Our Handwriting

A few years ago, I attended a scrapbooking bible study class.  I know, it probably sounds like an odd combination, but it was great.  Lisa Welchel from the old TV show, The Facts of Life, created it.  I paid my fee, received my supplies and for a couple months, every other week, I met with a small group of ladies.  We watched a video with a devotional, had some discussion and worked on our pages for the lesson.

The book we created was a scrapbook about ourselves that we would pass down to our child(ren).  I only made one (hopefully one of my kids will want it) and I love it.  We journaled our family trees, about where and when we met our husbands, about our children, parents, childhood, church, etc.  It's a pretty neat little book.

I'm somewhat of a perfectionist and at times, I simply could not make my mind up about what to put where or what to say because I wanted it to be just right.  I think that is probably the bulk of my problems with a past want-to-be-scrapbooker obsession.  It just never took off because I couldn't seem to force myself to just cut the picture and put it on the page...for fear of it not being perfect.  I've since moved on...

But one of the important aspects of the scrapbook that Lisa really pushed on us was journaling and writing things in our book in our handwriting.  Yes, I really wanted to type things out in a creative font on my computer and print, but Lisa insisted it was important for our children to see our handwriting.  Hmm.

I'm not a fan of my handwriting.  I often say, "And you can see that that's why I type."  It just isn't that great. Part of my problem is that I don't slow down and take the time to make it pretty and legible.  (Imagine that.)

But I bought some fancy gel pens and I penned in my little "All About Me" scrapbook.  It turned out okay. Shamefully, as I write this, I think I may even need to finish one last page - which is so like me...ah!

These past few weeks, for some reason, my Grandma K's handwriting has been popping up everywhere.  Lane pulled out a word-find book that I had in my bible bag at church during revival and I saw her name handwritten across the top.  That made me smile.  Last week while cleaning and sorting camper items for the camper, I was going through the utensils and found this metal thing (I have no clue what it is) in a plastic sleeve and written across it, in my Grandma's handwriting, was a description of it and who gave it to her. (She was notorious for making notations on things that people had given to her, who it was from and for what.)  Seeing that one kind of did numbers on my stomach.

I don't know what certain characteristics of our handwriting says about us, but I do know that they become part of our identity.  Do you ever reach in the mailbox and pull out an envelope with no return address and know immediately, by the handwriting, who sent it?  My mom has pretty nice handwriting and I can easily pick it out without hesitation.  If she has left me a note or made a notation on something, I know without seeing who it is from that that is my mother's.  There are some other 'mothers' out there whose handwriting I also recognize easily.

My Grandma L had very pretty handwriting.  It was curvy and flowed smoothly from one letter to another.   I imagine she didn't apply much pressure to her pen.  Grandma K's was completely different.  It was very deliberate; each and every letter appeared to be made with just the right amount of pressure and precision. She wrote in cursive, but it didn't seem nearly as pretty as Grandma L's.

It's funny how things come back around.  When I was attending that bible study, listening to Lisa talk about the importance of your handwriting and its legacy, I never once thought I would appreciate its value.  But here I am, thinking about my handwriting and the handwriting of my loved ones...

IT won't happen to me.

And now what are you waiting for?  Get up, be baptized and wash your sins away, calling on his name.    Acts 22:16 (NIV)

Last night (Sunday) before bed, Jay tells me to take my cell phone with me to bed, which I usually do anyway when he is working.  He said there were some nasty storms brewing to the south and he would call me if the kids and I needed to take cover.  Honestly, I was freaked out a little.  But really, what are the chances anything will hit us?  It won't happen to me.

Thankfully, and I say that with a twinge of guilt, nothing headed up our way, but as I watch video and read stories of the devastation in the south, my heart is heavy for those people.  Many thoughts are swirling through my mind:  Why them?  What did they do?  Why don't those people move out of tornado alley? Where do you start?  What could I do?  I can't even imagine...

I think of the phrase, "I never thought it would happen to me."  Does anyone ever think IT will happen to them?  You can make the IT whatever you want: cancer, a car accident, a tornado, devastating illness, the death of a child or spouse, house fire, etc.  No one ever thinks IT will happen to them.

