something to keep you entertained, if you haven't given up on me...

I am a WoW Widow

This is part of my excuse for disappearing from blogland for a while, anyway. My husband is addicted to World of Warcraft. However, his computer will NOT RUN IT. So I kindly let him use my computer. Which means that I don't do as much playing on my computer, because I look over at him and see him twitching from the WoW withdrawal symptoms, beads of sweat (magical cure-all sweat, worth 1 gold per drop) forming on the bridge of his nose, as he tries, tries, tries to not look at me with a sad, mournful, addicted gaze...because he really doesn't want to ask me if he can use my computer. He does not want to be annoying. But. It would be so great if he could just get his 38th level mage dwarf to 39th level tonight. And catch a few fish to sell. And kill a flying tiger or two.

OK. If you are unfamiliar with WoW, I'll let you know that I'm only making about half of that up. Guess which half?

To sum up, I am not only a WoW Widow, but I'm also a WoW enabler. I am also the perfect wife.

Also, if you email me, be sure to tuck a few gold pieces into your email. That's so Ironsalt will make sure it gets to me. Otherwise he might get distracted by a spell helps the wielder stay away all night without a single loss of a point of health.

A Gift for Llama Fans

The Llama Song

windy drenching periods of heavy rain showers, with sun

Hilton's Yarn Aboard Box (No, really, it belongs to Hilton)

I joined Yarn Aboard in a moment of obsession, but I'm so glad I did! My box arrived yesterday and immediately it was loved by cats and humans alike.

Hilton's Box (No, really, it belongs to Hilton)
Originally uploaded by bluelemonegg.

Could it be? It is, it is! It's the Yarn Aboard Box arrived here from far away Boston! Now if only I can get the cat to let me have it...

Yarn Aboard
Originally uploaded by bluelemonegg.

There it is, what could be inside?

Yarn Aboard Box Opened
Originally uploaded by bluelemonegg.

Delicious treats await me, all with a Boston theme. Jo did such a wonderful job finding things I love. JP Licks Coffee Roasters House Blend coffee (Best of Boston, no less!), Harbor Sweets handmade chocolates (wait a sec while I sneak one) and even sweeter Sherbet Sunshine Yarn. I love this color!

Cafe Fiore
Originally uploaded by bluelemonegg.

So I took my yarn out to see the sights of northern Ballard (where I live.) First we stopped at Caffe Fiore for a latté and a bagel. This yarn is magic, and snagged us a great table outside

Sunset Hill
Originally uploaded by bluelemonegg.

Then we showed the yarn the viewpoint at Sunset Hill. She was quite amazed at the lovely view of Puget Sound and the Olympics.

sunset hill
Originally uploaded by bluelemonegg.

The yarn is so magical that it influenced Nature to give us this beautiful sunset, too. See how the colors are influenced by my magic yarn?


Thank you so much to Jo, who created this great box for me. I'm touched. It really made my day.

I'll be sending it on to the next person this week.

Mushrooms take over!

Mushrooms

The family homestead (aka my parent's house) has been visited by a huge crop of killer mushrooms! Well, I don't know if they're killer, or even what kind of mushrooms they are. But there are around 30 of these monsters. And they are BIG. Like 6-8 inches across. It certainly seemed blogworthy. Plus, I now have photographic proof that there are giant (potentially murderous) mushrooms in the back yard, if anyone thought that I was exaggerating.

have I mentioned that I'm addicted to tarot decks?

Here are a few amazing ones to look at:

http://www.alchemywebsite.com/tarot/art_tarot06.html
http://www.abyssaltarot.com/

I have a collection of decks I own, too. Maybe I'll feel like posting about them here.

Right now I'm babysitting mom, though.

another post for the sock obsessed

These are my Flu Socks. I knitted them while I had the flu, and couldn't do much more than watch Lost, CSI and knit socks. They were going to be a birthday gift for my mom, but they're a little too small, so they're now for me. Don't worry, I'll make her a different pair. Eventually. Don't they look spiffy on top of that lovely plaid?

Couldn't go wrong, really. The yarn is Vesper Twist, the color is called Jungle Twist, I think, and I just knit around and around until they were done. I LOVE Vesper yarn. I'm not giving you a link because I want it all for myself. I stalk her web store, 'tis true.

Since I'm being all socknerdly, here's my sock history in honor of Socktoberfest:

When did you start making socks? Did you teach yourself or were you taught by a friend or relative? or in a class?

I started making socks in 2001, after 9-11. Why then? I'm not sure, but I know I was thinking a lot about taking more time to pay attention to the details in life instead of just blazing through. A friend of mine was having a good time knitting socks, and I vaguely remembered that I used to enjoy knitting when I was younger. It was like riding a bicycle to remember how to knit. Socks just seemed like IT to me, because I've had this addiction to collecting socks for a long time. Not just any socks, either, they had to be nice, good fabric, not acrylic, not saggy, not itchy. Finding the perfect socks has always been difficult, so why not learn how to make my own? They could be whatever colors I wanted, whatever patterns I liked. I quickly became addicted. Seriously addicted. Now I knit other things too, but mostly socks.

What was your first pair?  How have they "held up" over time?
What would you have done differently?

My first pair was made out of wool that felted, (meaning they shrinked and fuzzed and basically became something thick and heavy instead of soft and flexible like socks SHOULD be) when I washed them, so now they're super small slipper-like socks. Yes, they've held up well, but I can't really wear them except as slippers. I learned that when wool says "hand wash," it usually means it. They were really fun and rewarding to make, though, so I don't know if I would have done anything differently.

What yarns have you particularly enjoyed?

I really had a soft spot for Opal for the first few years of knitting socks, but lately I've been more obsessed with hand dyed yarns, either randomly dyed or self striping. I'm in love with Socks that Rock, Vesper, Knitterly Things. I love poking around and have many from small business yarn creators on my wish list. Right now it's not getting much better than Vesper sock yarn though. YUM.

