Cheap Thrills and Expensive Tastes

Yarn, glorious yarn! Does it get much better than this when it comes to fun things to look forward to? Spring is in the air, my friends, and it's April. That means that May is right around the corner and that means......ta-dah...trumpet voluntare.....crashing of cymbals, please! It's almost time for the Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival. I can just about feel that yarn now.

I do mean FEEL it, too. I can't keep my hands off it when I'm there. I have to touch every skein I come into contact with, smoosh it in my hands, rub a strand between my fingers, and sometimes (gasp) I even sniff it. Now some of you non-knitting folks might think this behavior is a little peculiar but au contraire, my friends. I'm not the only one stroking the goods. Look around. Most everyone else is, too. Unless, of course, you were conscripted into service as a driver or navigator and dragged to the event like my daughter was three years running.

Two years ago I was happily petting yarn in a booth while my daughter waited out in the aisle. She refused to come into the booth with me and the other fiber fanatics who were crowded around the tempting display. I don't remember if I purchased anything from that vendor that day but I do remember the grin on Laura's face when I finally re-emerged to join her.

"What's so funny?" I asked.

 
"You are,", she responded. "Hey, see that guy over there? He came up to me while I was standing here and said, 'You're not one of THEM, are you?' and he pointed right at all of you in that booth. "

"One of THEM?" I said, astonished. "What did he mean?"

"I told him 'Nah...I'm here with my mother. She's in there squeezing the yarn' and then he said 'I THOUGHT you were one of the normal ones. I drove my wife here. She's in there doing the same thing.'"

This year my daughter has moved further from the fairgrounds where the festival is held. That means I probably won't be able to coerce her into coming with me. I'll probably be arriving with my husband in tow. This was the case last year and it presented its own set of challenges. It wasn't so much that he minded me handling the merchandise. Oh no, he patiently tagged along and told me to take all the time I wanted to look. But that's the operative word...."look." I didn't WANT to just look. I wanted to BUY. And I wanted to buy without someone with an accountant's knack for keeping a running total standing there looking over my shoulder.

I tried sending him on errands like getting drinks for us or trying to find a manual for the weaving loom I'd received as a gift but he kept coming back like a homing pigeon, only quicker. Finally in desperation I said, "Honey, would you mind sitting down over there?" and I waved vaguely in the direction of a lady giving a demonstration of felting. "I won't be long," I assured him. He looked a little dubious but trotted off nevertheless and found a chair.

Quickly I started grabbing the skeins of alpaca I'd been eyeing and then made a lunge for some fingering weight merino, almost knocking a lady over in my haste to make hay while the cat was away. "Oh, I'm so sorry," I gasped. "I'm just trying to get this yarn bought before my husband comes back and sees what I'm paying."

"Honey, I know exactly what you mean," she chuckled. "Mine's over at the spinning demo. Where's yours?"

"Felting," I replied, as we grinned at each other over our armfuls of yarn.

A Wet Knot Never Comes Untied

With our daughter's wedding day fast approaching, we'd been keeping a close eye on the weather

forecast. First it looked really promising. Blue skies and Spring-like temps were predicted for the weekend. "Perfect," I thought. But not so fast! A few days later, the forecast was changing. The blue skies had been replaced by a promise of grey, overcast weather.

By the time we arrived in Baltimore later in the week, the extended forecast was now calling for an 80% chance of rain. Not perfect weather for a wedding but at least everything was happening inside so it wasn't like we had to worry about an outdoor reception being washed away. However, by now we were noticing ominous rumblings on the Weather Channel about a huge storm system coming across the nation, up the midsection of the country and over to the northern states. It looked like some of the states to the west of us and the north of us were going to get clobbered. But Maryland and PA were just going to get rain.

In the meantime, our son Jason and his new bride, Laura had made it home after a grueling trip all the way from Indonesia which involved a 20-hour layover at the airport in Singapore, another 10-hour layover in another airport, changes in Vancouver, and a final arrival in Baltimore. By the time they got to our house, they were beyond exhausted. Laura had been fighting a bout with something while in Indonesia and was still not 100% up to par. Now Jason was experiencing headaches and waves of nausea. I had visions of Jason, who was to be one of the groomsmen, passing out during the vows or perhaps worse, passing on some tropical disease to the assembled guests.