I'm sure that there were some tornado warnings and that most people heeded those, but how many times have they heard those same warnings, took cover and nothing happened?  Probably more than they can count.  Some won't even pay attention, thinking, it never hits us.  But, what if this is that time IT hits?

I'm not sure I could stomach that roller coaster honestly.  My first instinct would be to move far away, to a safer area, but where would that be? You can't run from all dangers.  And what if your entire family were in that area, that was your home, you owned a business, etc?  Can you just pick up and leave?

The Bible gives us many, many 'torando' warnings.  Do we pay attention to them?  Are we ignoring them because we don't think IT will happen to us?  Are we waiting until later to change our ways?  Are we trying to find a safer place to run to?

As always, the one and only safety net is Jesus Christ.  I do not know how or when I will leave this earth, but I do know where I will go from here.  I sure hope to see you there.

Listen to the warnings.  Get your emergency kit (salvation) lined out.  Do not wait until IT hits.

My weirdness

I was sitting here participating in one of my odd obsessions and I began to wonder if anyone has some of the same obsessions.  My family thinks I'm weird.  Maybe I am.  I'm comfortable with that.

Weird Obsession No. 1 - I am slightly obsessed with cutting my split ends.  I am pretty good about getting my hair trimmed every six to eight weeks, but "Ashley" can't catch everything.  Do you know how many hairs are on the top of your head?!  (Only God knows...haha, I could not resist that one.)  I feel like I am obligated to help her out.  I don't really have a hairstyle, per se, but I do flat-iron my hair after I blow dry it. (No heat damage there, huh?!)  It seems to take a toll on the ends of my hair...and they divide...and then I conquer. (I know, I just had to.)  I always have a pair of small, sharp scissors handy in my purse to clip those pesky splits.  Do you know how hard it is to refrain from snipping one off at first site?

There I am, minding my own business in church or out in public somewhere, when, out of the corner of my eye, I see it - a nasty, double (or heaven-forbid a triple) split-end.  Thoughts swirl in my head:  I can't do it, not now.  It's not appropriate.  People will think I'm weird. But what if I don't find it later?  What if I forget to look?  That thing will split time and time again and spread like cancer through my hair...Early detection is the key.

Sometimes the feelings take over my common sense and I do it - I sneak a snip.

The other day on the way home from town, I looked over at Madolyn in the passenger seat and there it was just blowing in the wind (or the air from the vent) - a monstrosity of a split.  It could even have been a quadruple whammy.  I simply couldn't help myself.  I got my scissors out and cut that nasty thing right off. Of course, she made some comments, but I am only try to help, you know.

Then we laughed, can't you just see it...

Officer:  So what caused you to go in the ditch?  Were you texting?
Me:  No.
Officer:  Were you talking on your cell phone without a hands-free device?
Me:  No.
Officer:  Well, then, how did you just run off the road and careen into the ditch?
Me:  I was trying to cut a really bad split end out of my daughter's hair...

Okay, so maybe that is going a little too far.  Perhaps trimming hair while driving down the road is a little dangerous, which could lead to a hair-splitting incident (again, HA).  And maybe cutting a split-end off when I'm out in public is a little gross and inappropriate.  But, hey, who wants to split hairs...

What a glorious weekend.

I cannot remember having a more beautiful Easter weekend.  It was absolutely gorgeous.  I took Good Friday off work since Jay and the kids were home.  My courthouse is one of only a few that does not close down on Good Friday :(  I almost always take it off though because the kids are out of school.

Lane celebrated his 10th birthday this weekend and Friday night he had his friends over, we had a wienie roast and sleepover.  They were all so good.  There were no major mishaps or injuries.  Everyone got along.  They played hard outside until about 9:15 and then they bedded down in the living room for a movie. We heard not one peep out of them until about 6:45 the next morning.

Saturday evening we celebrated birthdays and Easter with Jay's family.  Again, what a beautiful day.   We decorated eggs, went out to eat, had an Easter Egg Hunt, ate ice cream and cake and opened gifts.

Sunday morning, we attended Sunrise service at our church, which consisted of a cantata.  Everyone did great in that.  Then we ate our traditional stuff-your-self-silly breakfast and had worship.  We were home by 9:30, I think, and I went straight to bed for a nap!

