Awakened

Last night I watched God Grew Tired of Us: A documentary about the Lost Boys of Sudan. The effect it had on me has lasted through the night and when my eyes opened this morning, the rush of urgent emotions were overwhelming. A sense of helplessness and utter gratitude runs through my blood. I am staggered by my desire to do more in my life. John Dau is an inspiration and has renewed my desire to help that I've held dormant for several years.

I've never been privileged. However, I've never been without the basic necessities of life either. After this film, I am thankful for the very shirt I'm wearing today. The very fact that I can sleep on my cheap Salvation Army mattress. The fact that I've had the same furniture for more than 10 years. The fact that I have only two good pairs of shoes. The fact that I can smile and hug my family and see my daughter's face every morning.

I know that my family won't be shot. I know that I won't have to trek through a scorching desert, barefoot, a shell of a person and without anyone to take care of me. I know that my skeleton will remain safe under my skin. I know that I will live.

This film reminded me that I may have very little, but I have infinitely more than most.

These boys, now men, spoke of their feelings like it was the most natural moment in the world. Their souls shone in their hopeful eyes. Their desire to come to America and live the dream. The dream; didn't happen. The dream was a full circle back to Africa in one way or another. They were brought to this place we call freedom, yet all they thought about were the good times in Africa; their "parliament", their songs, their way of living, regardless of the hardships.

I guess I may be affected more than most people. I'm 37 and have never been abroad. I feel very under-privileged, and less of a person for it. It is unfair that some get to see the world and people like me have trouble buying food for the week. I was one of the first people in my family to graduate college. College promised a bigger world. A hope of a better future. I majored in print journalism; which has gotten me nowhere but maybe a few bucks more an hour. My minors were of more importance as I look back. I minored in African Studies and Swedish Studies.

My desire to travel is in my bones. I like to think that in my past life, I was everywhere and saw many cultures because my life as it is now is very sheltered and not because I want it to be that way. I want to travel more than anyone can understand. I want it so bad it causes me to cry some nights because the need to go see the world is more than I can bear. It's part of my fabric of being. It is the gold thread that runs through the quilt of my life.

I've wanted to go to Africa since I was 15. I want to help. I want to be part of the difference that we make over there. I want immersion. I don't know when or how I'll ever get there, but I do hope that in my lifetime, I will get to see how other people live and write about it. Until then, I can only dream and imagine what it must feel like to leave this country.

Knitting Single

Surfing through blogs recently inspired a connection that I’ve been trying to work out: Is knitting hindering my dating life?

Which leads me once again on a path to revisit the complex nature of communication. I often wish I could keep my mouth shut. I speak, foot enters mouth and I spend the rest of the day trying to remove it. Because all of us at some point are subjected to the “Actions speak louder than word,” schpeel. I don’t know about you, but I roll my eyes, heave a big sigh and proceeded to convince myself that my verbal action has way more re-action than anything I could do in silence. How wrong I often find myself. Without saying a word, I tell people who I am by what I do. A simple concept? Maybe.

However, someone told me recently that I was never going to meet anyone sitting around knitting all the time (coming from a non-knitter). As a single woman, how do men see me? Am I better off meeting someone doing activities I enjoy or are words where it’s at? What do single men think of women who knit in public? I can’t help but wonder if we (knitters) attract them or if we take ourselves off the market with every knit and purl stitch?

At 37, things look a lot different than they did at 16. I’m a single mother of a beautiful 15-year-old girl. I’ve been married twice and divorced twice and now looking into the barrel of the single-in-my-thirties gun. I work two jobs and am at constant odds with myself about the choices I make. I often find myself in panic-mode quickly at the thought and dread of never finding the ‘one.’ I continue to knit my way through problems. Knit one, purl one, pause, problem solved. Well, maybe. It’s more of a coping mechanism rather than a problem solver. My thoughts snowball into that grimy ball of self-doubt and, wham! It’s the pity party for one and you are all invited. However, I’m not that easily thwarted. I’m always after the perfect explanation. The perfect solution; only to realize there is very seldom the perfect solution. There is the gray area that so many of us seem to exist in. That is where theories come in. Postulating solutions based on past experience and why the present is what it is.

Now don’t get me wrong. It’s not as if I’m toting my knitting out to the bars. That is, if I were to frequently patron bars. I’m not into that. I live in Seattle; The Mecca of the computer dating scene. Around here the hot spots vary depending on who you talk to. Dog parks, coffee shops that litter just about every bloody corner and from what I’ve heard, grocery stores. I frequent the coffee shops and the dog park that is one mile from me and I have to tell you the prospects are slim pickins’. And when I do get a chance meeting, the inevitable question of what I do for fun comes up and I tell them. Men get this distant look in their eyes like knitting is reserved for people on another planet, particularly those who are aged and ‘domestic.’

I recently came across a blog, www.purselipsquarejaw.org, by Dr. Anne Galloway and she writes:

What is it about knitting in public that can be so unsettling? Are we afraid that someone knitting cannot, or worse yet does not wish to, engage with those around them? (Women have long gathered to knit and gossip.) Is it the intrusion of a private activity into public space that unsettles? (Like the laptop user at the local cafe, or the conference backchannel?) Perhaps this is where the public discomfort comes from? A woman knitting in public is self-possessed, she almost flaunts her ability to be productive when others can't, to create when others can only consume. From this emotional politics she can also claim moral righteousness, and in the multi-tasking dimension, she can claim superior skill and challenge the notion that public space is unitary or unified in process and product.

