The Hoodie

I was shocked today to read Geraldo Rivera saying that Trayvon Martin would be alive today if he weren't wearing a hoodie.

You see, I work with a guy who wears a hoodie.  And it is definitely a statement.  He is very slim.  He wears sunglasses that cover most of his face.  He has earphones in all the time and rather than walking, he grooves.  He is dark skinned.  And, I will fully admit that when I first met him, his look startled me.  Because he was definitely making a statement with it.  And I have learned that his statement--at least to me--was "I am who I am and if you're interested in finding out who I am, I'll be right here in my hoodie.  I'm easy to find." 

But I wasn't afraid of him. 

There are a lot of people in my life and the world that I live in who have distinctive looks--some more accessible than others.  I've actually met Johnny Rotten and, for real, the guy's whole persona is really aggressive.  In real life, he's lovely. I've never understood the whole idea of having really scary tattoos but, honestly, I have found that most of the people I've met with scary tattoos are pussycats.

So this whole "I was afraid of this guy because he was wearing a hoodie" thing just doesn't hold water with me.  It's as if the world is saying racism really doesn't have anything to do with race.  It's about fashion. 

So of course that got me thinking about the hoodie.  I went to Catholic school for 12 years so I spent a lot of time with people who covered their heads.  Wimple=Hoodie.  And I never shot a nun.

I grew up in a very Jewish neighborhood and I have a friend who is a very observant Jew (we'll be talking about the sweaters for her new twins soon).  She covers her head.  And I never shot her.

Baseball players cover their head with a cloth cap (yeah--I get it, it has a visor, but they usually have on sunglasses too so the visor is redundant.)   I've never shot them.

Covering your head is common.  Unless you're black.  And then, for some unfathomable reason, it is a huge threat.

Should I embrace the hoodie? No I probably won't.  Because it's not my look.  I can respect you without emulating you, thank you very much.   Should my friend from work who wears a hoodie suddenly start knitting just so that we can have something in common.  Of course not.  And by the way, I am much more intrigued by people who I have nothing in common with than those who mirror my life.

I don't get it.  I never will.  It blows my mind that in 2012 a young man can be shot for being black.  It also blows my mind that a woman's body is not her own.  It blows my mind that teachers are paid shit.  It blows my mind that there are so many things that blow my mind.

I don't fear young black men in hoodies.  What I really fear is what legacy we are leaving behind and what the history books will say about each and every one of us.

Spring Fever

This is what I was greeted with when I walked into work this morning.

Isn't she gorgeous? (For some reason flowering trees are always female to me.  In the fall when their colors change, they become male.)

I have terrible Spring Fever today so I'm trying to harness it with a Spring Cleaning.  Considering the fact that this year I am hoping to finish up the home spring cleaning from 1998, I'm not sure if this is such a good idea.  But I have been plugging away at my desk all day long and have actually gotten some things accomplished.

The last few weeks have been kind of crazy.  You know the kind of days when you're ready.  You've got a plan.  You know what you've got to get accomplished and you know just how long it is going to take.  Your ready to rock and roll and then someone drops a bomb.  And really, I don't mind that at all.  I'm not particularly anal about these kinds of things and I really can roll with the punches quite nicely.  Most of the time. 

But when they start to add up.  And the pile is getting bigger.  And you can't find a damn thing.  And the pile gets knocked over and is still on the floor the next day. 

Well then, you have to suck it up a bit and do some spring cleaning. 

The windows are open and  I have Pandora on (Elvis Costello station, thank you for asking) and I am slowly but surely getting through some of the piles (yes, I've moved into plural). 

The problem with this plan is the windows are open and  I have Pandora on (Elvis Costello station, thank you for asking) and I have the attention span of a gnat because it is so gorgeous out. 

Baby Karma

Any time you get a group of knitters together for more than one glass of chardonnay, someone will bring up the age old topic "people who ask you to knit something for them but then are surprised at how much it will cost."   I am not a professional knitter and don't make my living doing this (would that I could) so I find the rules about knitting for others pretty simple.  If I love you, I will knit for you.  If I felt like hauling off and making you a present, it's a present.  If you asked for something specific that you really want, you pay for the yarn and then ply me with some nice chardonnay and we spend some quality time together to pay for my time.  Frankly, if I love you enough to knit for you, I love you enough to want to spend time with you so it works out pretty well.

And I love babies.  So I will knit anything for any baby anywhere any time.

Sometimes a friend will ask for a baby sweater. 

Like this one.

My lovely neighbor's friend is having a baby boy and you really can't go wrong with a creamy little raglan sleeved number with some nice tortoise shell-ish buttons for a little boy.  A bottle of Kendall Jackson Chardonnay was involved which escaped being photographed by dumping itself into my glass.

There's another kind of baby knitting that I also do that is even more fun for me.  It's secret and anonymous and I call it my Baby Karma knitting.

Like this one.

Yeah, it's the same pattern.  I use it all the time because it makes the world's best baby sweater.  Something about the way the arms fit.  Anyway, this is a Baby Karma sweater.  It was knit in secret and then wrapped in tissue and a bow and left anonymously at the pregnant families door.  Because every baby should start their life out with some act of kindness.   This baby won't remember it, won't ever wonder who knit it and probably won't care.  But his or her (in this case his) little spirit will have started out life with an act of warmth and protection.  And that makes me feel good.

I often say that there's enough misery in the world to go around and I don't need to be actively trying to add to it.  The other side of that coin is that there's never enough happiness in the world (really--who doesn't want more happiness) and I really really do need to actively be trying to add to it. 

The Other Side

Thank you all for your kindness.  Funny--I had actually made it through most of the day and was surprised at how calm I was.  Amazing how your emotions can sneak up on you.