Do you like to crochet your socks? or knit them on DPNs, 2 circulars, or using the Magic Loop method?

Just 5 DPNs for me and I'm set. That other stuff is too fancy for me.

Which kind of heel do you prefer?  (flap? or short-row?)

Flap, but only because it's what I know right now.

How many pairs have you made?

25? I'm not sure. At least 25. Yeah. Something like that. :)

OK, next post will have something to do with something that ISN'T socks, I promise. Please don't be scared away by all the sockishness.

OK, fine. Enough with the peer pressure already.

This came in the mail Friday:


It's Sundara sock yarn, for you yarn nerds out there.

So I guess I'm all ready for...



Which is great, because you might remember that I had this crazy new year's resolution to do a pair of socks a month. I've been bogged down on that plan by this pair I'm knitting for my husband, because he has Big Feet, and his pair is taking over a month by far. So a little Socktoberfest kick in the butt might be in order.

alas for Steve Irwin

RIP Crocodile Hunter

turtlearts.com broken

Hello all. Our business web site, www.turtlearts.com is broken. Our internet provider is being crappy and not fixing it quickly, so we're pounding our heads up against a brick wall trying to get them to fix it, but so far it's been down for 24 hours, which is totally unreasonable. Plus, my email address (kerrie at turtlearts dot com and turtles at drizzle dot com) are bouncing too. So, it looks like I've run away to Mexico, which alas, I have not.

If anyone is looking for me or Turtle Arts, please let them know to either email me at kerriecarbary at gmail dot com, or email Scott at scott at dogearedmagazine dot com. Those emails are working. Hopefully turtlearts will be back up soonish.

Sigh.
Stressedfully yours,
Kerrie

This has to be the most ridiculous thing I've seen all week

Not sure if it's cute or horrifying.

if life gives you apples

Oh, my god, I had no idea how alone and helpless I felt until I saw the comments. Only a couple, but wow, they rocked my world. I really don't have a whole lot of people to talk to about this caregiving crap. Most caregivers I've met either act like they are, or actually ARE so happy to be there, 100% of the time, no regrets, no guilt. I am happy to be of service, after all my mom deserves a lot from us. But, I am tired, cranky, sad, depressed, and overwhelmed too. An hour off doesn't revive me the way it used to. Knowing her love doesn't revive me the way it should, either. I appreciate it, but think I'm too tired. And my back hurts. And my "regular" friends tell me to just hide out, not answer the calls, whatever. Do I need to do that? What if doing that puts her in danger?

Thank you for the camping ideas. In fact, I'll tell you my secret fantasy of running away from "home" and living in an apple orchard in the middle of nowhere. My practical side wants the apple orchard, because then, after resting for a week, I can give in to my entrepreneurial side and start to make and sell apple cider for a living. I'll have a little stand at the end of the road on Saturday mornings. The rest of the time I'll lay on my back in the orchard, watching the sky, feeling no guilt, and occasionally creating a masterpiece work of art that will fulfill my spiritual needs and also sell for enough money to get the whole apple cider business going. We'll have internet access but no telephone. Once or twice a month we'll drag ourselves into the city, where we'll fill up on books, paint, yarn, food, and other necessary supplies.

It'll be great, you'll see.

For now, the problem is that I'm feeling a lot of anger, almost dare I say it, hate even, for a certain member of the family. No, not the ill one who I call mom. Another member of the family has earned my wrath. Yes, sweet me also is feeling that H word toward this family member, in a way I haven't felt since 4th grade, when Rabbit stole my stocking cap and threw it over the school yard fence, all they while taunting me with chants of "Kerrie Kerrie Hairy Kerrie, went to school with armpits that were hairy..."

(Never mind his lack of poetics, I still remember it, so it must have been traumatic.)

Anyway, this individual is being shunned by me, but said individual doesn't notice it. This individual does not come when mom calls, does not roll her or straighten her when she can't move. Does not feed her or water her or treat her kindly. Or at least indifferently. No, indeed, this individual has been known to YELL at mom because she is sick, tells her she won't be getting better, tells her that her that he (oops, I mean, that he/she) will send her to a nursing home. At what point does that kind of behavior become abuse? And what on earth can *I* do about it? Nothing? Probably.

Not OK. It seems to get worse when I try to make a little tiny saran wrap thick boundary and spend a minute or two sleeping, watching TV, reading, knitting, drinking beers with Scott, or anything else that is not Taking Care of Mom. I get cranky when I can't sleep. But, mom calls me in the middle of the night, stuck, and Said Individual, although he/she is within ten feet of her room, will not come. Why. Why. Why. So I have to go rescue her from the crisis of the hour.

I'm sorry to have made this into a rantfest. I'll come up with something fun to post about next time. Like my recipe for roasted apples! I'll make you some of you get to visit me at the apple orchard. Be nice, and I'll tell you where to find it, and give you a bottle of cider to take home with you.

Dependence Day

See how far behind I am? I'm going to write about July 4th today, on July 6th. Well. I could cheat and change the date so it LOOKS like I'm posting on the 4th. Maybe I will. The powers of Blogger would happily allow me to cheat. Then again, once you start editing your life like a Blogger post, it seems like it might just go downhill from there!

I took care of mom a good chunk of the day, which was littered with the occasional walking in search of caffeine and food breaks. It was the first year since we've been together that Scott and I were unable to watch the fireworks somewhere. I didn't realize that it would bother me or make me melancholy, but it actually did. The overwhelming feeling of being depended on by mom might have more to do with that melancholy than the actual fireworks, but whatever. I feel like my family and my husband are tearing me in two (or, more like in 8 or 9!) pieces as they all want things from me. I want to give them those things, but when the day is done there ends up not being anything left of me for ME. It gets to the point where I'm not even sure if I know if I would recognise myself if I saw myself on the street.