Self-possessed, flaunting? Yes, all valid social intimidations. I have been known to be a bit obsessive in my knitting habits. I do enjoy those who approach me and ask me what it is I’m knitting and the fawning that follows. It would make anyone’s ego fly a bit. However, my public knitting is due to the love of it, not to flaunt my ability to multi-task.

I’ve been knitting for about 10 years. I teach knitting classes two evenings a week at my local yarn shop and I can knit anything I set my heart on. I’ve been known to knit socks in the movie theatre and out at dinner or waiting for the bus. Knitting happens. It shouldn’t be a big deal. And it isn’t; except now I’m thinking it may preventing my ability to expand my social circle in order to meet more people, therefore increasing my odds of meeting a great guy.

Now arguably, there is a social life as a knitter; but men aren’t usually present. You know what I mean ladies. The girls come over, we’re laughing, watching some sappy romantic comedy and knitting until we can’t knit anymore because alcohol and knitting never mix... Fun though it is, it’s not conducive to the traditional dating scene.

I have a few friends whose husbands adore their knitting and regularly support their endeavors. These are the chosen few who have amazing men in their lives. That is not the norm. Most women aren’t so lucky. Our obsession is shared amongst other women knitters. I would give just about anything to have that sort of support. However, I simply refuse to give up the knitting or be sans knitting at any coffee shop or bus stop. So what’s a single gal to do?

I’m one tough bird (thank you Mom). So, I get in my ‘Queen of Research’ mode and find answers to solve the unsolvable. Sometimes it works, sometimes I just have to accept that it’s another one of those mysteries in life that I’m destined never to figure out. “Everything happens for a reason, Christina.” I can’t tell you how rich I’d be if I would have just put a penny in a jar every time my Mother says that to me. That household doctrine doesn’t explain the variables to that statement. It’s an easy statement to make; one that we can simply use so that further exploration is no longer needed. I am not satisfied with that.

Last year I dated a man for about 9 months. He knew I loved to knit. He even went out of his way to buy me knitting books for my birthday. But when I brought out the ACTUAL knitting, he got uncomfortable. I remember being on his boat one evening when there was some dead time that we had to just relax until the event started and I took out my knitting and he laughed and said, “You are just so domestic.” Was that supposed to be a compliment because it sure didn’t sound like it. I proceeded to tell him it was my way of relaxing and he made it sound as if I were being homely. It was almost as if he was embarrassed by the fact I was knitting. So, I put it away. I no longer felt comfortable with what made me relax for me he wouldn't take me seriously. I knew the relationship wouldn't last...and I was right. A few months later, I broke it off.

Since then I’ve had a fair share of dating, but when I mention that I knit I feel as if I have to apologize for it or laugh it off like it’s silly. Most of the time the response is, “Cool.” Cool? What does that mean? It’s pacification, in my opinion. There is no inquiry; nothing to indicate they wish to know more about it. What am I supposed to do with that when knitting is such a huge part of who I am?

I see lots of women knitting in public. It’s quite surprising. But it’s also women I meet who are already attached or married. So why do they care? I often wonder if they would stop given the possibility that it would impede their ability to meet someone. I get all kinds of comments from women in public; all very interesting and positive. There was one woman who came over to where my sister and I were sitting at a coffee shop and without the slightest hesitation said, “I used to knit blankets for crack babies!” Way out of left field, but the point is: I am always approached by women and never men. It confirmed more of my theory; men aren’t approaching me when I knit.

Knitting at bus stops only gets me raised eyebrows and confusion by men. I can almost feel a physical pulling away. I continue my research. There has never been one man in all the places I’ve been in Seattle, to flash a positive, welcoming glance my way when I’m knitting. Reading? Yes. Staring at the scenery? Yes. Knitting? Not so much. I haven’t given up hope though. No one should ever give up something they love to do for anyone.

As progressive and urban as knitting is in this city; for we have an amazing community of shops, teachers, events and friends, knitting is still looked at as an old-woman hobby by most men. It reminds them of mom or an aunt or whatever it conjures in their minds. To most men, I think a good time to be had isn’t in the hands of a knitter.

I know he has to be out there. Someone who will adore the very fact that I am a fiber-maven and he will wear every pair of socks I knit; love every hat and scarf and sweater I make and wear it with pride. He is out there…with soulful eyes and an amazing smile.

Just when I think I may have to stop knitting if I want to meet anyone, I was on the bus to work the other day working on the Citron shawl (turned out lovely, I might add) I felt a pair of eyes on me and turned to the right and a handsome dark-haired gentleman, looked around a passenger to see what I was doing and he smiled. Maybe there is hope yet!

Seattle Mystery Bookshop

Some of my fondest memories growing up as a young adult centered around reading. I remember summer being my favorite time because my best friend and I used to go to the local small bookshop, Cheshire Books, and trade in our plastic bags full of used books every few weeks. We always made a full afternoon out of it. The bookshop was in downtown Yakima, so getting there wasn't a challenge. One can walk the length of Yakima in a very short time, so we'd meet and begin an afternoons' journey into the great world of literature.