Friday night's rehearsal went well and then it was time to head off to a wonderful Italian restaurant where the groom's parents had arranged a fantastic buffet in a private dining room. Along with the buffet, Jason's mom (this being Jason, the groom) had a little surprise up her sleeve........a slide show of pictures of both the bride and groom from their early years up to the present time.


Now, in my own defense, let me make this perfectly clear. I did NOT instigate this. I wanted a slide show really bad for the reception but Laura (this being Laura, the bride) had put her foot down and told me "Absolutely NO slide show at the reception." Naturally, I was delighted when Mary, Jason's mom, had said that she wanted to do a slide show at the rehearsal dinner. So I contributed pictures of Laura with a clear conscience, knowing that I had stayed within Laura's "rules."

When the projector was set up and the first photo shone on the wall, Laura gave me "the eye" and said, "Mom, you promised me you wouldn't do a slide show for the reception!"

"Honey," I protested in wide-eyed innocence, "I didn't do a slide show. Mary did. And it's not the reception. It's the rehearsal dinner. Never give a mother a loophole!"

The slideshow was an outstanding success!

Friday evening, as we rode the elevator back up to our hotel room, I noticed the weather forecast posted on the wall. It had now degenerated to "Heavy rain, gale-force winds, flood warnings, chance of thunderstorms."

The morning of Laura's wedding dawned wet and soggy. The wind drove the rain against the hotel walls in sheets of moisture but we stayed warm and dry, initially. Laura had woken her bridesmaids at 6:30 a.m. by jumping up and down on the bed, yelling "Time to get up!" They were all in various stages of being made up and getting hair done now. My brother and his family had flown out of Detroit ahead of the snow and were getting ready at their hotel a block away. I was ironing Laura's veil, shuttling between the rooms to see what else might be needed, and steaming away wrinkles. By the time the limo arrived at the front door, we had all assembled downstairs for a few last minute pictures before the bride's mad dash under a gauntlet of umbrellas into the limo.

I half expected to see a rowboat waiting at the church to ferry us down the steps to the main entrance but instead we hiked up our skirts or pant legs and tiptoed through the puddles and on into the church where we mingled with family and friends until it was time for the ceremony to begin. But wait, ......Mary's sister and family hadn't arrived yet. She gave them a quick call and I heard her say, "Well, are you in Maryland yet?" "Oh, oh," I thought. "This doesn't sound good." Turned out that the groom's aunt missed the ceremony completely because they were stuck in traffic somewhere between Philly and Baltimore due to the terrible rains. They did arrive just as we were finishing up the pictures after the wedding and before the reception, thank goodness.

The wedding itself was lovely despite a few surprises. The biggest surprise was when we realized that the pastor wasn't there. Instead Brother Morales officiated. It seems the pastor had gotten stranded out of state when his flight was cancelled due to the weather. But Brother Morales did a wonderful job and it was extra special because he was Laura and Jason's Sunday School teacher when they had lived up in the Baltimore area. The next surprise was that Laura's dad got a voicemail just as he was getting ready to walk her down the aisle. It was from her Uncle John Porterfield, saying he was not able to come from Texas for the wedding. Next I got a voicemail message just as the ceremony started (luckily my phone was on vibrate) from the nursing home saying that Laura's grandmother had just been diagnosed again with another upper respiratory infection and was running a fever so she was being put on another course of antibiotics and nebulizer breathing treatments. And to cap off an exciting turn of events, Laura received a message on her cell phone just as she was leaving the reception to go on her honeymoon from a close friend who was expecting her first baby and who had NOT shown up for the wedding. It was to tell her that the baby had arrived THAT DAY!

Laura was absolutely beautiful as she walked down the aisle on her father's arm. Just as she got up even with the front pew, I realized that she was crying. Wow! My dear daughter, who likes to have you think that she is not emotional at all and very no nonsense, matter-of-fact was crying sentimental tears of joy. Ah ha! I knew that deep down she was a big softie. Jason came down off the platform to claim his bride and together they walked up to meet the minister. Laura was still crying and continued for the rest of the ceremony. Her maid of honor kept pushing tissues into her hands. Laura did get her vows out though, despite the emotions. And when the minister pronounced them man and wife and then introduced the new Mr. and Mrs. Jason Sands to the assembled guests, the tears started up all over again. Now that's really love...when you feel such joy that you can't control the tears and you don't care, even if it means that your makeup runs on your big day.