Mom needs me. Mom can depend on me. Mom does depend on me. Unfortunately I was raised to be very dependable. Kerrie. The organized one. The one who's good and coordinating things. The one who takes notes at meetings. The one who knows everyone's schedules. The one who knows how to straighten mom's legs just right, who knows how to roll her so she lands on her back just right. The one who can count out pills correctly. And the one who actually comes when she's called.

See, some members of this familly ignore Mom when they hear her calling help. But not Kerrie.

Scott needs me too. He resents "losing my wife" when I have to go take care of Mom. He gets lonely, he misses me, and he's been a real trooper as I dump all my emotional baggage on him. Taking care of Mom is not easy on so many levels, and I probably need a therapist to help me deal with all this crap, but where's the time? So Scott gets dumped on. He ends up carrying all his own stress and angst on his shoulders, then pushing it all aside to make room so he can help carry mine too. I'm afraid that we're forgetting how just be together, though. Not doing something, not going out for dinner or on a walk or messing around or going to a movie, just being together. Because we're not getting much time to just BE together. We're getting out of practice.

The business pulls, too, like a little hungry baby... how can you even think of neglecting a little hungry baby?

So, there leaves me. Trying to remember what I think, what I feel, what I want.

Please, someone, remind me how to not be the dependable one?

Student Saturday

Yesterday, I had class one in a series of classes I must take, titled "Revised Fundamentals of Caregiving." I am especially tickled by the revised part of the title, and plus we got free heavy text books. I flunked handwashing, alas, but passed glove use with a gold star. And got 100% on all the pop quizzes. I can hardly wait until next week.

Yes, you did catch a wee bit of sarcasm there.

Other things I learned:

1. I am no good at Saturday classes that start at 8am, so I have to catch the bus at 7am, after 4 hours of sleep.
2. Buy water from the only vending machine early, because it WILL SELL OUT.
3. I like the area of Capital Hill (Seattle, not Washington, DC) around Group Health Very Much. Cafe Ladro has the second best coffee in Seattle. (After Nervous Nellie's in Ballard.)
4. Germs=bad, bad, bad
5. Abusing the old person you take care of=very very bad.
6. Oh, yeah, and that glove thing.

The Great Imaginary Walk, week one

as tracked on Gmaps Pedometer.

Although I am considering changing my Imaginary Walk to the Appalachian Trail. Much cooler to do, maybe.

Hot

It is not. NOT supposed to be this hot anywhere I live.
No, indeed. Sorry, universe, but I'm a heat wimp.

Catching up on the Great Sock Project

Remember, a million years ago, I told you all that my Goal was to knit a pair of socks each month? I really have been doing it. June doesn't look like it's happening, because of all this other crap going on in my life (I've been working all month on a dishcloth from Mason Dixon Knitting, a stitch a day it seems like, instead of socks.) But, here's som catching up for you:



Jaywalkers were my April socks. I knit them toe up because I'm a rebel. I love Jaywalkers, but I don't love this yarn too much. It's Opal Lollipop, I think, or is that Summer Sizzle? Something that I can't find on the web anymore. I used to have a mad yarn crush on Opal yarns, cause of the cool patterns and colors, but lately I haven't been too tickled by the way the yarn feels on my feet. But I do like these, and Hilton does too. See how helpful he is whenever I try to take a photo?



When are you gonna make some for ME? Hilton wonders.

My May socks were these, my favorite socks ever maybe:



They are from the Broadripple pattern by Rob Matyska. I stood on my head and knitted them toe up. The yarn is Socks that Rock in Blarney Stone. Sweet! If anyone ever wants to send me presents, really, any of the Socks that Rock colors are much lusted over here at the Pitt.

So, there ya go. the Sock update. If you want to see the rest of the 2006 socks, you can review 'em here.

tantrums

I had a tantrum last night, yes I did. Today I feel abashed and tender around the eyes and around the heart.

It’s my dad’s fault. I told him I was sick of the way he was acting toward my mom. He said the feeling was mutual.

me: You have no right to be sick of ME. Who gets up in the middle of the night at 3am, 5am, 6am, and takes care of mom? Who is here just about every night taking care of her PAST the time you come home from work? Who makes her sandwiches for the morning so she doesn’t bother you for food? I don’t think you have ANY right to be sick of ME.

him: I work.

me: I do too! Plus, how many times lately has she called you at work asking you to come home early to help her? NONE. She calls ME. I take care of her. You should appreciate me. You should be grateful to me. She’s your wife!

He really pissed me off. There’s more, but it’s getting my blood pressure all up just thinking about it. I was so mad. I told him I was tired of him taking me for granted and tired of him acting as if everything is all about HIM HIM HIM and that nobody else matters.

Poor mom, us fighting over her.

Then I went to my apartment and cried for a hour. Poor Scott, dealing with me having a mental nervous breakdown style fit.

Today I’m hiding at work trying to get some things done. I don’t want to see him, talk to him, or hear him. And I especially am rebelling because he and his special therapist think that he “deserves” a day off of caring for mom, and that my little sister Kellie and I are able to just snap to and put in even more time taking care of her. Well. Nobody has thought about how I work, how Kellie works, and how both of us WORK ON SATURDAY. So, until we can clone ourselves, how are we supposed to be two places at once? Dad’s there. He has caregiver help until dinnertime even. Sheesh.

Disclaimer: I love my mom, will help her until I collapse. But this isn’t about her, it’s about this crappy relationship I’m having with my crappy dad.

I’m tired of bitching, and you’re probably tired of reading. I’ll try for some artsy stuff tomorrow.

I wish I was doing anything, ANYTHING else

other than filling out an online social security application for my mom. Jeez.

I'm going back and forth between doing that and working on taxes. The fun and joy never ends here!

