Archives for December 2004

I feel as though I should say something deeply introspective and wise on this, the eve of a new year. Something that will make you stop and think, make you sigh, make you wonder about the very fibers of our beings here on the planet we all share.

Well, damn. This last year’s been a doozy, huh?

How’s that? Really, it has been something else. The country’s gone all to hell and Canada gets more amazing by the minute, but my life’s been pretty damn great this year. I bought a home. I ran a marathon. I fell into big, big love. I got to meet about a million bloggers who are all, each one of ’em, as fabulous as you can imagine. I learned dogs are pretty damn cool. I wrote a lot. I got to spend time with my family, and all are healthy. My sisters remain incredibly cool.

So, what now? What does 2005 hold when 2004 kicked so much ass? I can only think of one thing: A book being freaking DONE. Not necessarily sold, because I know the realities of selling a novel in the Land of TiVo. But at least done and out there.

And you know what? Don’t yell at me, but I’m starting something new. I’m putting the novel I’ve been working on for two years aside for a little bit. I’ve been working it to death this last month, and it feels like a fair-isle sweater done on 10US needles. I’m fighting with its bulk, and it’s mocking me. And in my knitting, when I’m mocked, I put the obstinate wool away and start something else.

I don’t doubt I’ll finish the revisions on this one. I’m a finisher, something I’ve  learned about myself this year. I always pick the grumpy sweater back up (eventually) and make it into a garment. But me and the current book, we’re on the outs, and I have a light little book in mind that I’m going to try to bang out in short order, starting next week. The knitted socks of my writing life.

I only worry about myself when I’m not writing at all. I did a fair bit of that this year, feeling too discouraged by the novel to do much of anything else. But as long as I’m writing, I’ll allow myself to let this novel lie fallow a little longer. I’ve got one character in particular who’s balking and digging in her heels and refusing, flat-out refusing, to do anything she needs to do. We’re not on speaking terms. We need a time-out. And she can’t have ANY ice cream, either, for at least a couple of months. I’m cruel that way.

Do I sound like I’m justifying too much? I might be. I have some guilt over not powering through the damned thing. But I tried that, and my voice is going all stern and mean and just isn’t mine at all. I’ll try this other project and we’ll see where it goes.

Here’s to a magnificent 2005 for us all. I raise my virtual glass of fine cham-pan-ya in your general direction and thank you, for being my friends. (New year) MWAH!

Ankle is feeling better. It wasn’t a wicked sprain, it was just more of a strain, and embarrassing, to boot. Or to shoe, as the case may be.

Go read Em and Iris. Collectively, they got me off my ass to donate (and because I know my debit card by heart, that’s only figurative — I never even had to stand up). Go on, make a difference. Show ’em some Americans really do care. MWAH!

Someone please explain to me how it is in any way possible that I ran a marathon in Hawaii, and then ran around Mills College in the rain just yesterday, through mud puddles, and on slick sidewalks, and yet last night at work I managed to twist the shit out of my ankle while I was STANDING on the spot where the carpet meets the incredibly dangerous eighth-of-a-centimeter plastic mat? True talent, mine.

Hey, you like the new banner? Is that just weird that I’m posting a picture of my tub? Too intimate? Don’t really care, because nothing in my whole enormous  540 square foot living space thrills me like that tub. Well, maybe opening my door with my own key. And my cute cats (see below). But then, the tub. I have discovered recently that coffee is even more enjoyable than beer in the tub. Don’t ask me why that is. I don’t know.

Anyway. Is it Friday yet?

while I was at the parents’ house for the holiday:

Hey! How were your holidays? I guess they’re not over yet, are they? Lots of people have the week off, and bless ’em. Me, I have to go back to work tonight. I got off Christmas morning, took a brief nap for driving safety, drove the 250 miles home, ate dinner, and PASSED OUT. I think I slept twelve hours that night, something I never manage to do.

We did open prezzies, though, which was fun. Bethany’s still in Montana, and we missed the hell outta her, but here are the other Herron gals:

Didn’t knit anything for anyone this Xmas. I made Lala some socks out of Twisted Sister yarn the color of Skittles:

but she only accidentally got them near Christmas. A happy coincidence, I think.

I used the same yarn, different color, for a pair for myself, which I just finished. Now, I have a method for making socks. I’m no embellisher, no cables or lacework in my socks, just a good toe-up sock, with a ribbed cuff. I know how long to make each part of a sock for myself by measuring it as I go against my hand. Therefore, after I finished sock #1, I put it away and didn’t refer to it again until sock #2 was completed. That’s when I realized that I must have bought a different dye-lot.