I was taken back in time within those asymmetrical walls of books. All genres enticing me to join in the great fun. The resident Cheshire cat would mosey around and lounge on whatever took its fancy at the time; swishing that bushy tail in that cat way. There was one room in particular that I loved the most. The smell is something I can still remember. Smells do that. I can link most of my memories to scents from hair shampoo, perfume, to laundry detergent. This particular room smelled of old books. Books of long ago where the binding nearly crumbles through your fingers. The pages membrane-thin as my fingers would turn each page and the soft swish of my skin against it would move to the next. I'd hold each book up to my nose, take a deep breath and despite the dust, take it in like I could ingest all the history it had weathered.

There are truly fewer and fewer bookshops like that anymore. I'm happy to say that my childhood shop still exists, although without a website and I'm kind of glad about that too. I've been on a subconscious search for another bookshop that would spark my desires again. I know that as a teenager, there is really nothing that can replace what I experienced at Cheshire Books, but there is one shop that has recently come close, and it deserves a few accolades.

The Seattle Mystery Bookshop in Pioneer Square. If you walk too fast, you'll miss it. It's nestled neatly among three other little shops off Cherry Street (117 Cherry Street). Through a dim entrance opens up a wall-to-wall plethora of books where mystery reigns. It opened its doors in the summer of 1990. Unfortunately, I didn't find it until recently, but better late than never. I've always loved a good Whodunit. I love getting my hands a little dirty to find out what I expected wasn't at all what I expected.

I have a routine when I enter bookstores. I let the books call to me. I walk around, touch a few spines, read a few reviews or back page summaries. I get a feel for the shop and my surroundings. I have to get a vibe from a bookshop. The Seattle Mystery Bookshop definitely has a vibe. The staff is knowledgeable and friendly and from one mystery lover to another, they got it in the bag.

My first excursion in, I wanted something a little twisted. I'm a nice girl. I'm generally happy. So what movies and books do I generally gravitate to? Twisted weirdness that can't be explained. It's my outlet; what can I say? I take my stroll through the isles, admire the poster of Dexter on the wall, with blood spatter on his face, and proceed to the latest and greatest. I pick up Drood, by Dan Simmons. I walk around the table again. I pick it up again. I hold it. What is it telling me? Why is it telling me? I'm stalking the book. It knows. The owner obviously knows what I'm up to and I ask the obvious question of whether the book is good or not. Of course, he says and proceeds to languish all sorts of good things on me about the book. I bought it. Read it in record time and have done nothing but recommend it to others. That is a good book experience. It took me away to the life of Charles Dickens. I didn't have to explain anything. The book does it for me. I love literature. I love bookstores like these where I can be transported and put back all nice and neat again...or so I think.

I like that it isn't your run-of-the-mill corporate shop. It's personable. It's not a Kindle. It's not whatever other technology is trying to take us away from the physical pleasure of page-turning. It's a real bookshop with real people and real pages that get ripped, torn, worn and touched. It's exactly what I'd like to maintain.

Pioneer Square
Monday - Saturday 10 - 5 pm
Sunday 12 -5 pm
staff@seattlemystery.com

Go. Visit. Read. Go again.

The Seattle Freeze????

Recently, my sister had a friend from out of town come and visit. He stayed for just a short while and noticed one thing; Seattle isn't all that friendly.
In fact he called it "The Seattle Freeze."

I've lived in Seattle for about 11 years, most of that time, as a single person, with a short four and a half years of being married. I have to say, dating presents its challenges. Needless to say, dating itself is a challenge and trying to pull it off in a city that slaps you in the face every time you turn around doesn't make it easier.

The Seattle environment is gorgeous. We are surrounded by some of the smartest, most educated people in the nation and some of the more adventurous in nature. We have divine hiking trails, gorgeous mountains and water all around us. I've begun to notice that most of what I thought were dating prospects expect a certain amount of athletic ability and a laundry list of perfection that no one could possibly live up to.

I've tried Match.com, I'm currently on OKCupid. Two dating sites that have proven well for some people I know. I even dated a man last year for about nine months from OKCupid and he was wonderful. Lately my odds aren't so good. I'm 0 for 4: Four dates in about 6 months and not one single connection. I even had a date recently who flatly said he hated dogs, knowing I had a dog and proceeded to counter everything I said from there on out. At least I got a good beer out of it!

All I'm saying is that it's hard to meet people here. I'm surrounded by friends and family that have a significant other in their lives and my single status is getting a bit tired. I'm perfectly content being single. I'm a single mom who goes to film, theatre, concerts and even out to dinner, by my self. It's no big deal. But I believe we weren't put on this earth to go it alone. I want to share my life with someone and would like to do it before I'm old and gray. I'm not saying that it's greener on the other side; relationships are tough and you have to work at it constantly in order to keep it alive and well. But in many ways, that's what I'm looking forward to - Working on something together and coming out the other side a better person for it.

