knit and tonic

All the Things I Didn't do.

You know how it is. You have an event that's coming up, maybe someone's leaving for a vacation and you'll be alone or maybe you know that you'll be seeing people you haven't seen for ages so you decide that you'll do all manner of things that will magically transform you into a better version of yourself.

In my case, this past July, I decided, when Girlfriend and HWWV boarded a plane for Southeast Asia, that I would, while I was all alone:

1. Clean out my closet
2. Write three chapters
3. Work out like nobody's business
4. Clean out my closet
5. Eat only organic
6. Possibly get some sort of plastic surgery that no one would notice except they'd think I was somehow looking very rested
7. Clean out my closet

I did nothing of the sort.

This is how the summer has been for me. I am disappointed. I was home alone for two weeks and did nothing but cry--for two days, but who is counting?--and then the rest of it, after they came home, I stared at my computer plotting how I'd transform myself into a new version of me while yelling downstairs at Girlfriend to turn the channel already and that Spongebob Squarepants is a bad influence.

BTW: Girlfriend starts a new school tomorrow. She has a best friend who has followed her there. Somehow, I wish that she were facing the new school alone. I attended many schools over the course of my education and even though I didn't like it at the time, looking back, it was a good thing. I mean, how else would I feel comfortable telling all of you and every random checker at the Albertson's Grocery that I had an iffy summer and that I am the only one on the block who can do a Fireman's Jump?*

*Not that I would expect you to know what a Fireman's Jump is. In true Bernard Fashion, long ago my brother and I decided that the Fireman's Jump is an unattainable feat for mere mortals, i.e., everyone but us. It has to do with running really fast toward the pool and jumping in but managing to keep your shoulders and head above water as you land. There are only three people who can do it that I have found: Me, my brother Marc, and Girlfriend. So, maybe this summer wasn't so bad after all.

Woot.

This is probably the third year in a row that we haven't done our usual getaway that we used to do this time of year. We just don't have the money.

And looking back to when Girlfriend got out of school in June, I'm wondering where the heck the time has gone.

We did manage to go to the beach this past weekend along with just about every other individual living in Southern California.

I knit a hat.

The sand didn't bother it.

My fingers didn't get sweaty.

And if sunscreen got in it, it'll wash out.

I'm one of those.

I'm also one of those who gets a little twitchy when strangers come up to me and ask me if I'm crocheting. I don't know why it bothers me so much because I like to crochet too, but I'm KNITTING. I can honestly handle just about every other question in the universe (except for when people walk up to me, look at Girlfriend and ask me if she's mine). I will admit that certain comments/statements are a different story, however. The ones that bother me the most are:

". . . Is it just me or (insert some subtle sarcastic anything here). . . ?"

". . . Am I missing something or (insert some subtle sarcastic anything here) . . . ?

"How cute is that?" (Shouldn't it be: "That's cute." or "Isn't that cute?") This phrase will work with just about any adjective and is equally annoying to my ears.

"Squee."

"Woot."

The worst thing about these statements that bug me is that they happen a lot in the knitting world. As in:

"Is it just me or does your stitch count on the ruffle section have an incorrect number?"

"Am I missing something? I ordered your pattern .12 nanoseconds ago and it still isn't in my in-box."

"That hat pattern on that fake newborn baby: How cute is that?"

"Loopy Ewe just added new stock! Squee!" (Woot works here, too.)

Okay. You got me on a so-so day. It has been a doozy.

But the good news is: The weekend is going to be Temari Ball-tastic.

BTW: No, it's not your imagination. Someone's hair is on that ball. And it isn't mine.

Oh, Wait:

I was going to tell you all about the crazy aquarium we purchased about five months ago after Girlfriend accomplished all manner of accomplishments, you know: keep the room clean, make bed, take out trash, weed, yadda yadda for four or five weeks straight and then we went to Petco for an aquarium and then it all began.

Since then, we could have had a community-wide fish fry based on the number of fish that have perished.

That creepy frog Godot escaped and I imagine him waiting for me behind some warmish place (toilet?) and Jumbo, the shrimp, died on Gfriend's bathroom floor after the dogs played with him while we slept. Emily died. Ian hasn't yet, but he's looking like he's ready.

And then I was going to tell you about how I jumped the shark and decided that it was okay to go to a place called Hurricane Harbor, a Six Flags place that is a water park. I should have thought longer and harder about suggesting that we go. We spent 30 bucks a person to get in and then seven bucks for each innertube or whatever you call it. Sheesh. I spent a better part of four hours policing those innertubes. I even confronted a scary dude who decided that he could take one of our five. "That's ours!" I told him. "You don't have an orange wrist band! I'm going to go get my husband! Wait here!" And so, I marched off in my tankini to get HWWV and he was busy so I grabbed my ex-boyfriend/now-a-friend who is decidedly taller and what did he do? He basically said: "Take it, bro; be my guest."

So that's what I get from a tall ex from 30 years ago? He let's the bad guy get one of my innertubes?

That day, I became the innertube fuhrer.

I tell you what: Sometimes I wonder if I should take my knitting to more places. Maybe if I showed that innertube stealer delinquent my needles he would have understood just how crazy I am. And that I'd use them on him, or better yet: force him to watch me knit a round.

I'm sure, after a minute or two of that, he'd give up and let me have my innertube back.

But back to what it is that I wanted to tell you: If you lose someone you love who was very, very sick, when you dream of them, they won't be so sick anymore. They may even be as you remember them when they were healthy.

I didn't believe it when people told me this, but it is true.

When I dream of my mother, she is healthy.

That is what I want you to know.

BTW: Here's a Public Service Announcement. Never use expired 70 SPF sunscreen.