cat

Our cat, the one who’s fur I spun into yarn for fun, disappeared for a couple of days, then showed up yesterday badly injured.

I took one look at the cat’s back leg and honestly told the children that the she was probably going to lose it. My husband rushed her to the emergency clinic, where they put her on painkillers and IV fluids, and an examination of the wound revealed that it was not only badly infected, but had maggots in it as well. Yuck! Her blood work showed that we found her in the nick of time, because the infection was on the verge of going systemic and turning into blood poisoning.

Sure enough, her back leg was amputated during the night.

Her front leg is also broken, and she has deep bruising all over. My husband asked the clinic what they thought could have caused all these injuries, but they couldn’t say for certain. It could have been a car, or she could have gotten caught on a fence and fallen.

She isn’t home yet — we’re waiting on a consult with an orthopedic specialist for what to do about her front leg (whether a splint is going to be sufficient for her bones to heal, or if she’s going to need pins inserted). I’m hoping to have her back this afternoon or evening.

I feel awful when I think about how much agony she was in while she was dragging her broken body back home, especially because it took a couple of days.

But if she had wanted to die, she would have laid down in the bushes and died. She wants to live. Besides, this is our cuddle kitty who’s all heart and no brain — we have to do what we can to take care of her.

I’m going to get a kennel set up for her in the laundry room, with puppy pads because the vet said that she won’t be able to use a litter box for awhile. She’s going to need medicine, and to have her bandages changed regularly as well. However, the vet has assured us that cats handle amputations very well, and that there’s a good chance she’ll return to full mobility once she’s healed — but she does need to stay indoors from now on.

For those who are following my blog, you’ll know that this is coming on top of our 15-year-old cat getting treated for an abscess after fighting with a stray.

So, kind of feeling a touch cursed right now.

About Me

Ramblings

In Splatoon 3, I get the feeling that there are two factions: those who want to have a chill time inking base, and those who want to rush middle.

Me? Well, I’m a mid-30s stay-at-home mom playing Splatoon 3 because my 10-year-old likes it. I don’t have the reflexes to successfully rush middle, so I prefer to ink base.

But I am tickled by the fact that no one has any clue what these terms mean. Look at me, I’m blabbering gibberish. Ha, ha!

Seriously though, Nintendo isn’t exactly known as the hardcore gamer console. I like it the best because the games are playable for me and my kids. Just because this particular game is online, doesn’t mean that it shouldn’t be just as playable as Luigi’s Mansion or Breath of the Wild, and I don’t particularly enjoy being told that I should emulate the way a 20-year-old male NEET plays video games.

Anyway, the artwork on the whole is a lot more lighthearted and less furry-oriented this week, which is better. I actually bought a stylus for my 10-year-old to use for drawing, because she’s really developing as an artist. Watching my kids grow as individuals is the best part of being a parent.