Usually, I post at night, then in the morning I regret my self exposing post, and so I delete it. I'm going to stop doing this. I feel pretty alone in a lot of things, and I worry that letting anyone else know that I actually have feelings might hurt their feelings. This problem happens when a person (me) starts to censor themselves because they realize that there are actually a few people out there in the world, one or two of you, who read this blog. And here I thought I was talking to myself.

So. Let's have a censor free week, shall we? Try it in your blog too. I bet that nobody even gets offended. I hope.

The caregiving chronicles continue. Last week, the fam had a therapy meeting with a geriatic care (am I spelling that right?) therapist who was supposedly there to help us all with our caregiving issues, but was really there to make life easier on my charming, witty, quiet and shy dad (yes, I am sarcastic) and more difficult on me. More difficult on my little sister, too, but she can take a little more difficulties in her life, I think. One of the things we talked about she dictated is that we come up with a schedule of care. Great, I say. So far the schedule has been Kerrie-Nicole-Kerrie-Dad-Kerrie-Nicole-Kerrie-Kerrie-Nicole-Kerrie-Kerrie-Dad-Dad, or something like that. (Nicole is our guardian angel paid caregiver, without whom we'd all have jumped off of the Aurora Bridge by now.) I can't even begin to tell you how exhausted I am by it. Half the time when dad's there, he won't come when mom calls, so I have to end up going over there anyway. (The commute is something like two minutes, remember?) I'm not sleeping well because I'm afraid she'll need me. When I do fall asleep, that's when she calls and needs me. What do I do? I want to take care of her if she needs it. Well, actually, I want her to be taken care OF if she needs it, and that means that it most usually falls on me lately. How can I make sure she's taken care of, but also make sure that I don't, well, go insane, have a nervous breakdown, run screaming into the desert and eat an entire chocolate cake?

I don't know how, that's all.

Little sister is taking a "shift" tonight with mom, and I sit here in a state of great confusion. Am I relaxed? Hell no. Am I resting? Um. No. Can I get some sleep I need? Nope. Why, why, why? Why if all I want is some time to relax, when I finally have it, all I can do is freak out and do everything EXCEPT relax? I expect her to call. I expect sister to come knocking. I expect all sorts of horrible things are happening without me to supervise. But, fuck it. I DO NOT WANT TO BE IN CHARGE. So, what the hell is wrong with me?

Well, part of that I answered myself at the beginning of this post. I'm doing taxes and SS applications. That's my problem, I guess. I should be reading (actually, too exhausted) or watching TV (nothing seems worth the free time) or knitting (I'm thinking too much while I do that) or sleeping (see above...should I just take an ambien?)

yeah, folks, Kerrie has some issues. Please send chocolate. Cake preferred.

Not acceptable

Dear universe,

certain things that you have been providing me with are not acceptable at all. Thank you for the place to live, for example...I do like having an apartment rather than having to live under the Ballard Bridge. BUT. My. Family. Is. Driving. Me. Nuts.

I live too close to them right now. In fact, just yell out the window and my mom can hear me. Better yet, I can hear my dad coughing and snorting and bitching about whatever it is he's bitching about. Plenty of things ruin his life, apparently, from the fact that there are dirty spoons in the sink to the fact that the world around him exists.

Anyway. That's another story. Back to me me me, because this is MY blog, after all.

I'm tired. Tired of being a caregiver, tired of being a good daughter. The thing is, everyone in my family says they're too tired to do much for my mom, so it seems like everything falls to me. Last week we were gifted with a fun family meeting hosted be a geriatic therapist, who is hanging around to supposedly help my dad deal with his caregiver stress. Yes, my dad has caregiver stress. He takes care of my mom sometimes. Or he did. This man has some serious mental problems, though. Anger is the top of the list. He's always said nasty mean things to us kids while we were growing up and he hasn't stopped. He's taken to telling my mom very mean things that I can't even repeat here, it's way too sad. Sad sad sad.

But, it's classic verbal abuse stuff, and sometimes he's wonderful to her, saying he's sorry, saying he wants her to get better, and on and on. Now, the thing is, mom hasn't been able to work, so he depends on him financially. And I am not able to help her financially. My own finances are goofy. She feels like she has to stay with him.

The thing is, I'll never be able to help her financially at this rate, because I'm ending up being her primary caregiver. I have taken on a lot of her care over the past several years, but this is a totally new level. And I never signed up for this. I suck at it. I can't help her do so many things that she needs from her husband. I have been ending up working with her for a good chunk of every day (5 hours last night), and that time is not only taking away from my work/business time, making my business suffer, but it's making me exhausted physically and mentally as well. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE MY MOM, so so much, that I'd help her until I collapse, but I also feel like this situation is just not fair. Not fair to her or to me. She's getting all this negative energy as the rest of her family is fighting over who "has" to help her, and I'm getting taken for granted and dumped on. The 5 hours might not seem like much, but make it a few hours at least every night, and usually an hour or two almost every day, and I'm putting in a lot of time doing this caregiving thing. 20-30 hours a week is a part time job. Add that to my business, which should at least be getting 40-50 hours a week, and hell. What gives?

I'll tell you what gives, since you've been so kind to read my sob story so far. The dishes piled in the sink because I don't have the time or energy for them is just the beginning. I don't read anymore. I steal knitting time when I'm boiling water or making coffee. TV? Who has time to sit still for more than 5 minutes? Sleep. Oh, yeah, that's what happens after 2-3am when I have finally be able to go to my apartment after spending the evening with my poor mom.

I do love her so much, and I hate that she ends up feeling bad about my emotional and exhausted state. I want to help her, she DESERVES to be taken care of, This is a strong good woman here. I just want to strangle everyone else who's unwilling to take on some of this responsibility, because after all, if they don't do anything, Kerrie will take care of it.

I want to rebel and run away to Mexico. Or Alaska. Or even somewhere that isn't Ballard.