The reception was held at the Towson Golf and Country Club and they did a wonderful job. The food was outstanding. I thought we were all going to OD on crab dip, it was that good. The flowers were breathtaking and the cake was a sight to behold. The frosting was European buttercream, the cake was almond flavored with a raspberry filling and the decorations were sugared fruit. The cake was topped with a marzipan bow and the bride and groom's monogram was put on the side of the cake. Fantastic!

Laura and Jason did a bang-up job of picking the music for the DJ. From cool jazz to easy listening to dance hits of the 80's to one line dance for me (the Electric Slide), it was great. Of course, one of the highlights for us was when Laura danced with her father. She had picked a song by Stevie Wonder that had been playing on the radio when George left the hospital the night she was born. It was "Isn't She Lovely?" That has always been his theme song for Laura ever since. As they danced to that song from 1980, I looked around me. Laura was crying, George had tears in his eyes, and I think most of the rest of us were sniffling, too.

And then it was time for the bride to change out of her gown and the newlyweds to head off on their honeymoon. The day had started out stormy, cleared up temporarily and the sun had peeped out for a bit, then the sky had clouded over again and the wind had picked up.


"It's kind of like life," I thought. "There will be good times, bad times, and so-so times. But through it all, they'll have each other and they'll have God to guide them. They'll also have their family and friends to surround them with love and encouragement."

God bless you, Jason and Laura, as you begin your new life together. And I'll tell you what they told Dad and I on our wedding day, as it rained in Greece in June, which is practically unheard of. "A wet knot never comes untied." Twenty-nine years later, we can say that they were right.


Oh, and by the way, if any wedding guests come down with dengue fever, we know nothing!

The 'Name Game' or...Double Trouble!

A curious thing has happened in the Porterfield household. Our children seem to be multiplying. First it was our daughter who announced that she was engaged, back in September. Then, in that same month, our son started mentioning a young lady who was going to be coming out to Canada for an orientation that he was helping to organize. This young lady's name had been creeping into his conversations more and more since the past spring.

Shortly before she was due to arrive in Canada, Jason informed us that he was hoping to have the opportunity to see how she felt about entering into a committed dating relationship. I was thrilled. I'd been praying for something like this since his college days. But I figured that God was going to have His work cut out for Him, given Jason's unique calling and chosen lifestyle. You see, Jason doesn't believe in materialism, hates shopping, strives to live a simple life, has a burning passion to help the urban poor and outcasts, and wants to live amongst them AS he ministers to and befriends them. There aren't many young women who don't like to shop, don't care about things, and wouldn't mind living in a slum voluntarily. But Jason had managed to find one. Even though I knew hardly anything about her, I DID know that she was alive and breathing, and was filled with the love of the Lord and that was good enough for me.

Two weeks later, Jason called to tell us about his "awesome" girlfriend and how it had come to pass that they were now dating. It was a special story, filled with Divine providence, perhaps an angelic encounter, and a happy ending. I won't go into it here as they really should be the ones to share it. However, the conversation continued that day on the phone.

"So, Mom, since you are always telling me that I don't keep you informed about things, I'm telling you now that we looked over her work schedule at the hospital and really, the best time for a wedding would be in January or August. I'm thinking that January would be better because then that would give me the chance to really spend the first months of our married life in Wichita supporting her during a very stressful time. If I can be supportive during such a stressful time as a doctor's residency, then I figure we can survive anything."
I did something I rarely do. I sat there without saying anything, my mouth open and my mind racing through the mental playback.....grabbing the three main points: wedding, January, Wichita.

"Um, Mom, are you OK? Aren't you going to say something?"

"Son, you've done something that few have ever accomplished. You've left me speechless," I stuttered. But then, all cylinders started firing. "You did say 'wedding,' right? Are you talking January of 2008 or some other year? And are you talking about Wichita, Kansas or some Wichita in Canada?"

"Right, I'm talking about a wedding. I'm planning to ask her to marry me. And it will be this coming January. I'll be moving to Wichita, obviously, because she needs to finish her year of residency," my son continued. "I'm planning to fly down to Kansas in a few weeks and meet her parents and also propose."