It's a stretch just to get someone to smile at me on the bus or as I'm walking downtown. I think we all need to stop for a bit and realize what we're doing to each other. I'm not the girl on the cover of Kayak magazine and I'm not a bungee jumper in red high heels with long blonde hair and a tan. I'm just me. Shouldn't that be enough? Apparently the list of the perfect date just keeps getting more idealistic and it's come down to ridiculous details that mean nothing in the big picture. It's about a connection and chemistry. That smile and lingering stare that says something's going to happen and it's going to be good. It's not about weather she likes sushi and he doesn't and who the hell cares anyway?! I guess I'm just a bit old fashioned and want something substantial and real. It's tough being single in Seattle. Maybe I should take the advice of my mother: "Stop looking and that's when he will come along." Maybe she's right.

The TV

Here is the first of many short stories to come of what I find on the streets of Seattle. I believe these things have a history and I feel compelled to write about it. It's up to you if you read it as fiction or not. I hope you enjoy this story and more to come.
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She adjusted her jeans in the mirror. She tired to avoid the mirror today because the image staring back was more than she could manage. Honesty was not what she needed. She needed a coping mechanism, not the growing lines on her face or the tears staining her pale cheeks reminding her of the pain she would have to heal from.

She noticed the edges giving way to old age. It was a mirror she and he bought together a year ago at an old estate sale. It was ragged, they knew, but it was their first purchase together. Today, it stood against a rot wall next to the dirty window she peered through in confusion and anger.

The city was shrouded in fog that day. It blanketed the tops of the few high rises that pocked the small city where she lived. Today she felt the fog's heaviness. It's demanding presence and the marks it left on her when returning from the outdoors. She could still hear her neighbors next door arguing over the same damn thing. Every day, it seemed endless; no solution she could think of. Why couldn't they understand that and move on like she had? Or had she?

She turned her back to the window. She stared at the apartment they once shared. His imprint still left on the bed. His scent still lingering on the towel he used last night. The tube of toothpaste he neglected to put away with repeated reminders of where it belonged. It didn't bother her so much now.

The kitchen table held the juice they shared that morning. A drop of syrup on the corner of the tile table that drowned the Belgian waffles they loved to make together, as a couple. A couple who said it was forever. A couple who loved the city, loved their apartment, loved the flaws in each other. Now the flaws had no audience. Flaws left to find another.

She sat on the unmade bed, wishing she didn't have to leave for work. How would she concentrate? How would she move forward and pretend he didn't just walk out that door? Picking at her bitten nails and peeling nail polish, she looked across a few feet to the mahogany table where it once sat. The TV now gone, leaving only a dusty frame. A remnant of laughter, tears and the nights where those stupid rabbit ears weren't making the picture any better. He left with a duffel bag full of dirty clothes and that old TV. With tears in her eyes and a determination to keep them from falling, she locked the door behind her and headed to the office.

__________

He was up early that morning. Not knowing what to say or what to do. Routine can be a friend in times like these. When hurt is too much to bear, routine is always there, a servant to your needs. Something told him it was the end. They both knew it and the funny thing was that he didn't even know why. Why do people fall apart? How do people get together in the first place? It was a miracle they even happened. Good times, bad times. Weren't they supposed to stay together. Were not vows to be taken seriously?

She was still in bed when he made the last batch of waffles they would ever share. The smell woke her up and she entered the kitchen and an awkward silence crept over them, invading the tangy juice they sipped together and the slightly sweet batter of the waffles, making the clanking of the forks so loud it was unbearable. It was decided the previous night. He would leave. She would stay.

He walked out the door, carrying what he wanted to accompany his grand exit. He knew taking the TV would hurt. It was worth nothing and worth everything at the same time.

The foggy day applauded his defeat, carrying him off to other adventures. He left with a sense of failure. He had failed her. He had let her go. Down on Columbia Street, he left it sitting on a cement nook in front of a black-inked graffiti wall. Old, tired of the arguing. Tired of the tears. Let someone else take it. Turn it into art, make a statement. It burdened him to carry it anyway. With deep regret and the urge to run back and touch her again, he headed to the ferry, wondering if she would notice it as she walked to work.

The Happiest Hooker...

Well, maybe. I'm a knitter. I can knit anything I set my heart on, but when it comes to crochet...I might as well be reading Swahili. I guess it's not all that bad. After all, being the fiber enthusiast I am, I should be able to wrestle and wrangle a lil' ol' crochet pattern, right?

I've been knitting for a client of mine for about five years now. I've knit probably 80% of her wardrobe and now, she wants me to crochet a dress. Yes folks, a dress. Now, one might be picturing those lovely vintage magazines our grandmothers had where there were lovely little women in bouffants wearing short little crochet garments. Vintage may be back, but for the love of all that is good, please don't tell me the crocheted dress is back.

The majority of us know what would happen if we were to don a crocheted dress. The rump alone would stretch the poor fabric out and it wouldn't have a chance of succeeding on any body who had a curve to call their own. One must be build like a boy to pull it off. Luckily, my client is very small and very thin and she'll look adorable in it. However, my procrastination on the matter needs attending and my better judgment tells me I can't put this off any longer.

I've spent the past few evenings, looking through the Happy Hooker trying to understand what I'm looking at. Now, my dear crocheters who are laughing at me right now, must understand. It's not the stitch I can't do; it's understanding what I'm looking at and counting said stitches. It's just silly. I teach knitting for crying out loud and I can hardly crochet to save my life! Will the universe ever make sense?