But I won't. Mom might need me.

Directions

I'm going to pretend walk from Astoria, Oregon, to the Statue of Liberty. This is to inspire me to walk. Also, this is a pilgrimage in a way... not that I'm excited about the Statue of Liberty especially, but most of a pilgrimage is about the walk, not the destination. I'm going to give it a make believe try.

I have 6.1 miles so far.

My 6 miles puts me about here, noted by the orange line.

Driving Directions from 146 W Bond St, Astoria, OR to Statue of Liberty Ellis Island, 301 Park Ave, New York, NY

My long journey:



Silly, but my life needs a little silliness about now. So there.

my own horn

I just made a selection of my fonts are available at myfonts.com. I'm so PSYCHED that three of my fonts are in the top 50 sellers! 3D, Handprint and Collage! Whoo-hoo!

Go see. And if you want any of these fonts, myfonts.com is very cool, because it allows you to download them right away...no waiting for the CD to arrive in the mail.

Back to basking in my tiny bit of font fame.

The West Wing

I learned a lot from this TV show. Like, pie is always helpful to cure writer's block. If you're going to do something, do it right. Leave a "Sam Seaborn sized hole in the wall."

Yes, I am mourning The West Wing. It's rare that I stay addicted to a TV show for more than a few months, but Scott and I watched The West Wing like the obsessed "Wingers" we were for the past 7 years.

This sums it up for me, from The Seattle Times:

"Because of them, we wanted to learn Latin; talk Census, Social Security, capital-gains tax; throw a ball against our office wall — just like Toby.

So hail to the Chief and "The West Wing"; long may it wave." (Florangela Davila)

Speakeasy Good

Lately, I haven't had a run of good luck with customer service, but I have been pleased with my experiences with Speakeasy. They have put DSL into our new apartment, which has ancient wiring (almost tin cans and twine quality here) and phone outlets that probably are as old as the house (50 years, maybe?) They gave us DSL, were helpful, easy to talk to, and no surprises so far (knock on wood) as far as billing is concerned. This is my first DSL so I've been kind of clueless about the whole thing, and they didn't try to confuse me or upgrade me or trick me into something I didn't want.

I like my DSL. Nice internets, fast internets, go computer go.

destashing

I realize I have more items than will fit in our new tiny apartment, if we want to actually fit inside as well... I don't like this new apartment particularly much, but I would like to have a roof over my head when it rains, so it would be NICE to fit inside. I have a few things to offer to you, my gentle reader, for sale or trade.

Fine Hand Quilting by Diana Leone and Cindy Walker, 2nd edition, paperback. Original price was $19.95. Like new.

Quilting to Sooth the Soul by Linda Carlson, paperback. Original price was $21.99. Like new.

Inner Outings by Charlene Geiss and Claudia Jessup (this is a deck of journal prompt cards and book). Original price was $24.95. Opened, but in good shape.

Interested? I love yarn in trade (It takes up less space than books) and other things, too. Make me an offer. My secret email identity is bluelemonegg at gmail dot com. I'll edit this list as things (hopefully!) go to new homes.

home is where you stack the dirty dishes

There are several things that I swore would never happen. I will never, ever, marry a man who doesn’t like to cook. I will never open a store. I will never have to take medication every day. I will never let the bathroom get that messy again. I will never eat anything I’m allergic to again. I will never live so close to my parents that I can get from their home to mine in less than two minutes.

Of course, I promised the universe this before I met and married the love of my life, before I opened a store, before I started to take high blood pressure medicine, before that pizza looked so good. And, before, in a moment of pure brain explosion, I moved to the same street block as my parents.

So here I am, living in an apartment two steps away from the home of my parents. We share similar addresses and a set of parking spaces. When I talk to my mother on the phone, I can almost hear her in that weird telephone stereo sound: the real voice in the right ear, the telephone voice in the left. Or, I can simply be reached by a little clever yelling out of my mother’s bedroom window.

Every day, the word “independence” continues to be redefined in my life.

Once upon a time, there was an apartment in the center of an up-and-coming neighborhood. This apartment had two bedrooms, a washer and dryer in the unit, a bit of a view, and enough room that cats could get a good gallop around during their crazed time of the day. In this apartment, there lived a man, a woman, and two cats. They lived there happily, although rent was a little expensive for them. But they loved their apartment, and were happy to go home at night.

There was an evil force that threatened in their neighborhood, though. Mean, nasty, condomonsters and townhouseterrors lurked behind every tree and quaint hedge. Overnight, yellow notices of Proposed Land Use Action would appear, and seemingly the next day, historic homes and buildings would be demolished, to be replaced by particleboard palaces. Mixed use buildings with retail and condos began to breed in the neighborhood, only to be thwarted by the Townhouseterror Virus. Townhouses and Condos fought for the small neighborhood, leaving the corpses of small apartment buildings, houses, and even older condos to litter their battleground.

One day, the man and the woman came home to find a very special letter from their landlord. Their lovely small apartment building was going to be sold, and so they must move out. The landlord wrote that he wanted to fix things up so that he could make more money when he sold the building. In reality, the man and woman knew that the Townhouseterror Virus had infected their landlord, too. Possibly he wasn’t even aware that he was infected, but nonetheless he was, and there was no cure known in all the land.

And so, the man, woman, and two cats went on a quest for a new apartment to live. They were not overly picky, but they did have a few requirements in a home. They searched high and low, near and far, singing this song:

The Apartment Song
Sung to the tune of "The Perfect Nanny" from Mary Poppins

Wanted: an apartment for two wonderful people

If you own some nice apartments
We would like to be your tenants
We're clean and sweet, don't smoke
won't let things get broke

We have two cats but they're very good
both old and sleepy with a quiet mood
One will sit when you tell him to
The other purrs, and cuddles you

If you'll let us sign a lease
We will take good care of your building
We won't be late on rent or have loud parties
Call you and complain, cause you fees

We know we don't have great credit
But we always pay our rent
Now our landlord is selling our building
Putting up townhouses, isn't he mean?