"Oh, my goodness. This is fantastic. Congratulations! I'm so excited for you. Wait until I tell your father! Keep us posted and tell Laura congratulations, too."

Yes, you read that right. My son is now engaged to a "Laura." So our daughter Laura is marrying a "Jason" and our son Jason is marrying a "Laura." And that is where the fun begins because now we find ourselves in the middle of the Name Game.

We've already decided that there is no easy way to differentiate between the Jasons. Both of them have been called Jay or Jase at one time or another by family and friends. So we have resorted to prefacing their names with "our" Jason and "your" Jason.

Now we have two Lauras. My husband helpfully pointed out that we wouldn't be in this predicament if we had followed our original idea to have Athena as our Laura's middle name. Since Jason's Laura's last name starts with a "B", we could have simply said Laura "A" and Laura "B". Yeah, well that would have only worked until Laura "B" got married.

"How about Dr. Laura?" my husband suggested. Hmmm, Naw! Sounded too much like a talk-show host or an advice columnist.

Jason's Laura sweetly told us we could call her "Lola", a family nickname. But I was a drama major and English major in college. I immediately thought of the musical "Damn Yankees" and the song "Whatever Lola Wants, Lola Gets." I just couldn't think of my future daughter-in-law as the devil in red fishnet tights.

A good friend of mine was quick to point out that if I entered senility early, I'd at least have a good fighting chance of calling out a name that someone would respond to. Thanks, old friend!

The actress in me slipped through several characters, trying on salutations on the fly. There was the Southern Belle calling out "Honey" or, if I really wanted to lather on the cornpone, I could call them "Honey Chile." How about the British "Luv?" There was even "Little Private Porterfield" from the childhood game I used to play with the children when I'd slip into drill sergeant mode and hold mock inspections in their rooms. There was only one problem with that idea. Neither Laura was little anymore and I wouldn't be inspecting their rooms.

For now, I've just decided to call them both "Laura", both "Daughter" and both blessings from God.

Yessir! That's my mom!

Mom turned 94 the end of September. She looks pretty good for 94, doesn't she? We celebrated by going over to the Church of God Home after church and having dinner with her in the private dining room. The deBreuil's joined us. Beverly has been such a good friend to Mom over the years, visiting her faithfully and playing games with her. It was nice that Beverly and her husband, "What's His Name?" (as Mom kept calling him) could join us.

Over dinner, we visited and laughed over some of Mom's exploits at the Home. One recent one sticks out in my mind. I came over one day to visit and as I got ready to leave, I told Mom about a church service later in the afternoon.

"You'll have to go to that, Mom," I said.
"Can't," said Mom.

"Why not?" I asked. "Are you grounded?"

"Yup," she replied with a twinkle in her eye.

"Gee, why? Did you kick someone when you were walking down the hall?", I said, only half seriously.

"Guess so," she answered. "Kicked them right in the knees."

"Mom!" I laughed, pretending to be shocked. Just then a nurse walked in with Mom's dietary shake. "I hear my mom's on lock-down," I laughed.

"Well," she said somberly, "We've had to insist that she not leave the wing unless someone is with her because she tends to forget how to get back to her room. We've had to go looking for her several times. Haven't we, Marguerite?"

"Maybe," said Mom, giving me a sly wink.

"And here I thought it was because she was kicking people in the halls," I laughed.

"Oh no, " replied the nurse. "She doesn't do that."

"I threw a shoe at my roommate the other day," Mom proudly announced to the room.

Two pairs of eyes swung in her direction.

"You did WHAT?", I squeaked.

"Well, I woke up in the morning and couldn't hear Rhoda snoring. So I called her name but she didn't answer me so I threw my bedroom slipper at her," said Mom.

"Hit me right in the head," said Rhoda. "I was actually sleeping pretty good, too."

"Why in the world did you do that, Mom?" I asked.

"I thought she was dead," Mom said flatly. "So I threw my shoe at her and that got a rise out of her."

"It's OK," Rhoda assured us. "She didn't hurt me."

"Next time, Mom, just ring for the nurse. Don't throw anything at Rhoda, please."

"Yes, Dear!" answered Mom sweetly.

Yessir! That's my mom!

My Baby is Engaged!