So the past few nights, I've went to my bedroom, put on my earbuds, listened to some Vampire Weekend and crocheted my heart out. That means three rows. I'm looking to get this done by the end of March. I'm sure some of you out there are wagering on this right now. Hint: the probability of it getting done in two weeks is slim to none.

For those who really care: I am using a size F hook and Cascade's Sierra Cotton/Wool. I love, love, love that yarn. Great price for the yardage. Can't go wrong with tried and true Cascade.

End of the Season

Parents, you know what I'm talking about when I say, "I have a kid in sports." We all know the long hours of training and practice that cuts into all of our grocery shopping time, our "down-time", our one hour each day that we might get to ourselves. The mornings where a book and cup of coffee are all we want, but no, we must drive to the gym and encourage our brood to be their best. Schmooze with other parents. Make connections and smile even though you look like you just got out of bed. Once you have a kid in sports, it's all over. I mean, it's all over once they get expunged out of our wombs, but sports is a whole other story.

My daughter has participated in the same basketball team for three years now, with amazing coaches I might add. She doesn't play for her school, but through her local community center. There are ups and downs. Wins and losses. Today marked the end of another season and pictured here is the team with their only win of the season. A good way to end it, don't you think? My daughter is the one with the biggest smile. Now, another season starts: Ultimate Frisbee.

Around 12 years ago, hardly anyone knew Ultimate Frisbee even existed! Now, it is a sanctioned, and very popular sport. World-wide even. Who knew? Turns out, it has become my daughter's first love. She has played three years and it is the funnest sport out there. You can play girls, boys and co-ed teams and the spirit these kids have is amazing. Their stamina is something to comment on too. They practice every day, for two hours. I wish I had even a thimble full of the energy required to do what she does. It takes enough just to drag my arse to the gym three days a week. But I digress. I'm proud of her. She is everything I had hoped she'd be. I'm no soccer mom, but I'm something more....I'm an Ultimate Mom. Let the games begin!

Coffee Filters

Coffee filters on the wall? Who would have thought? But here it is, above this lovely-lit area of what I presume to be a living room. I ask myself...as a creative-minded and artistic individual, could I pull this off? And second of all, would I WANT to pull this off?

My answer: undeniably yes. Something strikes me about the way some people can take the mundane things in life and create a work of art. I've never been able to do that. I need the newness of a sharpened pencil. The crisp hues of my colored lead awaiting the stroke of a line or the shading that brings it all together. The texture of a Vellum template staring at me waiting for that 'new' piece to jump out and place itself on the paper. But coffee filters? Never would have guessed.

One must note that this just didn't happen. This wall decor was well thought out and then as was placed on the wall, disorderly-order took hold and Voila! A wall piece worth noting. It's hard to look at the detail. The image holds that back from us, but I can only assume the tacks are really what pulls this off. I can't imagine using just hum-drum push pins. This was carefully thought out and then placed in an undulating fashion that puts into image cherry blossoms blowing in the wind.

My concern, in the end, dear fellow wall-decor seekers, is the longevity of the coffee filter itself. I imagine inevitable wilting. An eventual thick layer of sticky dust that happens upon the best of our said brick-a-brack. Any sort of heavy, humid environment would wreck havock on the poor little filters too, eventually taking those lovely cherry blossoms and pouring rain all over their little blossom wind parade. But the wheels haven't stopped turning. I've been rummaging through the internet looking for the Googled "cheap wall decor ideas" in the search box and have come up with some interesting ideas. one in particular that I'm on the look out for: Ceiling medallions. My friends, they aren't just for ceilings anymore. They range in price, but going to your local hardware or Home Depot, you can pilfer through and find some reasonably priced medallions to do as you'd like with. I intend on buying three, small-ish ones for my small-ish apartment. You can paint them, texture them, hodge-podge them and turn them into something that looks like a true artist resides in your home. I shall have pictures soon enough!

Pet Shop Boys in da house!

Did you hear that? Yeah, that's right. The techno body-pump in the heart of Seattle last night at The Moore Theatre. Pet Shop Boys back in town with their Pandemonium Tour. Was it the base-line pumping brick and mortar or was that my soul remembering days when?

As a child of the '80's I was rushed back to an awkward seventh-grade dance at Franklin Junior High School, Yakima, Washington, circa 1984 or so dancing to West End Girls in the tiny cafeteria hoping a boy would ask me to dance. A time of swatches, crazy hair, spandex and of course, techno music. Last night brought it all back. The stage set with white boxes in all shapes and sizes as the screen for digital video. Men in hard hats and white clinical coats arranging them to suit the next set of songs. Back up dancers dressed in primary color spandex with boxes for heads and angles jutting out from beneath their costumes. A stage show for the digital and electronic lover in all of us. The Pet Shop Boys took us into the future and we liked it.

However, ninety degree angles didn't steal the show. Choreographed dancers added an element of surprise during their slow-song segment where Neil Tennant, lead singer and Chris Lowe, the mix master extraordinaire donned a disco ball jacket. For 25 years, the Pet Shop Boys have remained a mainstay in the techno scene inspiring and influencing electronic musicians across the globe and last night, they performed songs that spanned their career in all of its wonder. Their music transcends generations. People of all ages attended in anticipation of what they hear on the albums. Pet Shop Boys did not disappoint. They sound just a good live as they do on disc.