We've had some bad luck in business
Closing our store caused a credit mess
But we have a brand new good business
It's doing well, and we expect greatness
Please rent to us
and you will see
we won't be a fuss
we'll be trustworthy
many thanks
sincerely,

Kerrie, Scott and cats

No matter where they looked, they could not find a suitable home.

The deadline grew near. Workers began to arrive at their apartment to make loud noises on the roof and to play horrible music on their radios. The workers persisted in making repairs to the building, even though it seemed sure that if the building was sold, it would be torn down for the sake of the Townhouseterrors or Condomonsters. The man, woman and cats became worried. Where would they live? Where would they go? And, most importantly of all, how would they be able to afford the deposits, first and last month’s rent, and moving expenses? Or even the application fees that every landlord now seems to be requiring?

OK, there’s a little more to the story. My husband, Scott, and I also own a business together. As part of our business, we had a store for 6 1/2 years, which we closed at the end of last year. Financial issues, an expiring lease, and the economy in general had all contributed to the decision to close the store and restructure the business. But, as a result, our credit was not great. On paper it looked like our business had maybe failed, even though it had really only changed and was, we hoped, becoming revitalized by our new offerings, structure and business decisions. This didn’t look very impressive on paper, though, especially when we were trying to convince landlords to let us move into their buildings. While working for ourselves had been paying for our lives for quite some time, self employment to the prospective landlord looked a little like not working at all.

I imagined their thoughts: “No regular income? Sounds like a couple of slackers to me. Plus, cats? No way. Forget it. What am I, stupid?” Meanwhile, they’d smile, nod, and take our $50 application/credit check fee.

Yes, the apartment search just wasn’t working out. We needed more time to figure things out. We needed more time to save up deposit money. We needed more time to make the business look more successful again. Plus, we needed to put some more time between the apartment search and the business changing.

And, so, we lowered our standards in our apartment search, and ended up, at least temporarily, in an apartment two minutes away from my parents.

The difficulties in this situation have already started to become clear, but that's a post for another day.

a little something

We haven't visited our Dinocam in quite a while, so...



This may be the best thing I've ever ever found on the web.

Apparently, scientists have set up a webcam in New Zealand so they can study the crater of this volcano. Someone sneaked a purple dinosaur into view, though, and left it there. So, is it a volcanocam now, or a dinocam? The best part is that the scientists are just leaving it there. I like looking at it every once in a while.

Yes, I knit things too

I do knit things, especially and mostly socks. I don't show them off much because I'm nervous. I don't feel like my knitting is very good. I am slow, but I do love to have a sock in my hands to keep myself from biting my nails or eating too many chips in front of the TV!

This year, I am planning on making a pair of socks each month, for MYSELF. That's the plan, anyway. Here is my January pair:



My January 2006 socks. These are from Regia Antik yarn, and I used the Jaywalker Patter by Grumperina (my current blogcrush) and published in magknits, but I knit mine toe-up instead of cuff-down. I just reversed the pattern so the cool zig zags still came out OK.

I know, they look like they're slightly different sizes, but they're not really. They do fit just fine! I made a few mistakes, too, but well... I still love 'em.

Here is my February pair:



My February 2006 socks are made out of Lorna's Laces Liberty sock yarn. Only one skein, believe it or not. I used the pattern "Rainbow Ripples" by Linda Dziubala which I liked very much. Again, I love knitting my socks toe-up, so that's what I did here. I just did it all upside down.

And, my March pair:



This yarn is my own handdyed creation, and the pattern is Cascading Leaves by the kind and generous Jeanie Townsend from Townsend Socks Knitalong group. The colors are a bit more subtle in real life. I was hoping they'd change more often, but in my quest to make slightly striped yarn I ended up with bigger blocks of color.

So, there ya go. Yes, Kerrie has angst and yarn in her life.

small

I'm feeling very small lately. There's nothing like inviting the chaos vampires into your life, and then wishing you hadn't...but knowing you had no other choice.

So, I'm feeling small and pathetic. I might be quiet for awhile.

A Song for an Apartment...

The Apartment Song
Sung to the tune of "The Perfect Nanny" from Mary Poppins

Wanted: an apartment for two wonderful people

If you own some nice apartments
We would like to be your tenants
We're clean and sweet, don't smoke
won't let things get broke

We have two cats but they're very good
both old and sleepy with a quiet mood
One will sit when you tell him to
The other purrs, and cuddles you

If you'll let us sign a lease
We will take good care of your building
We won't be late on rent or have loud parties
Call you and complain, cause you fees

We know we don't have great credit
But we always pay our rent
Now our landlord is selling our building
Putting up townhouses, isn't he mean?

We've had some bad luck in business
Closing our store caused a credit mess
But we have a brand new good business
It's doing well, and we expect greatness
Please rent to us
and you will see
we won't be a fuss
we'll be trustworthy
many thanks
sincerely,

Kerrie, Scott and cats

landlords

Once upon a time, there was a monster of the most hideous sort. This monster enjoyed owning things, and would buy as many things as he could. Thus, this monster, through pure cleverness and riches, ended up with more things than he could ever use. But Monster was greedy, and couldn’t help but to buy more things whenever possible. Bigger things were best, so Monster was even known to buy little things, knock them down with his powerful strength, and build bigger things in their place. Monster would then admire his big things for a while until he grew bored, then he would topple them with his amazing powers, and build even bigger things.

Among Monster’s belongings included houses and buildings.

Monster learned that he couldn’t possibly use so many things himself, since he was only one Monster. He thought and thought about what to do. He didn’t want to give up his things, of course. But with so many things, how could he even remember what things he owned?

Finally, he had an idea. He would let other people use his things. They would give him money, and he could use that money to buy more things.

