E is for...
The view

Kicking up my heel

I'm (stealth) knitting something pink and also working something blue, but neither is for a baby and I don't have pics.  Bleh, I'm a little wrung out these days.  I worked on the something blue last night while listening to a couple of About Time podcasts -- the first one, "Christmas Presents," and the fourth/special edition, "Knitting Olympics."  Yeah, I've got some catching up to do.  I'm still feeling the flush of Olympic victory, though, so I'm not tired of hearing about it even though it's over; and Stephanie is just a kick.

I used a 20-dollar bill while knitting at the hospital yesterday to determine that the leg of my sock was 6" and it was an okay time to start the heel.  Woo.  My SIL was knitting, too; concentration (or lack there of) allows just a plain ol' garter stitch dishcloth, but that's great.  Turns out she knits continental and learned in high school home ec.

So we're talking about knitting and where we learned and my mother asked me where I learned to knit.

Huh?  My mother doesn't remember teaching me how to knit.  ; (  She doesn't really remember learning how to knit herself, though, either.  (I remember the circumstances better than she does!)  Her mother knit, but didn't want to teach any of her kids because she was left-handed and didn't want to "pass it on" or whatever.  Turns out my mom is left-handed, anyway, but the nuns made her learn to write right-handed and so, really, she's ambidextrous, but favors each hand for different tasks; she eats and bowls as a leftie, knits (she's a thrower) and writes as a rightie.  Anyway, it was a neighbor lady in Highland Park, Illinois, who taught my mom to knit (and that's when Mom taught me) in return for my mother teaching her how to sew.  Mom later took a knitting class, in the late '70s/early '80s, and that's what she remembered... until yesterday when I set the record straight!

So, anyway, I'm kicking up my heel about a couple of things.  First, please go give a warm blogland welcome to "Mary in Boston" -- she is Cardigirl!  Woo!  Woo!  Woo!  Mary has read and commented on my blog for a while now, and I was most happy to have met her at Rhinebeck last October.  She's the first person to ever recognize me from the blog.  ; )  I have had occasion to hear from some other new bloggers recently and hope to introduce you to some of them soon.  I'm always changing up the old Bloglines list, so check it out anytime.

I'm also kicking up my heels because we were able to see my brother's face yesterday.  He was still way, way out of it, but what a difference it makes.  His uber-swollen lip, which was even beginning to split, has gone down considerably with the binding tape removed.  They performed a tracheostomy yesterday, allowing the apparatus to be removed from his mouth and he is now breathing on his own to a degree, with assistance from the ventilator.  They also inserted a feeding tube directly into his stomach.  They'll begin using that tube today and then, folks, we're hoping for a poop.  Yeah... When's the last time I prayed for a poop?  (Did I ever??)

When I was 16, one of my sisters and I spent a summer living with our dad in northern Wisconsin.  I decided to stay and finish school there -- I was a senior and, dammit, I was ready for change, ready to live my life.  Being 16, I didn't think and/or care a whit about the rest of my family or my friends -- at that time, at that age, it was all about ME.  I don't think that I would change it, even if I could, because of the experiences I had, friends I made, lessons learned, but I am sorry about some things and that I was such a teen-aged ass.

One day, in the middle of the year, the phone rang.  I answered it and it was a guy:  "Is Vicki there?"  It was a very, very low voice and I didn't recognize it

"Who is this?"

Very, very low voice:  "It's Mike."

(Mike... Mike... Mike...  It's not my brother, he's only 13!  Mike...Mike... there's a Mike in my class (pant-pant-pant)... Could it be that Mike?... Would he call me?... Is there a dance?... Why would he call me???)

"Mike who?"

Very, very low voice:  "It's Mike... your brother!"

I do not remember a thing about why he was calling, but I sure do remember the call.



I do the left handed/ right handed thing like your mom. I eat, write, bowl, bat, etc. left handed. But I knit right handed. Go figure!


Every teenagers middle name is 'ass'. I was shocked too when my brothers voice change. I thought he was my Dad!


You must have prayed for poop after you gave birth to each of the girls -- you aren't allowed out of the hospital after childbirth unless you do it! So, along that line of thought, I'd say that poop is a good sign, so here's hoping for it!


I'm glad your brother's doing better! I'm praying for poop!

Mary in Boston

Oh gee, now I'm gonna have to keep thinking of things to write.
Thanks for the introduction Vicki, I'm blushing. I'm also proud that I was your first stalker...heh.

Glad to hear that Mike's condition seems to be upgrading even though the progress is slow. Praying for poop has to be a first. But you have my prayers.


Glad to hear that your brother is a bit better; what a great memory story! My youngest son now has that deep, deep voice, deeper than either his brother or step-brother, and my grrlfriends all tell me how handsome he is, hee, hee.


Lots of continued love to you m'dear. Pretty funny about your brother and the voice. eeewww. ;)


you have us all rooting for poo!

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