When I woke up, Jay & Lane were fishing up a storm.  Catching fish every cast.  They were not much bigger than your hand, but it was still fun.  I just sat on the ground and watched.  We did some stuff around the house, went mushroom hunting (too dry, Jay says - found zip), met some friends at the local state park and walked the trails with our kids, grabbed some pizza and came back to our house to eat.

The kids - they went frog fishing.  I say frog fishing because they were catching fish with a hook and pole.  It was dark and they had flash lights.  They had a ball.  Caught a bunch too.  Now they are dressed and in my fridge in a bowl waiting for the next phase.  Ugh.

As we were waiting on the 'dressing' of the frogs, my friend, Beth, Madolyn, Harper & I were sitting in the living room.  Josie jumped in through the window with a small mouse in tow.  I ran, chasing her into my bedroom where she dropped the mouse, who was still alive, and it scurried toward my bed.  I immediately did the only thing I knew to do, besides scream, and I stepped on it.  Ugh.  I yelled for a cup or container or anything.  Everyone was screaming and scrambling.  Beth dumped this small plastic box full of craft supplies out on the floor and I lifted my foot and we scooped up the mouse - who was not feeling well by this time. Josie was ticked.  Too bad.  The window was shut, asap.

Talk about jitters!  Funny thing, Harper had just come inside and told us about them screaming outside when the frogs tried to get away...she imitated the scream and we got after her to not scream in the house.  It wasn't a minute later, we were all screaming like small, hysterical children because of the mouse!

It was one of those weekends you just don't want to end.  After the winter we've endured, it was an awesome reward.  Over and over, I kept thinking to myself,  is there a better way to celebrate Easter than with this gorgeous weather?  No way.  What a wonderful reminder of God's power over all things.  Everywhere you turn, there is new growth, new life, various shades of green.  We, too, have been given new life through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.  Hallelujah!

R.I.P. Sherlock

Sherlock, the goldfish, that we were given last fall by my friend, Kathy, passed away sometime Saturday, under suspicious circumstances.   Cause of death is undetermined.  No autopsy performed.  The main suspect:  The Not-So-Sweet Josie.

Sherlock was last seen floating along the bottom of his abode, belly-side up.  Still breathing, just barely. Upon further inspection, injury to his tail was noted, as evidenced by small amounts of blood.

One can only surmise that The Not-So-Sweet-Josie got a little too close to Sherlock as she was clinching her thirst as she often did, sipping from the fish bowl.

If you will recall, this same suspect tried to end the life of Sherlock last fall when she knocked his fish bowl off the half-wall and he traveled down 13 steps, landing at the bottom of the stairs, unharmed and gasping for air.  Josie, wet and frightened herself, had failed in her attempt.  Authorities are not sure what motivated the feisty feline to commit such an atrocious act, but it was noted that she is somewhat devious.

Sherlock was a beautiful goldfish with a long, swishy tail.  He had as much personality as a fish could have, becoming somewhat excited if he saw movement near his bowl.  Many times we thought Sherlock had expired, only to find that he was snoozing near the bottom of his home.

No charges are pending.  Pond-side service conducted.  Fishbowl and accessories are available.  No suspect in custody at this time.

It had been quite a while since a pet at the Wilhoit Ranch had passed.  Last count was 15 months.  We are sorry to report the streak has ended.

Best coffee ever

Jay has found the key to the 'best coffee ever.'   The five-cup percolator I inherited from Grandma Great.

When Grandma decided it was time to clean out her house, it was a free-for-all.  Her stuff was put in the garage and we could pick through and get whatever we wanted.  It may sound kind of harsh, but it's just stuff, it had to go somewhere, and we might as well get what we want before it goes to the second-hand store.

We had just gotten our first camper and I was fortunate enough to pretty much stock that baby with tools of the trade from Grandma Great's kitchen.  The percolator was one little treasure I had to have.  I remember having many 'tea' parties with this thing, pouring pop, tea or juice in there and then filling small Cabbage Patch Kid brand tea cups for my parties.   My grandma had these glass shot-glasses that us grandkids loved to drink from and I remember using this coffee pot to fill those up too.