And so, Monster became a Landlord.

Most everyone has to deal with a landlord at some time during his or her lifetime. Many people have great experiences with landlords, even becoming friends. Personally, though, I have not had these mythical good experiences with landlords, and so I fall back on my own stereotype of the Monster Landlord.

My first landlord was the trustee of an estate. He was in charge of renting out apartments in a small building, collecting the rent, and passing on that rent to a mysterious entity. He worked at a bank that was less than a half a block away from the apartment, so he was always available for neither repairs (good guess), nor to handle complaints of transients camping out in the garbage area (good guess again, but wrong, oh foolish naïve girl). No, Mr. Landlord was available for snooping in the apartments while the tenants were out. We don’t know what he’d do while he was visiting, but there’d always be something not quite right when we returned. Being an expert in crime scenes (I watched a lot of TV), I started to slip a small bit of paper or thread in my door to prove my suspicions. Sure enough, at least once a week, my thread or paper would have fallen into the hallway. I was living alone for the first time ever, so yes indeed, this was creepy.

I know now that this kind of behavior is illegal, but it seems so low on the creepometer fifteen years later that I only can think fondly of a landlord who cared enough to poke through my refrigerator and visit my underwear drawer. At the time I couldn’t move out quickly enough. I wasn’t letting the door hit me in the back on my way to my next apartment.

The worst Monster Landlords are the ones that pretend to be your friend, only waiting for a moment of weakness to lunge at your throat and tear out your heart while it’s still beating. Dramatic, you think? Not while it’s happening. While landlords in general can be a bit difficult to deal with, commercial landlords are members of an even more special breed.

Want to hear why? OK, then. I'll tell you soon, I promise.

If you happen to be a landlord who isn't Pure Evil, by the way, and you own any apartment buildings in Seattle, please rent me an apartment. I need you in my life. You need me to give you money. I'm quiet and have nice things in my refrigerator.

past, present and future

Once, there was a store that belonged to us. We closed the day before Thanksgiving last year.

Here was our sign:



Today, they have finally rented the space. First thing, they scraped our sign off the window.

So, the last traces of Turtle Press Store are gone, living only in all of our memories.

A moment of reflection, please.

(yes, I'm still happy/sad)

think it'll get me a job?

Resumé

Qualifications

• over 10 years of experience handling money and cashiering
• extensive experience cursing fluently when cash register didn’t balance
• 7 years of experience taking care of daily register paperwork, daily deposits, accounting and daily opening and closing chores for a retail store
• proficient in handling 3 months of paperwork all at once just before taxes are due with a minimum of tears or tantrums
• extensive sales and customer service skills
• able to refrain from calling customers stupid, mean, or cursing at them when they are stupid or mean
• skilled at cleaning up after customers who have littered drinks, food, or products all over a small retail space
• able to enforce various rules, such as forbidding animals and humans from peeing in the store’s alcove
• experience helping customers with disputes without resorting to murder
• proficient in dialing 9-1-1 to assist with crime, health, or other assorted annoyances taking place in front of a retail store
• experience answering questions truthfully or not, in person or on the telephone
• knowledge of what management chores can be postponed until “tomorrow”
• experienced in following potential shoplifters while pretending to sweep
• provided artistic technical help to customers who have no knowledge of anything artistic
• able to overcome perfectionism in stocking, straightening, and display work
• handled product ordering and purchase decisions based on what seems cool at the time
• excellent at pretending to enjoy working both independently and as part of a team

Education

watched CSI regularly for over two years
read many many books , including several nonfiction ones

University of Washington, Seattle, Washington 98195
B.F.A. in Photography, 1993
B.A. in Art, 1994

Work Experience

Editor 2001-present, dog eared magazine, Seattle, Washington
Store manager 1999-2005, Turtle Press, Seattle, Washington
AOL Internet Connection Cyberjocky Team, 1996-97, America Online, Vienna, Virginia
AOL "Tech Live" Team, 1995-96, America Online, Vienna, Virginia
Paper Store Lead, 1995, Seattle Art, Inc., Seattle, Washington
Retail Sales, 1994-1995, Seattle Art, Inc., Seattle, Washington
Book Designer, 1994, Licton Springs Review, Seattle, Washington

I hate things like this

So why do I have this compulsion to do them whenever someone I knows does them? Hmm?

I. Am. Sadistic. That's why.

Your Linguistic Profile:

70% General American English

15% Upper Midwestern

10% Yankee

5% Midwestern

0% Dixie

What Kind of American English Do You Speak?

Etsy Surrender

kerrie's etsy shoppe

miniature snapshot collages

I've put a few of my miniature snapshot collages up on eBay, to see if anyone likes them enough to want to own one...



eBay: The Blue Door Miniature Snapshot Collage by K. Carbary (item 7393588242)

I am behind on getting art up on the neglected web site, but you can see some of my stuff I've been working on by going through eBay. Go through that link, or search for "Carbary." (The brewery clock isn't mine, though!)

Now, back to accounting. Fun!

I (heart) Oprah

Oprah.com, no matter how you feel about Oprah herself, is the most awesomest resource. America's Debt Diet looks pretty simple, but I know a lot of people who don't even KNOW how much money they owe.

Me, I know, which is why I have insomnia. But still, it's a good web site.

Dear Universe

Dear Universe,

It's official. I hate looking for a new place to live.

I don't want to move, so if you could make it so we don't have to move, that would be ideal. But if not, I need to ask you for a little help.

This is what I require in a place to live:

Must allow cats. They are usually good cats and usually just pluck our dining room table, not walls or doors or carpet. Usually.

Must have a dishwasher. This is apparently important to me, since we looked at a really nice place this weekend, but the fact that it had no dishwasher make me get all icky inside.

Must have good windows. And a deck or balcony where we can sit and drink beer and write in our journals on summer nights.