Today I am fine.  I think because I am lucky enough to be surrounded by really interesting, kind, warm and inspiring people.

So here's the plan for the rest of the week.  Up early (very very early), lovely morning knitting (I'll post some pictures tomorrow), good things at work (although a few people are annoying the crap out of me this week), good food at home (my Brian takes good care of me) and (hopefully) getting the damn house clean.

My challenge to you this week--be happy.  Be intentionally happy.  Decide that you are going to be happy and do whatever it takes to do it.  Even if it is just for a minute or an hour.  Embrace it.  Because, you know what, if you know how to be happy, I believe that you will be better at being unhappy when the time comes. 

Today

Today would have been his 45th birthday.  I truly believed that I would be okay but it didn't really work out for me.  About an hour ago, I started weeping and couldn't stop.

This was not supposed to happen.  It was not supposed to end this way.

Perfect Sunday Morning

Brian is sleeping on the couch.  Heather is sleeping on the love seat.  Smokey is sleeping on the couch pillow behind me.  Max is sleeping under Couch 22.

And I am playing with yarn. 

I've gotten a lot of gifts of yarn in the past few months and each one is better than the rest.  I've had them all out on my desk so I could play with them.  Sort of the equivalent of a little kid wanting to leave all the Legos out so she could build something anytime she wants to.  Although it really hurts to step on a random lego--not so much with a ball of yarn.

I'll show you some today and save some for other posts lest you all get greedy and try to sneak into my stash!

This pile of deliciousness was cleverly disguised in a Bloomingdales box on Christmas morning.

I know I've mentioned before that my parents are very good yarn shoppers but it turns out that my father takes it very very seriously.  When we arrived in VT for the Christmas celebrations I was wearing a sweater that I had FINALLY finished!  It's beautiful fuzzy Brown Sheep Lambs Pride bulky (I'll tell you about the sweater another time--it was a journey) and Pop started asking all sorts of questions--What kind of yarn do you use?  Umm--anything that's a natural fiber.  So the size doesn't matter?  Nope, not at all.  As long as it isn't fake.  And colors, what kind of colors?  All colors Pop. 

I didn't catch on that he was afraid he picked the wrong yarn until two days later.  He's so sweet.  And see what he picked.  The old man picked out Noro.  And not just one skein but two!  And that purple in the bottom corner--that's Malabrigo!  And then he pushed the envelope and picked out some sock yarn that I've never even heard of before.  Good times!

This lovely pile came from my neighbor Denis's trip to China.  He's the father of one of my childhood friends and he loves to travel (he's also brought my yarn from the market in Italy). 

The labels are all in Chines so I have no idea what this is or what the yardage is.  So far it has passed the wool test so I'm pretty sure that's what it is.  It is squeezy and delicious and I love it.  And one of the big balls is enough to make a Baby Surprise so, really, how wrong can you go.  There's more of it but it's already on the needles so you should be seeing more of this soon.

There's a lot more to come but I don't want you to start out your Sunday all jealous so I'll save those for next time.

I Suppose An Explanation Is In Order

First things first.  About the Kenny Rogers video.  You see, we were at Maud's a few weeks ago and someone said something that triggered something in my brain but it totally misfired and I ended up having one of these conversations.

Me  "There's a song about a field."
Brian  "What are you talking about?"
Me  "A song--I know you know it--about a field.  With plants in it.  Come on help me out here."
Brian  "Okay sure.  A song."
Me  "It's a country song.  I think it's Kenny Rogers.  Yeah it's definitely Kenny Rogers.  Something about not be able to pick the crops.  Yeah yeah yeah."
Brian  "Oh yeah--I know that song.  What the hell is the name of it."
Our neighbor at the bar "It's a woman's name isn't it?"
Me and Brian "Yeah yeah yeah--a woman's name!!"
Our neighbor  "Ruby!!  It's Ruby!"
Me and Brian  "No, no, no!!  That's not it."
Me  "Ruby was the one that he didn't want to take her love to town."

And on and on until we finally sort of forgot about it until I shouted out "YOU PICKED A FINE TIME TO LEAVE ME LUCILLE" at the top of my lungs about an hour later. 

Of course now I had it stuck in my head for a few days so I decided that I needed to share the shame of it on my blog.  Or, I should correctly say, my other blog.  Feel free to visit but don't blame me when you get caught singing Sylvia's Mother on the 1 train. 

Somehow, I managed to post it to both blogs and you guys ended up with it.  Mea culpa.

Moving on.  

The blog has been dark and I am sorry for it.  It's not that I haven't wanted to write.  It's just that I couldn't.  The ex-boyfriend was my most loyal reader and his death is still oh so very surreal to me.  He visited the blog every day and I believe that it was his way of somehow keeping a connection with me.  I've been on an emotional roller coaster since January over this whole mess and, although my brain is very rational, my heart and my spirit have had a few bad instances of the "what-if"s.  Now I know that his problems were his own, etc. etc. but every so often my psyche takes off into some other place that is neither rational nor linear and I get stuck there for a bit. 

I've been reading Ann Leary a lot lately and last week she had a post asking her readers what was going on in their lives.  So I decided that it was going to be a really good idea to just dump all my issues in some strangers lap and hope that it would break things open and I would be back in the saddle again.  I wrote a response on her blog very carefully.  I chose my words well.  I really thought it through and, I think, said everything I needed to say to get my groove back on.  And I hit post.  And it got lost.  Gone. 

And in my head, I heard Denis Leary laughing at me, calling me a pussy and telling me to shut the fuck up with my whining and write about shit on my own damn blog (his words--not mine).

So I'm back.  There may be some whining and some wild irrationality but there's also been lots of good stuff to share.