So I've attempted to make coffee in this mini pot several times on camping trips and it worked for the most part.  (When you're desperate for coffee, won't you drink almost anything?  Yep, Jay drank it.)  Recently we sold our camper and I had to clean it out.  This little guy had been sitting on our counter for a week or so when Jay decided to give it a try.  After several attempts at getting it just right, he discovered that this five-cup percolator makes the best coffee ever.

He can't quite "put his finger" on it, but it just tastes better.  The added bonus:  We don't have five cups of coffee sitting in the coffee pot waiting to be thrown out every day.  Jay only drinks about five cups, but has to have ten cups made in the big coffee maker for it to taste right.  (Believe me, I have tried to make half a batch and he has busted me every time.  Strange.  Whatever.)

There's something special about using an item like this, isn't there?  I love it when I look around and see things that have meaning.  (They didn't just come from the local Wal-Mart.)  Even something as simple as a five-cup percolator has 'great value.'

The Shoe Shelf

A while back our cute little shop in town closed.  They had a close-out sale before shutting the doors and I bought this really cool double-decker shelf.  The moment I saw it, I knew I had to have it...I had no idea where it was going, only that it was going home with me.

When Jay picked it up and brought it home, he asked me what I was going to do with it.  I had no clue.  I tried it out in the bedroom.  I'm wanting a new dresser and thought maybe it would work.  I folded jeans and pants and stored them away on the shelf.  And then thought, who am I kidding?  Those neatly folded clothes are not going to last more than a day and then it will be just another disaster I have to stare at.  Nope, this is not going to be my new dresser.

Then it hit me.  We have such a cluster mess of shoes at the back door.  It is a total disaster...and that is where a majority of people enter our house.  The first thing they see is a mass explosion of shoes.  And try to find the match to the one you're looking for - it's nearly impossible.  My new shelf was going to be the solution to our shoe problem.

Each of us now has our own shelf, which will hold three pair of shoes.  There is no reason for any one of us to have more than that at the back door.  Our rubber boots don't fit in the shelf, so they have a spot next to the shoe shelf, and once winter decides to leave us for good, I can put the winter tote in the attic and it will look even better back there.

The top two shelves have ball gloves, bird feed, gloves and hats, flashlights, ammo, just various odds and ends that usually sit on top of my clothes dryer...or on the floor.  

The shoe shelf is a very simple concept.  You come in the house and you put your shoes on the shelf.  If they don't fit on your shelf, you have exceeded the three-shoe maximum and those shoes need to go in your bedroom. There have been several shoe shelf violations.  The family thinks it's funny and don't understand why I'm obsessed with the order of the shoes.  I even hear little comments like, "Uh-oh, shoe violation, mom's gonna be mad!"  Right you are.  Put your shoes on the shelf, people!

Here's the scoop - the laundry room/back door area is very small.  The rest of my house looks like a natural disaster.  I love having my laundry room area organized and looking decent...because, as I said before, this is where most people come into the house.  (I can always tell when my mom has stopped in and had a few extra minutes...the shoes are lined up in rows along the wall.)  When I have control of that small room, I feel like I'm with the program, you know.  And now if I could just keep guests confined to that area, I'd feel pretty good.

The shoe shelf has brought order to our left-by-the-backdoor footwear and I love it.  All I ask is that my family abide by the shoe shelf rules and regulations.  If not, I'm going to have to come up with some penalties for those habitual shoe shelf violators.  

Cigar Box Treasures

My mother was cleaning her closets and came upon a small, old cigar box.  And look what she found - a treasure.

Assortment of DPN's

I know, how awesome is that?  She said to me, "I have this box of needles, but you probably already have the needles and don't need them." Mother, good heavens, no.  Knitters always NEED more needles.  Now, six months ago, I could've saved a good chunk of moola if this treasure trove had been discovered sooner, but I'm delighted nonetheless.  I immediately used some of the #7 DPN's (ha, that is knitter lingo) on a hat I was making.