Must not have white or offwhite carpet. Come on, that's just asking for it, don't you think? Why oh why do so many apartments have that lovely cream colored carpet, and then the landlord acts surprised when you stain it with raspberry jam?

Must have a washer/dryer in the apartment. Or at least have enough in the common room for all of the apartments so you don't have to camp out at 6am to try to get your laundry done.

Must have a decent bathtub that isn't frightening. You know what I mean.

Must have two bedrooms, or one bedroom is OK, but the bedroom must be larger than our bed. A walk-in closet does not count as a bedroom, no matter how you sell it to us.

Must be close to busses. Ballard is preferable, because our office is here. But to be honest, I'm getting a little frustrated with the condoexplosion going on in this neighborhood.

Must be within walking distance of a grocery store. We do not have a car and will not get one just to go get groceries. Plus, we like to walk.

Must be secure. I like those chains on the door, they make me feel better at night. But at least the front door shouldn't look like you could easily break in by just kicking on the hinges a little.

I like doorbells. A doorbell isn't a dealbreaker, though.

Must not allow pianos in the building. I have psychological issues regarding this.

Must not require first, last, damage, cat, blue eyes, and bicycle deposit to move in.

I have a price in my mind that it must not exceed. Universe knows.

In return, we are good tenants. We don't pester the landlord hardly ever. Only for exploding electrical outlets and leaky ceilings, really. We mostly take care of ourselves. We don't want to have to fill out your five page application. Is that really necessary? We're good people. We might not have good credit right now, but we always pay our rent. We're clean and we know how to sort our recycling. We don't have loud parties and we won't let our friends spray paint the living room. We just want a decent place to live for a while, and have more than a year of our lives when we don' t have to move our business, our home, or our parent's home.

So please, Universe, whatcha got for us?

My daily hatreds

Yesterday morning, as we were leaving, we notice an envelope taped to our door. Apparently our landlords are considering selling the building and have to show the place to buyers TODAY. Yes, 24 hours notice to make the apartment look nice, or at least not so messy that I want to hide under the bed with the cats.

They're SUPPOSED to give you 48 hour notice, but whatever.

We cleaned and straightened so that it's at least acceptable for annoying people like real estate agents, if not at the level I'd desire for mother in laws or dinner parties. But, even though the apartment is nicer than it was yesterday morning, I'm quite annoyed. Quite. A heart full of hatred might be a better way to describe it.

PLUS, I worry that any buyer will actually knock this building down and build townhouses instead, which are taking over the neighborhood like vampires as it is.

So, I guess we're at least casually looking for a new apartment. I hate hate hate moving.

This is Seattle, right???

I opened our bedroom window, just a tiny bit, to get some fresh air in there after vacuuming.

The window has frozen open.

It's cold for my Seattle blood.

How do you unfreeze an open window, for goodness sake?"

Required Viewing

I mean it.



WAL-MART: The High Cost of Low Price


There will be discussion and a test later, when I'm feeling better.

The Dangers of Grime in Driveways

My New Februaries Resolution was to post to my blog more often, even, dare I consider it? Every day, maybe. But, instantly on February 1st at midnight, the deathflu caught me. I'm feeling like crap. Fevered weird dreams and all that.

I had a fevered dream that there was a man vacuuming our apartment building's driveway. So, imagine my surprise when I stumbled to the kitchen for life-saving tea, and saw that it's all real. Not a dream at all. There really IS a man vacuuming our driveway, with one of those big mega vacuums that look like an industrial carpet cleaner.

Our driveway isn't dirty, really, any more than any driveway is. I didn't think so anyway. But now I wonder...maybe all along our driveway has been covered with germ infested filth, and if only our landlord had had it vacuumed more often, maybe I wouldn't have caught the death flu.
Hmm.

The Best and Worst Dressed at the State of the Union

Best Dressed: a tie between Cindy Sheehan and Beverly Young

Ms. Sheehan wore a stylish black t-shirt with bold white type that read, "2245 Dead. How many more?"

Mrs. Young, wife of wife of Rep. Bill Young, wore a "Support the Troops - Defending Our Freedom" t-shirt.

Both designers are unknown, but many copycats are already showing up on CafePress.

Worst Dressed: Dare I say, his and hers coordinating colors outfits (a light blue tie for boy presidents, a light pink First Lady dress suit for, well, First Ladies?)

When in doubt about how to handle the horrors of a Certain State of the Union, attack the clothing, I guess.

working

hilton

I've been working a lot lately, neglecting my blog.

It's partially this cat's fault. When I stop working, I sit on the couch for "just a few minutes," and Hilton sits on my lap and holds me down, so I'm unable to move. Honestly, it's his fault. As a result I sit there with a cat on my lap instead of doing other chores, like dishes, laundry, or fun chores like posting to my blog.

Nasty little cat. See how nasty he is in the photo? Nasty.

Monthly Local Weather Forecast for Seattle: Rain

I'm trying to come up with 100 words for rain, in honor of, well, the rain.

So far I only have something like 34:

rain
sleet
drizzle
shower
storm
dribble
pitter-patter
spritzle
splatter
cats and dogs
downpour
deluge
mist
dripping rain
cloudburst
precipitation
sprinkle
monsoon
thunderstorm
drencher
wet fog
water particles
hail
frizzing rain
raindrops
rainfall
pouring
pissing
sunshower
freezing rain
pelting rain
stinging rain
howling rain
dripping

Only a couple are made up words, too.

Really, honestly, it doesn't normally rain this much in Seattle. Bah.
I'm losing my patience.

Monthly Local Weather Forecast for Seattle, WA (98107) - weather.com

The Zokutou Word Meter

A wonderful tool for the obsessive: The Zokutou Word Meter.

2,053 / 50,000 (4.1%)

someone supernatural help me...

I am having this horrible craving for orange and pink yarn.

I must overcome this.