The year was 1980 and we had just brought our newborn daughter home from the hospital. We set up a bassinet in our kitchen sitting area so that I could work on our meals and keep an eye on the baby at the same time. So as the meal would be simmering on the stove or baking in the oven, I often sat next to the bassinet, watching this little marvel sleep.

True confession time! She'd sleep and I'd be sitting there crying. It wasn't post-partum depression. It was because I was picturing this little girl of ours all grown up someday. I cried because I fiercely wanted to protect her from every hurt she would encounter in the future but knew that I was powerless to do so. I'd look at her tiny little face and think of all the milestones we'd be facing together in the years to come and all the memories we'd create. Memories that I'd tuck away in the back of my mind for that day when she'd be on her own and I'd have to be content to just "remember." And, oh my, did I cry as I pictured her walking down the aisle someday to meet the young man who would take our place as the center of her universe.

The year is 2007 and my baby is engaged to be married. The bassinet is long gone, there have been a lot of milestones met and memories made since 1980, and God willing, there will be many more to come. And I'm sitting here looking at my daughter's lovely face and crying as I picture her walking down that aisle. She is marrying a wonderful young man whom we like very much. I'm very excited for both of them. But oh, how those years flew by! And where am I EVER going to tuck all the Kleenex I'll need in my mother-of-the-Bride dress?

She's Granulated

Yesiree! Our baby girl has granulated, as my mother likes to say, and now has her Masters degree in Biotechnology. We trekked down to Baltimore today for the graduation ceremony at Johns Hopkins University and it was nip or tuck whether or not the rain, snow, or graduation would come first. Luckily the weather cooperated begrudgingly, freezing us all in the process but at least leaving us dry to enjoy the ceremony.

Laura's boyfriend, Jason, was kind enough to grab a blanket out of his car for my mother and she set a new standard for fashion while staying warm. I told her she looked like a cross between Cousin It and a Bolivian mountain woman. At least she won't get pneumonia.

Speaking of fashion, one of the graduates strolled across the stage wearing sparkly ruby red platform shoes, a red tulle scarf tied in a bow around her mortarboard hat, and her graduation stole draped casually over one shoulder.

"What did she graduate with, a Masters in the Absurd?" I whispered to Jason. I was almost right. She had a Masters in Writing.

"Mom", retorted Laura, "she's one of YOUR kind of people."

Ouch, guilty as charged. But I would have worn sensible shoes and probably sung a chorus or two from "There's No Business Like Show Business" as I came down the steps from the platform.

And then it was time to pose for the camera before heading off to Red Lobster for a bite to eat. OK, maybe more than one bite to eat but those cheddar biscuits are dee-lish! From there we headed over to Laura's apartment to offer our congratulations once more and play with Bailey, our grandcat before it was time to head back home.

Yes, it was a rewarding day. If I had an airhorn, I'd blow it for you, Laura. Good job! Working on an advanced degree while you work fulltime isn't easy but you did it AND you did it with distinction. We're proud of you, Honey!

A Mother's Day that Almost Wasn't

Yesterday I picked up my mother for our church's Mother/Daughter Banquet. She was in fine form.

"Are we performing?" she asked eagerly.

"Nope, we weren't asked this year," I replied. "Guess our fans will just have to be disappointed."

You see, the last few such banquets, Mom and I have come up with some silly little routines that we've performed to the general delight of the crowd. Mom can be quite a trooper. Like a horse that smells the hay in the barn and takes off at a gallop, when Mom gets a crowd laughing, she's like that horse with the bit between its teeth. There's no stopping her and she hates to sit down.

We joked together on our way in to church and sang old songs. I'd sing some of the stanzas and then Mom would finish them. "I'm sharp today!" she shouted and I couldn't have agreed more.

We had a great time at the banquet and Mom even got a lovely big pot of geraniums for being the oldest mother in attendance.

This morning, Mother's Day, I drove over to her assisted living facility to pick her up for church. My daughter, Laura, had arrived the evening before so we had decided to surprise Mom and just show up with Laura. Indeed Mom was surprised and delighted to see both her daughter and her grandaughter there to greet her. So off we all drove to church.