Their latest release, Yes, Pet Shop Boys, debuted on March 23 earlier this year and the hits just keep pumpin' their way up the charts. It didn't matter that I was sitting alone at the concert. My daughter, now 14, sat a few sections away with a friend and even her generation can't help but love what they saw. The Pet Shop Boys, now into their 50's, can still sing about love, life, heartache and still get the party started.

A Season Upon Us

Fall is my favorite time of year. I get a soft scent of it in the mild September evenings. I look forward to watching the leaves slowing turn colors of red, orange and yellow. People seem to change a bit too. New haircuts, softer tones, a new attitude. Slowly, light jackets come out of the closet and your favorite sweatshirt makes it's way back. Football traffic picks up and a subtle scent of savories in the air makes it very exciting. The sun is waning earlier each and every night. I love it.

For most knitters, Fall tends to be opening season. Although an all-season knitter myself, I thoroughly enjoy starting a Fair Isle or a cabled project and airing out all my sweaters to be worn through the rainy season. I recently finished a Fair Isle hat called Selbu Modern. I used Mini Mochi and a Dale of Norway yarn. I'll take a photo of my finished hat and post later.

Fall also invokes a sense of mystery. I think it's the most prominent season of change and the wonders of what this earth can do is astonishing. And in a short period of time. Everywhere I look, I see images of things I want to re-create with yarn and fiber. Although holding fast to my Pink Martini project, I can't help but see a lovely array of wall hangings of how I see this season.

Mentioning the project: I haven't gotten as far as I would have liked. A new job, a busy schedule with my daughter isn't conducive to sitting at home and making art. Sometimes, well more honestly, most times, I wish I didn't have to work at all for a few years and use the hiatus to create all that I can muster. Maybe someday that will happen. I get few and fewer moments of clarity, making creating harder and harder to do. But I digress...I will not give up. My first piece should be done soon and then moving on the next.

Pink Martini is actually coming to The Pantages in Tacoma next month, but tickets are so expensive, so I have to resign myself to the fact I will likely never see a performance. But I can enjoy the music at home and the art created from their inspiring lyrics and melodies.

At last...

I finally landed a job this past week. Took me five months and I have to say that I feel very fortunate. I am working in a private dining and catering club here in Seattle. Good stuff. It's a step in a direction. Don't know what that direction is yet...but I have to believe it is a good one.

So now, my blog can focus on my creative endeavors that I am planning. My new website...www.christyarts.com is up and coming. I have been a fiber enthusiast and fiber artist for 9 years now and with all of my teaching and knitting accomplishments, I feel that it is time to focus on something I can feel passionate about and still work with fibers! My creative focus my friends? Me and Pink Martini: Fiber arts and Music. Let me briefly explain.

Pink Martini is a joyously composed band of excellent and talented musicians and singers. I am utterly impressed with each and every album they put out and the inspiration to create something to their music is more than I can contain. So...with their albums, Hang on Little Tomato and their most recent release Hey Eugene! I plan on creating a needle felted art piece for each song suited to hang on any wall. Only the eclectic may apply....

Needle felting is so much fun. I used to teach the technique to students at two local Yarn Shops here in Seattle: Acorn Street Yarns and Village Yarn and Tea Shop. The latter being the shop I currently teach at. (I will also begin posting accomplishments of my lovely students on this blog as well and upcoming classes I am teaching). I plan on taking needle felting to creative new heights and make each represent my inspiration through various songs on both albums. Song by song until I feel all my creative juices have been thoroughly exhausted. My first piece is in production, and only shown below (click on image so that you can really see the detail of the piece. The image doesn't do it justice) to give you some idea of my progress. Needle felting is arduous and can take quite a bit of time to master and complete. It can look like mud...and then Voila! It is a lovely piece worth all the hard work.

I envision the final pieces attached to a lovely wooden rod conducive to hanging on the wall. I am giving myself several months to go through each album, but will for each and every song, post and offer my progress and would love to have comments and enthusiasm from my fiber-loving friends out there in the world!

First Song...Aspettami (Italian for "Wait") See lyrics below...It invokes in me a woman in the middle of floating leaves. A woman who is loved, sought after, almost iconic. She is holding the center of her will and chaos flows around her. Here is the beginning of what this song does to me.... As I will assume, finding out what most of these songs are saying is going to prove challenging. But with my handy-dandy research skills, I will make it happen. Fortunately, the first chosen song is in English with one Italian word: verb-wait. Okay, one down and several more to come. It's going to be a good time for all. So enjoy the art and explore this amazing band that has inspired me to do more than sit on my butt in the coming weeks...



Aspettami
Wait for me
I've been lost
Adrift at sea
In your dreams
Dream my way
Someday I'll find my heart
And come back to stay

Do you miss me
My darling
As I miss you
Take my hand
And pull me near
And never let me go again my dear

There was a time
I was safe in your arms
And the stars fell away like diamonds
Then we were young
And our love was younger still
Was it just an illusion

Aspettami
Wait for me
Close your eyes
And you will see
I'm coming home
Every sky in my heart will be blue
On the day I come back to you

I'm coming home
Every sky in my heart will be blue
On the day I come back to you

Escape

Another week, another ten or so resumes sent out and just one thing; an interview tomorrow morning at a local private catering business. Should be interesting. Their website looks remarkable and it is something I would enjoy doing. So, off tomorrow to "wow" them, hopefully.