As I have told you, my Grandma Lynch was a knitter.  She didn't go many places without her knitting bag and whatever project she was currently working on.  I so wish she were alive and well and could visit the Yarn Studio with me.  I think she would be in awe of the beautiful yarns on display.  I'm a yarn snob now, so I've been told.  I simply cannot bear to knit with cheap yarn.  I don't like the feel of it on my fingers, I don't like the way it knits, I don't always like the finished product, etc.  I don't think Grandma had access to all these fancy yarns.

The Yarn Studio gal tells me I'm a naturalist - I prefer the natural fibers.  Hmm, I don't know why, but that made me feel kind of cool.  And in the past when I thought of a naturalist, I imagined people running around naked, eating berries and gnawing on roots.  Please don't misinterpret my words - I'm not that kind of naturalist.

Mom thought she had gotten rid of most of grandma's knitting supplies a long time ago.  I'm sure we were all asked if we wanted anything, and I'm sure that at least I said no, as in no way, I'm never going to knit.  Ha. You know the saying, Never say never.

Lane was digging through the box and its contents (unimpressed by the assortment of DPN's) and found a matchbook from my Grandma & Grandpa Lynch's 50th wedding anniversary party.  He picks it up and asks what it is, I tell him and then he says, "Are they real matches?  I mean, do they really work?"  Funny.  Yes, they sure do.  And of course, he struck one immediately.  He can hardly resist a fire.

Okay,  now back to something that I was reminded of by the first main paragraph.  If I ever became a famous knitter (shush - it could happen, you know), I would like my stuff to be under the name of Neadmore Knitting.  Ha!  Do you get it?  If you're not a local, you may not realize that I live near the old Neadmore grocery store.  I thought that was super clever and a wonderful play on words or pun or whatever.  You know...Everyone needs more knitting!

Excellence

So whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God.
1 Corinthians 10:31 (NIV)

I watched a video recently from my former youth leader on Excellence.  Man alive, I felt like he had reached into my brain and pulled out some of my own thoughts.  And I didn't know what label to put on those thoughts, but once I watched the video, I thought, yes, this is it.  We don't strive for excellence anymore.

Excellence not as in a matter of perfection.  Excellence as in excelling and doing what you can do the best you can do.  All. The. Time.

And more importantly, even when no one is looking.

We used this same video as our youth lesson last week, and I don't know about the kids, but I thought it was a good topic.  Here are a few points we hit on:

There are so many reasons why we should strive to do our best all the time, one of which is because we don't know who may be watching.  This can apply to the young and old, applying for jobs or scholarships, in parenting situations, etc.  Our actions reflect who we are and what we are good at.  If I'm never willing to go the extra mile, am I going to be invited to participate in an extraordinary opportunity? Will they pick me for that scholarship even though I am lazy, I didn't apply myself in school and wasn't a part of any club or activity?

Maybe you're not the best at basketball, but you're really good at the scholastic bowl. Being a part of a club or activity outside of those that are required shows you have gumption and are willing to take direction, participate and work with others, etc.  You are goal-oriented and ambitious.

Now, on the flip-side, if you join a club or team only because you think it will make you look good, and then don't participate, are absent from the meetings or games, put forth little effort when you are there, are negative or disrespectful, you will find the opposite result.  Someone will notice you, all right, but it won't be for the good.

The same is true for an adult, and I'm often guilty of this.  Will you be on this committee?  Sure.  And then I don't give 100% to the committee or its members. I did what I thought was expected and said yes.  I come when it's convenient.  Isn't that enough?  Well, it just may be...and the next time they need a new member, they will look the other way.

I feel this way a lot in my parenting.  Lane or Madolyn will ask me to do something with them that I really don't want to do...but to pacify my child, I do it...about 50 percent.  Meaning, I am watching TV out of the corner of my eye, or texting someone with one hand and rolling dice with another.  I'm there, but not really there.  I'm interacting but only as much as I have to.  I'm setting a horrible example...do whatever you have to do to get by.

This week it finally hit me that I really need to apply this lesson to myself.  I may not be super happy with my work right now, but regardless, I need to be the best secretary/court reporter I can be.  Do I want to be a secretary?  Not necessarily, but at this point, my job is just that:  about 75% secretary 25% court reporter.  I truly believe God called me here; consequently, here, at this time in my life, is where I will be...and will strive to do my best at what I'm given.