The service was flowing along smoothly but as we got to the closing hymn, I noticed that my mother was standing up and rocking slightly back and forth but not singing at all, despite the fact that it was a hymn that she would have known. Plus she just didn't look right. I leaned over and asked her if she felt OK. She looked at me strangely and made a gesture with her hand to her lips similar to what we used to do when we'd tell our kids to "zip their lips." I don't know if she was trying to tell me that her mouth felt strange or that she couldn't talk.

 At that point the hymn was over and we sat down but I noticed that her mouth was slack and hanging open. I leaned over again and asked if she felt ok. She just looked at me. I asked her to smile at me. Again, she just looked at me. I asked her to try to make her mouth into a smile at me. Again, nothing. Her eyes were just vacant. It was then I decided to go out into the foyer and call 911. I figured she was having a stroke.

 Laura stayed with her and another member in the pew in front of us who is a nurse came to sit next to Mom while I was out. As I called, Laura said she tried to get my mom to squeeze her hand but there was no response and spit just ran down Mom's chin. However, by the time the first responders arrived, the service was dismissing and she was already starting to snap out of it and quite confused as to why people were making such a fuss.


The paramedics decided that she should go to the ER to be checked out for what they thought might be a mini-stroke. By the time she arrived at the hospital, she was pretty much back to her old self. She was confused as to why she had to be at the hospital but kidding around with us and making faces at the doctor behind his back. I told her that most folks just nap through a service if they get bored. There was really no need for her to have tried to go out in a blaze of glory (or the back of an ambulance).

She has no recollection of anything that happened while this "attack" was happening. The ER doctor ordered an EKG, Catscan, and bloodwork, all of which came back perfect. He has concluded that she had a TIA, or mini-stroke. She was released to go back to the Woods and I am to call her doctor tomorrow to see if there are any additional tests she wants done. The ER doctor said that Mom is already on the right meds to try to preclude these episodes as best as one can. I'd appreciate your prayers for her. It certainly illustrates how quickly things can change in a period of 24 hours. And as always, it just goes to show that none of us know when we shall be called into the presence of our Maker. Keep the faith and give your mothers (those who still have them living) an extra hug or call tonight.

It has been a long time since my daughter has needed my help. So when I discovered that she was going to need knee surgery, wild horses couldn't stop me from volunteering to come down to help her during her initial recovery period.

 Now I'm not the best person in a medical situation. My moments of squeamishness are legendary amongst my children like the time my son had stitches on an arm injury and I ended up on my knees beside his gurney, forehead resting on the gurney's side, babbling on about all the ice cream we were going to eat when it was over. The doctor finally interrupted my monologue to say, "It's over, Mrs. Porterfield. You can stop now."

"It is?", I asked, startled to see how low I had sunk, literally. "Um, I was just trying to distract him," I tried to explain.

"Well, I don't know if you did or not," the doctor said, "but you sure made me hungry."

Or there was the time that I had to interrupt a nurse's instructions after my son had his wisdom teeth removed so that I could leave the recovery room and go sit in the bathroom with my head between my legs. In my defense, I would just like to say that I was doing fine until the heart monitor that Jason was hooked up to suddenly beeped and flatlined. "Oops, guess I'm dead," my son said cheerily, grinning at me with pieces of bloody gauze sticking out of his mouth.

But for arthoscopic surgery, I figured all I would probably have to do would be change bandaids, make tea, drive her back from the hospital, plump pillows, feed her, and offer lots of sympathy. Surely I could do that much. And for the most part, I was right.

Driving in the big city to the hospital was no problem because my daughter did the driving. I just tried to pay attention to the route, in case she was too groggy to navigate me back to her apartment after the surgery.

 Once we checked into the hospital, she was soon called back into the inner sanctum. After about 40 minutes, a nurse came out and paged me. I followed her back into the hushed area where half-pulled curtains surrounded patients on gurneys who were hooked up to various devices. I looked around for Laura and soon spotted her. She was sitting up in bed and looked downright perky. In fact, her coloring was good and she was smiling. "Piece of cake," I thought. "This shouldn't be so bad."


I sat down beside her bed and we talked about various things. I asked if I could do anything to make her knee more comfortable and she declined my offer. While I debated pulling out my knitting, wondering how much longer she would be kept in recovery, a nurse showed up with chart in hand. "Time to start your IV," she said.

"IV?" I was confused. "Why does she need one now? Isn't she finished with the surgery?"