This weekend was remarkable. The man of my life took me on another boat trip. This time to Port Townsend. Beautiful weather, quaint and lovely little town and a great bar call The Sirens. They make a mean Long Island Iced Tea. Drunken clowns at the local parade probably helped... Made me start talking about ducks and how well formed they follow each other. Like the drill team of the bird world. Anyway...

Eating chicken and wild rice on the boat getting a bit shnockered drinking some hard cider and playing Crazy 8's produced a night I've been waiting for. Waiting for a long time. Wind storms on both Friday and Saturday night made for a symphony of sounds. Wind blowing through the docks whistling through sail boat lines, knocking metal and wooden rings and fasteners. A cacophony of sound that eerily appealed to my senses. Made for strange dreams, wonderful love and a sincere sense that time could go on like that forever. The dock had a history and it was speaking to me.

Saturday produced what Ron and I coined the "shopper's shuffle." You know what I mean. You go somewhere like Port Townsend and you shuffle in and out of each shop, not really walking, not running, but shuffling. Your posture is shot, your feet ache like nobody's business and you feel exhausted after well, doing nothing but window shopping. Next on the schedule, we patroned The Rose Theatre and saw Julie & Julia. A charming funny movie. A must see if you are a Meryl Streep fan. Finished off at the Mezzaluna Lounge with Clam Chowder and Sourdough bread I could live for. We shuffled...all day. I think I need a chiropractic adjustment.

Now Sunday has rolled around and now almost gone and I made it through the big locks tying to two other boats. It's emotionally exhausting and I couldn't for the life of me understand a single syllable of the man yelling grumpy Gus demands on where we were to go. They need to smile once in a while. A little sunburned later and a new scratch from a barnacle and I feel like I've survived a truly harrowing ordeal.

Another

Liars

Well, you're gonna love this one. Not only is it hard enough to get a job, but company's who are falsely advertising is just wrong and I am going to release their name because it IS wrong and they should suffer for it.

Last week I applied for an Event Coordinator position at a company in Bellevue called North West Marketing Inc. through Careerbuilder.com. I was called for one of those preliminary interviews to see if they even like you before they even access your qualifications. I spent my Friday morning wasting my time driving to Bellevue; wasted my gas only to find out it's actually a Sales position. I would have to traipse all over God's creation selling their crappy idea. Not exactly an Event Coordinator, now is it?

The human condition is getting pretty pathetic when you have to advertise falsely to get someone in your company. I am thinking about reporting them to the Attorney General. It is just wrong. They deserve whatever they get.

So, that's the new news on the job front from last week. Nothing, nothing, and well...nothing.

Still waiting for my federal financial award letter to come back so that I can find out if I'm attending college this Fall. Time is running out. Still in limbo waiting for my future to begin. Off to a low-income (or no income) medical clinic. I've never had to go to one before. I hope it's going to be okay.

Bleak day indeed...

Noticeable things...

I don't know if it's just because I don't have work to think about or if I'm just getting more observant in my age, but I'm noticing so many things lately. The color of toe nail polish, the presence of rings on fingers, the expertise of hair dye jobs. I notice people having 'silent' arguments in coffee shops and grocery stores. I see false smiles a mile away. I can't help but wonder where I fit in to all of this.

It all seems a bit absurd, but I'm noticing all these little things I haven't noticed before. I was having breakfast with my daughter yesterday morning at the Varsity Restaurant on NE 65th (very good french toast) and noticed a man and a woman come in. They were lovey-dovey from the get-go. She was pregnant and they proceeded to seat themselves and faun over each other the entire time. Sweet? Annoying? I'm not sure.

The other day, I'm driving down Lake City Way and this huge boat of a car pulls up along next to me and this elderly man and woman are sitting up front. Man driving, woman smiling. Chatting away, but the odd thing was the man wearing a cap with a large bill, but in addition to this bill, he clipped, with clothes pins, a piece of cardboard to further keep the sun out of his face. Really? It made me smile because at that age I guess who gives a f#@k who see what, right?

So today, I'm on a mission to find fiber-fill for a stuffed toy I'm knitting for my niece and find myself eye-spying a mom and her two rug rats. Cute rug rats...and the boy pipes up and asks..."What if ghosts wore underwear?" I swear, I have material to last me for a lifetime if I were to just keep my ears opened to all that goes on around me. It made me chuckle and hence become blog-worthy.

On the job front, not a single call or email and I'm well into my fifth month. It's hard staying positive. I'm tired, restless and just not very pleasing to be around. My daughter is on the verge of disowning me. See, we live in a 650 square foot apartment with one bedroom. Guess who gets the bedroom? You got it, the 14-year-old. So Mom gets what? A bed stuffed into the living room and absolutely no private time with my thoughts. Forgive me for being a little cranky...

I filled out the FAFSA (financial aid) form online last Friday and sent my app to Seattle Central, so it's just a waiting game for a bit. If I don't get the financial aid to live on and go back to school, I will just have to keep searching for a job and forget the whole Master's Degree. I'm walking in the muck and mire of life right now. I'm making it; but desperation is never pretty.