If you go to my Facebook timeline, the Excellence video should be on there because I shared it on Tuesday. I don't know if everyone can see it, but give it a try and let me know.

As you go about your mundane activities "or whatever you do" this week, strive for excellence.

My new friends

Introducing my new friends!  I ordered a three-pack of these dudes off eBay.

Vanna White wannabe?

Jay was horrified because I ordered it under his name and now his profile will show that he ordered them!  I hadn't thought of that, of course.  I only wanted some fake heads to show off my hats and help block them in the drying process.

I'm pretty sure there is more weirdness out there than Jay buying three Styrofoam heads.  His poor image. Hey, shouldn't I be the one that is worried?  Ha.

I've known all along that I have a large head, but really, whose head is this skinny (besides Jay)?  Most of the hats I put on here, hang low...but it works.  They show off child-size hats real well.

My daughter, and most likely the rest of the family, think I've lost my mind.  Now that I'm on a knitting break, I keep asking myself, "What did I do before knitting took over my life?"  I feel lost or something in the evening.  I don't know what to do with myself sometimes.

Thankfully, the spring weather is upon us and we'll return to the days of coming inside just in time for bed. There won't be time for knitting (boo-hoo) anyway or whining about the fact that I cannot knit obsessively...to my new friends, the only ones who will listen, my complaints falling on deaf ears...

Turkey Time

I kid you not, I think my almost-ten-year-old son could be outside shooting at something every spare minute he has.  He's an up-with-the-sun kind of kid, and now that it is daylight earlier, he eats his breakfast, gets ready for school and heads outside with his gun until it is time to go to school.

The same is true for after school...as long as an adult is at home.  Thankfully, at this point, he does abide by that rule.  No adult - no shooting anything but a BB gun.  I'm sure his older sister will tattle on him the minute he tries to sneak through that one.

We are hunters and gun owners.  We believe in teaching children how to use guns and use them properly, safely and humanely.  Both of our kiddos, as well as ourselves, have passed the hunter safety course. Although I know accidents can happen, and I'm not foolish enough to believe they couldn't happen to us, I am proud of my little hunter and his passion for hunting.

He went turkey hunting for the first time this weekend and got one.  He shot the turkey in the neck, which is a pretty narrow hit.  Jay told me that he didn't really think Lane would make the shot at the distance they were at, but he had to go for it.  And he did!  All the target practice is paying off.

We actually ate half of that turkey for supper last night and it was delicious.  Yes, it is a little tougher than a Butterball, and maybe Jay found a couple pieces of shot, but hey, we believe in eating what we harvest (for the most part).  I'm not too fond of fowl like duck, goose, pheasant, etc., but Jay will eat it - he will eat almost anything.  Madolyn was weirded out by the 'wild' turkey, but has no trouble eating the pork we receive from pigs raised in our barn.  Hmm.

The older I get, the more I realize these types of life lessons will never go out of style or become extinct.  No matter what happens, we need to eat.  And if push comes to shove, hopefully my little guy will be able to provide for his future family (and his ailing parents).

Revelation #332

Like a city whose walls are broken through
    is a person who lacks self-control.  Proverbs 25:28  (NIV)

While perusing through hundreds of knitting patterns today, I had a revelation:  Just because you can doesn't mean you should.

I could hear Jay saying this to me...as an example...just because you can knit doesn't mean that everyone wants something you've knitted.  He's not being mean.  He's being honest.  There are lots of items out there I could knit, but wowza - some of them are way out there.

Just a few days ago, my daughter posted a picture of me on Facebook holding one of my new knitting tools - a Styrofoam head.  I commented on the picture that I was going to knit her prom dress and it should be done in about three years.  Of course, I was joking (for the most part - I would never do such a thing - most likely), but it occurred to me today when I was seeing some real random knitting patterns - I could actually knit Madolyn a prom dress.  I have no doubt I could figure it out, and in three years, have a completed dress (and who knows, in three years, a knitted formal could be 'in'), but I'm not planning on it.

