Sugar Hill ;)

A Time to Speak

My greatest wish at precisely this moment is to be able to express myself verbally without awkwardness or hesitation.  To be able to speak the exact truth without having to bumble and mumble.  To be able to say unpleasant things in a tactful, honest way...or be able to say them at all, ever.  Maybe it's wrong to admire a fictional character, but Jane Austen's Elizabeth Bennet is a paradigm in the gift of eloquent speech. 

I was reading through Ecclesiastes a few weeks ago, and the line that I most reflected on was, "a time to keep silence and a time to speak".  Every day I choose or feel constrained to keep silent about many things which maybe I shouldn't.  The first barrier to following this suggestion totally is the challenge of knowing which option is best at any particular moment.  This is what I struggle with.  Should I ask a question?  Will they think I'm stupid?  Do they already know this?  Is what I want to say relevant?  Is it a given?  Will they say, "well, duh"?  Is it important enough to risk speaking out?  What will they think of me?

I realize that the real problem is my tendency to worry too much about what others will think of my words.  I have been contemplating Quaker theology for the past several months.  One of their testimonies is Ingegrity, which as I understand it involves being truthful and plain in all aspects of life including speech.  Historically many Quakers have taken to plain speech in which they choose not to use hyperbole, sarcasm, metaphors and such because those techniques cause the speaker to say things that are not forthright or technically truthful, even if they could be understood by the listener.  I don't have anything against the above sentence flourishes, but I feel the need to be more truthful in the way of speaking precisely what I'm actually thinking.  Not masking my ignorance about something, not laughing at a joke that I don't get or don't think is funny just to make the teller feel better.  Not hide my true feelings about a given topic based on what I think the other person wants to hear. 

Seems like a tall order, but something worth working on.  I've always been a woman of few words (as long as you don't ask my husband).  Maybe it's finally time to try sowing some new seeds in my life and see what springs forth.

Old Molly Hare

Here is my rendition of Old Molly Hare complete with hammer-ons, pull-offs, double thumb, and drop thumb.  My very first extra-thumb action!

Troubles with pants

Problem: sometimes I like to wear pants. Like when it's cold outside. Or when I want to blend in and look like a normal person. These objectives are becoming increasingly difficult to meet.  Every viable pair of pants I own has started to initiate self destruct sequences. 

Case in point.  Yesterday morning I was wearing some brown corduroys that I bought at Ross just a few months ago.  These had already begun to fall apart, as one of the belt loops got ripped out, but they were still wearable because I could just wear a long shirt to cover the hole.  I took off the pants just before work and changed into a skirt.  This morning I wanted to wear the corduroys again because I was feeling a little chilly.  I put them on and attempted to button them, only to find that the button was no longer attached.  In fact, it appeared to have gone on a leave of absence and was nowhere to be seen.  These are pants that I had to unbutton to take off yesterday, and they hadn't been messed with since.  They had a heavy duty blue-jean-like metal button closure, not some wimpy barely-tied-with-string number. What the hell?

The other pairs of pants are disintegrating with less mystery.  They are becoming worn in the upper thighal region...In fact three pairs have already worn visible holes in exactly that location since last summer.  The last pair bears material that is woefully threadbare. 

Theory: maybe I am just not meant to wear pants anymore.  I went to Ross on Tuesday intending to buy a pair of jeans and discovered that this particular Ross no longer sells petite pants.  Should I just give up now?

I can certainly use some more Simplicity-5914-View-D-Skirts.  Plus trips to Hobby Lobby are always welcome and are never attended with shameful glances into criminal fluorescent dressing room mirrors.

Adventures in Clawhammer

I started practicing banjo again, hardcore, thanks to Jenna's Banjo Equinox at the Cold Antler Farm blog. The thought of learning with other people is a real joy, and very motivating.

So far I'm a little ahead of the game since I've been practicing that frailing bum-ditty move for about three years and I started practicing the first song in Wayne Erbsen's book, Old Molly Hare back in January.  Rather than practicing that tune straight from the book, I'm trying to add some drop thumb and double thumb action: techniques that I haven't tried before yesterday.  Luckily my fingers are used to doing all sorts of strange things like spin wool and configure it into interlocking loops, and so I picked up drop thumbing with relative ease.  This is getting very, very eenteresting.  As soon as I get the song the way I want it I might even post a video....Maybe.

Stranger than non-fiction

In the past four or five months I’ve checked out about 30 fiction novels to read, and have only successfully finished about two of them. Strangely enough I’ve read completely about 10 or more non-fiction books. Most of these were related to religious topics or were funny memoirs. And one juicy morsel about polygamists. The two fiction novels I successfully completed were both Christian books about 1) A Quaker pastor and 2) An Amish community. This is very, very strange for me. My whole life I have been feverishly and rabidly devoted to science fiction or horror. Now I hardly even begin before I set the book down indefinitely.


Here is another curiosity. Last Friday I went to a party with a bonfire in the back yard. All of the wood for said bonfire was chopped and split by my dear beared, ax-wielding husband. I remember declaring enthusiastically at the party, in a confession brought on by several dixie cups of homebrew Belgian White (also created by Mr. Bearded), that there is just something special about seeing a modern American man chopping wood. The only way it could get better would be if he was wearing black pants, a white shirt and suspenders. And shave off the mustache portion of his beard. And wear a straw hat. I think I’ve truly gone under. Fascination with the Amish becomes a sick (but strangely alluring) obession.

These strange interests have sprung from my very new habit of studying the Bible. I initially started studying the book just to get a better understanding of the Christian religion, to help alleviate the tension from years of bad feelings about Christianity, and to understand the example of Jesus who, I believed, had many wise things to say. At some point in the journey, somehow it ended up convincing me! I feel like a veritable Paul. Strange, strange. My new reading interests seem to stem from a desire to read positive words which enhance my (sometimes hard-won) feelings of optimism. No violence or sex are necessary at this moment.

One more strange gem: I started tracking my fertility cycle and have learned that I get unbearably weepy during ovulation. Who’da thunk it?

Quilting Plans

Boy am I excited.  I haven't done any quilting since 2007.  I also checked out a book from the library called "Getting Started Knitting Socks" so soon there will be man-socks in my future.  Happy, happy.