Whoops. And honestly, I really don’t care, since they’re for me. Now that’s got to be a FAST trotting horse, but trot it does.

And while we’re on knitting (briefly, don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll neglect knitting content for weeks after this spate), here’s the Manos my friend Lynn sent me:

Doesn’t its beauty just hurt? Mmmm. Here’s what I’m thinking: A reg’lar ole bottom-up raglan, but with stripes, and maybe a wee cable up both arms. And that’s when I lose control, start thinking about the LARGE cable I could put up the front, a la Starmore, with the stripes running through them, and I have two thoughts: #1: Slow it down, partner! One thing at a time. #2: It’s my sweater and I can do whatever I want with it, thus the joy of knitting. (That’s what Mariko said when we met for coffee the other night. Her husband is as nice as she is, and that’s a very large statement. And she didn’t throw anything at me as retribution for essentially outing her as a child-Santa-phobe a couple of post ago.)

But I do admit a nice simple stripey raglan might be just the thing.

Let me put you where I am. Well, that might be uncomfortable, since I’m occupying this chair and don’t really feel like fighting over it. I’m at work, settled in for a long winter’s shift. Got here at 7pm, getting off work at 7am. It’s currently o’dark thirty and holding. In front of me are four big ole computer screens. One is the police radio, one is the phone system, both 911 lines and normal police phones, and two screens are for the computer-aided dispatch computers, which keep track of where my cops are at all times. Okay, most times. Sometimes they go to Starbucks without telling me (or offering me a cup) but they shouldn’t do that. Right now I have two officers at lunch (breakfast, whatever), three in the green (available), and one sergeant somewhere in the building.

It’s a small room, with five chairs. There are only two dispatchers working right now — me and my late-night partner JoAnn. We’re a good team. We knit. We don’t gossip, except for things like the Peterson trial or current Jessica Simpson scandal. She keeps up with those types of things and fills me in when I need to be filled.

We have holiday lighting and decorations all over the room. A string of white-light icicles goes exactly three-quarters of the way around the room, which kind of drives me crazy, but it’s all right. All the regular overhead lights are off in deference to our desperate desire to sleep.

The radio in the break-room is set on a popular station — mostly today’s hit music (sigh) with a light smattering of Xmas tunes. Not so many Christmas tunes that I want to slit my wrists, just enough to seep into the brain and remind you that yes, you’re at work while everyone else is drinking spiked egg nog.

To my left are: My purse, my knit-kit, a half-done sock, a Clapotis pattern, a map of the city, an empty *$ cup, a lipgloss, and half a roll of toilet paper because my nose won’t stop running. To my right are: A city phone directory, an article on sweater design, a half bottle of water, a shaker of salt, and TJ’s peanut-butter filled pretzels. At my feet is a Honolulu Marathon bag that’s holding my novel (hey, I really didn’t notice how poetic that was until just now). My feet are propped up on an upside down recycling bin. I’m in uniform. We won’t discuss that.

Today, I’ll go see Lala for a minute (maybe two if she’s lucky), then go home and to bed. Up this afternoon to wrap and prep for the Christmas that I didn’t really see coming. I need glasses, apparently. Then back in at 7pm until 7am, when I’ll go home for a quick nap before getting on the road to drive home (5 hours south) for Christmas dinner.

Think of your public servants this weekend, people. It’s hard to be at work when you just want to be at home with your family and loved ones. And there are a lot of us out here — dispatchers, cops, doctors, nurses, EMTs, firefighters, security guards, bridgetenders…. I’ve run out. Sleepy. I think bridgetender is rather creative, actually. Oh! Pilots. Bus-drivers. I bet you get the picture now. Anyway. You know what I mean.

Truly, I’m happy to be here. It’s weird, but I am. ESPECIALLY since Rosa is picking up tamales tonight on her way to work from the best tamale place in the whole world (the history page is great). I don’t mind working. And I get to see my family on Christmas night, which is more than I’ve been able to in past years.

Did I mention I get tamales tonight? I’m not eating all DAY in preparation. Dude.

Merry Christmas, all y’all who celebrate it. Those who don’t, have a great Saturday. Hug yer loved ones, and tell them what they mean to you, and I’ll see you on Monday(ish).