Another silly example is the cartwheel.  A few years ago, I was watching Madolyn do gymnastics tricks in the house and I decided to show her my stuff.  Good-ness.  Not. A. Good. Idea. At. All.  Not only were my muscles out of shape, my equilibrium was/is way off.  It nearly wiped me out.  I did the cartwheel...but I should not have and don't plan to try it again anytime soon.  Silly.  I paid for that one for a few days.

Many, many times I have started to reply to someone either by e-mail or on Facebook, I've had the right answer (mine, of course) typed out that would solve all things, big or small...and then I deleted it.  Yes, I think my solution is correct...but someone else may not.

The same is true when I hear or read something I know to be false or somewhat misleading...based on knowledge acquired through my work.  Just last week, I had to say to a friend, "I can't really comment on that."  Oh, I could have and wanted to, but I'm not supposed to.  And there is a very fine line, I've discovered unfortunately, between me voicing my personal opinion about a situation, and someone assuming that I'm spewing facts from the courtroom.  It can be very tricky.  I have to really think about what I say before I say it (or try to hopefully).  I've even found myself thinking, it's not fair that I can't say what I want to say for fear someone else may think I'm divulging privileged information...but it is what it is.  And really, most of it boils down to that g word we hate - gossip - anyway so it's best left unsaid, regardless.  It goes back to the same principle - just because I can doesn't mean I should.

I have tried many times in my life to use the I-can-if-I-want-to philosophy...and it never seems to work out. Immediately coming to mind is eating an entire package of Oreo's, Thin Mint's, an entire sheet cake, staying up into the wee hours of the morning to knit, read or watch movies, etc.  It may be good at the time, but the consequence is not so enjoyable.

I could go on and on with serious and silly examples of where this revelation comes into play.  We might raise Alpacas and Llamas some day..yes, then I could learn to spin the wool into beautiful yarn. Theoretically, we could...but it doesn't mean we have to.

Too much tingle

It is with a heavy heart, sore wrists and tingly arms that I write this, I must stop knitting for a while...hopefully, it is temporary and the damage can repair itself. After fighting sore wrists and tingly, numb arms for several weeks, I broke down and went to the King.  I was never a believer in chiropractors until I was desperate a few years ago and a couple visits to him fixed me right up.  He isn't one who strings you along, he tells you like it is and that's that.  I value his opinion and he has a good reputation.  The one sure test for carpal tunnel I failed on both wrists.  It's not serious or anything yet, but I need to get a grip.

It's a combination of things, of course, it's not just the knitting (right?  Please, say no!).  I sit a lot in one position for long periods of time.  My head is usually down or tilted downward and it puts a lot of pressure on my neck, which is causing me fits. I don't think that ergonomically the desk set-up I inherited (although very nice) is good for me either.  I hate to complain about my very lush office (it is to me) and probably won't...so today I have raised my keyboard higher and will try very hard to sit up straight in this very big chair.  And if you happen to drop by my office today, you might find me staring at the ceiling to keep my neck up and not down.

I'm a stomach sleeper.  I told you about my magic towel curing me last fall, remember?   Well, my neck quit hurting so bad and I got rid of that towel in my bed, but the King says to put it back.  Quit sleeping on my stomach.  Ugh.  I like to put my hands and arms above my head when I sleep...and they are falling asleep and numb when I wake up.

Last night when I got home, I took all my knitting projects and yarn paraphernalia (which is strewn all over the place) and put them in the office.  I must not even be tempted to finish the brim on that hat that will only take me an hour.  I told my kids and the youth group, if I was a crier, I would've cried.  It's not the end of the world or anything, but I really love knitting.  It's too bad I can't just sit at home and be a professional knitter (one of my youth group girls said I looked like a competitive knitter last week:)  The fact of the matter is I need to keep my job, so I need to get my priorities in line...plus, it's affecting my sleep and things like just driving the car.

Moderation is what always trips me up.  Stupid Moderation.  Who wants to knit just once a month?  Not obsessive Sarah.  Every spare minute of the day may have been overkill, but I thought it was harmless.  Snap.

So say a prayer for me and my arms/wrists as I try to give them a break, sit up straighter, sleep on my side or back (puke) and hold my head high.  If you see me and think I'm trying to stick my nose in the air and push my chest out, know that I'm doing whatever it takes to get back to my beloved yarn.