Another week

Entering my fifth month of unemployment. The time goes by so fast. It's August and panic is definitely setting in. All I can think about it how much money is needed for back-to-school things and upcoming holidays. Money that isn't going to magically appear on the tree outside my window. Nine resumes sent out this week and not one reply. Nothing unusual; but still disappointing to say the least.

So, I am trying to enter Seattle Central Community College to take a few pre-reqs for the program I am looking to start in the Fall of 2010 at SPU. We'll see how it goes. Unfortunately, most of the time, when you start school, unemployment stops. That's a problem because of not earning an income. This whole school thing might not happen because of that. Not giving up that easily. Going to go through the motions and apply and see what happens.

Seattle Pacific University

Today has been a good day. I actually managed to speak to a real person at Seattle Pacific University about the Master of Arts in Teaching program. (MAT) Very positive and user/family friendly program. It was so nice to hear positive and real-life advice from someone who actually cares. On these days, my faith in humanity gets restored.

So If I do get a job, I can still get my degree or if I want to go full-swing, get it done in 5 quarters. A gorgeous campus and very nice people.

My original thought, as it is these days, is to be marketable. So I thought since I love Biology, to go that route. However, my passions exist where there is literature and words to be pondered over. So, I think that is the route I need to pursue because I already have so many pre-reqs completed. I can always add Biology later, thanks to the balanced perspective of my boyfriend. I need balance. What would I do without him?

So, next step is to apply to a community college and get a few courses under my belt, volunteer with some kids and get this thing going. Let's hope it all falls into place. Until then, job searching continues. Still throwing my lines out. Just waiting for a bite.

Getting in shape...inside and out

One positive aspect of being unemployed is that there is no longer an excuse to skip your workouts. Or a perfect excuse to begin one. I used to workout six days a week for an hour and a half. Mind you, that's BEFORE bearing a child and getting bogged down with that thing called marriage (ugghh!) I used to be in great shape. I was in drill team and cheerleading in high school and danced my little tush off every weekend at the local under-21 dance club for teens. Needless to say, I miss shakin' it.

So now, I've decided I need to step up, take accountability for my body and get back into the gym and change some flab into fab!

My boyfriend gifted me a membership to a gym that is literally 120 of my little feet from it's front door to mine...so there it is. I started with a two-week free trial and of course, loved it. So now, I'm taking Zumba! and step classes, and working on my stamina with the elliptical and treadmill. Feeling great. The hardest part is over; now I just have to keep it up.

So when I want to make all those who wont hire me a dart target practice, I just go to the gym, work the tension and stress off and look stunning doing so.

So, seven resumes I sent out today and I get this email from a company based out of California asking me to submit my name and get a "free" credit check so that they can determine if I'm good enough to get an interview. Excuse me? I know employers do credit checks; that's fine, but to be asked to submit my social security number AND credit card information on a website I'm not familiar with seems a little shady to me. No can do. What do I have to do, sell my spleen for an interview now? It may end up being very kosher and all, but I need proof before they steal my identity...

Job searching, in a word, sucks!

On the more positive side, I trotted down to Ol' Schmitz Hall on the UW campus to retrieve my transcript. It is what my daughter would call "bombsauce" of academics. I ruled. Single mother of a toddler, four and a half years, all summers included, and I made out with a 3.5 overall GPA. Nice job, if I do say so myself. Let's see where it gets me with this teaching thing. I may be teaching Biology to hormone-charged high school freshmen in my future. I've checked into the UW and have an appointment with the Biology department in late August (she's on vacation; must be nice) and going to the SPU tomorrow to just get another option. I feel like I have to give my signature in blood every time I go to one of these appointments. Very daunting and scrutinizing.

Sundays

I used to hate Sunday evenings for one reason: work the next day. Now, I dread Sundays for another reason: work I DON'T HAVE the next day. It's one thing to enjoy a weekend before the monotonous work-week hits. It's quite another to be enjoying a weekend knowing there is nothing I'm working toward.

I was on a boat trip this weekend with a wonderful man I'm seeing and I temporarily forgot that I had any responsibilities in the world. Getting taken care of, enjoying the lovely Puget Sound and the quirky little ports we visited. It was an over-due break I needed to get away and for having the best company I could ever ask for. Now, back to reality and...job searching.

I have my resume posted on Northwest Jobs, Jobdango, Monster, Hotjobs and primarily look to craigslist for the majority of work. It's depressing how few jobs are available. I love it when Monster sends me jobs and they actually rate how qualified you are if you were to apply to any of them. Wanna know what mine always says? "Minimal Match." That's great huh? Send me jobs and then tell me the likelihood that I'd ever get it is slim to none. You practically have to have a freakin' PHd to be a secretary. I try to maintain perspective and realize that hey, maybe I'm not unemployable. Our state is almost 10% unemployed; it can't be JUST me, can it? I would like to think not and that may be false hope, but false hope is better than no hope at all, right?

So Monday will start and I'm off to get my transcript from the UW. I have astronomical student loans I can't pay off and what is my next step? Maybe going back to school to become a teacher. Of course, our state lays teachers off, so what am I thinking, right? It's something I've wanted to do now for years; I have the time to investigate and search out options. So what if I'm 75 before my loans are paid off, right? Whatever. It's something to do on a Monday when I need to feel useful.

More to come on that front and where my options will take me.

Knitting projects that are done or I'm working on....