"Heavens, no. She hasn't even had it yet. We're just prepping her," the nurse responded. My daughter rolled her eyes and started to laugh.

And so began the ordeal of the IV which of course went sour with the first attempt. Seems my daughter's veins take after mine, which are miniscule. The big difference is that my daughter is a real trooper and took it all in stride. I, on the other hand, would have been half way out the door, hospital gown or no gown, if it had been my veins that were being assaulted. The look on my face must have reminded Laura of all my past medical shortfalls which she proceeded to tell the nurse.

"You going to be OK?" asked the nurse.

"Sure, don't worry about me. I'm just fine. I'm PUMPED for this," I said.

"She's pumped," the nurse cackled. She seemed to find that pretty funny and she continued to laugh as she pulled out another needle, retightened the tourniquet and started slapping Laura's arm, looking for another vein.

"You know, I always sing when they have to draw blood from me," I told noone in particular.

"I'm not going to sing, Mom!" Laura insisted.

"You going to sing for us?" the nurse asked, looking at me amused. Then a vein caught her attention. Whamp! "Now here's a good one, Honey. We shouldn't have any trouble getting an IV started in this vein."

"Oh, what a beautiful morning! Oh, what a beautiful day. I got a beautiful feeling.....everything's going my way!" I warbled loudly to the amazement of nurses and patients around the room.

Ah yes, there's nothing like a little mother-daughter bonding over the strains of "Oklahoma" in a presurgical suite. And I call that "making memories."

Hairball Shawl

I found the smaller gauge loom at the local craft store today so decided to buy the longer one to try a prayer shawl on it. This particular shawl is for a lady who has recently had knee surgery. I had asked her husband what some of her favorite colors were but he said he had "no clue." I went home and asked my husband in amazement, "How in the world would a spouse NOT know what colors their wife liked?" To my astonishment, my dear husband of 27 years said, "I wouldn't know what to tell someone if they asked me that question." Good grief! Men really ARE from Mars.

So I decided to try to find some Homespun in a colorway that would be neutral enough that she wouldn't mind it. In other words, a safe color. Well, it looked safe enough in the store. So I brought it home and started it on the loom. My goodness, the more I worked with it, the more depressed I got. What was going on? This was supposed to be a shawl to provide comfort and cheer, not one to depress the poor lady. I looked at that skein and the more I looked at it, the more I realized that it reminded me of dried hairballs. There was absolutely nothing attractive or pleasing to me about those colors.

Now the shawl below the "hairball shawl" is another prayer shawl I recently completed for another friend who is recovering from surgery. Now those are cheerful colors. Reminds me of Spring. I LOVE color. Half of the fun of knitting or crocheting something is seeing the play of color as the fabric develops before your eyes. Now I'm all in a quandry. Do I continue with the depressing colors, knowing that I'm going to be struggling with the joi d'vivre through three skeins of the stuff or do I return the other two skeins and pick something that I like? I'm definitely leaning toward the latter.

In my case, at least, it is true what they say about color having a huge impact on your emotions!
Speaking of emotions, I woke up this morning all jittery knowing that our son was heading off on his great adventure today, driving coast to coast on his own. Thank goodness that he had the presence of mind to take his old car into a good mechanic before attempting this road trip because he discovered that the clutch needed to be replaced. So at least that has been done. I've been praying for safe travels every time he has come to mind today, which has been often.

And that got me to thinking about squeaky wheels. Yes, my mind works in tortuous circles. I was thinking about how it always seems that the high-maintenance child is always the one that gets the most attention, while the chld who is self-sufficient and plugging along reliably sometimes can seem to get short shrift. That probably isn't fair. We have a lovely daughter who is talented, highly intelligent, a hoot to be around, and we love her dearly. But I haven't mentioned her much in this blog because she has been steadily working away at her job and on her Masters' degree without creating much of a stir while our son, on the other hand, has kept us jumping trying to keep up with all the twists and turns that his life is taking lately. He's been the "squeaky wheel" and consequently has taken a lot of our focus and attention. However, Laura deserves no less. So, hat's off to an amazing daughter who makes us proud to be her parents each and every day. We enjoy every tidbit of her life that she shares with us and are so happy that she lives only an hour and a half away. It gives her the space she needs but lets us see her regularly. We love you, Laura!