With the fall air....

....comes the desire to hook. For the past few weeks, I have been cranking out fingerless mitts to contribute to our parish festival, Autumn Daze. Simultaneously, there has been the usual back to school hubub, continued career transition (i.e. job search), freelance reporting, and camping camping camping!

Here in Minnesota, we jokingly say that "we only have two seasons," and every year I am reminded of that. One day it is 80 degrees, sunny, with the smell of dried grass lingering in the air and within 24 hour, grey slick skies and cold rain that transforms into snow once the sun goes down. Right now we are treasuring the fall heat during the day and complimentary cool nights - perfect for active days and relaxed yarnie nights!

Fingerless gloves:

Camping camping camping:

Both peaceful, both realxing, both a necessary part of autumn in Minnesota!

Super Powers

For a few of my childhood summers, I often visited my Great Aunt Velma and Great Uncle Howard, who lived in the Senior Citizen Trailer Park in Clinton, Michigan.  While the main attraction was use of the park pool, Great Aunt Velma always provided cookies, cake and ice cream after the swim. 

"Wow, Aunt Velma!  Was that what it was like when YOU were young?" Her place was filled with crocheted items and antiques and I loved how she and Great Uncle Howard were able to attach some meaning to each old thing with a great story of times gone by. When you are a kid, old things are cool and mysterious – a key to another world.  Never did I suspect I would be the one with the key.

These days, I go antiquing with my kids, who are constantly asking, "What is THAT and what's it FOR?"  The last time we went, I realized that I was answering that question ALOT and, surprisingly, I seemed to know what everything was on the shelf and what it was used for and I even heard myself say, "I had one of THESE!" with the lilting voice of Aunt Velma.

Somewhere along the line of time, the items in the antique store started to shift from being old and mysterious to being something a little too familiar.  Similarly, I have noticed lately that people around me have shifted their attitude toward me.  Gone are the days of silver haired smiles and the reply, "You young people are so cute!"  Now the discussion inevitably touches upon fascination and appreciation with MY "experience."  Not my work experience or my educational experience or my experience as a crocheter, but my "life experience."

Huh?  At what point did other people start to assume that I would have "life experience?"  While I always highlight the wisdom that comes with personal experience in cover letters, that is a tool to hopefully get an interview.  I know I don't look 35 any more, and that I am wearing the same clothes I wore when I WAS 35.  However, they allllll seem to know that I have enough "life experience" in my well to be able to dip in, sift through a large amount of contents, and find something that surely will apply to this or any other situation.

At first, I found this discovery alarming.  When did I become some one else?  Where did my young self go?  And more importantly, how do I stop it? After a few incidents, I resigned myself to the fact that time will march on and push me ahead of it. Being the opportunist I am, I found a way to capitalize on time's cruel shove-o-rama. When asked to share my well-reasoned and well-seasoned rationale for why something is the way it is, I quickly discovered that I can construct a justification that may be, while advantageous to me, completely fabricated from my own unique imagination.  To this date, I am batting 1000.  The nugget of wisdom is swallowed with relish and I have discovered a new superpower, the power of  "Geriatric Hypnosis."

After objectively pondering my new ability and analyzing the strengths and weaknesses of this awesome key to happiness, I have managed to pinpoint a few guidelines as I don my silver and black cape:

~       As with all super powers, Geriatric Hypnosis must only be used for good, never evil.  There is a dark brotherhood of evil doers with this discovery who have induced millions of people, referred to as "the American voter," to willingly hand over their own powers of reasoning, common sense, and ambition.  The rest of us must stay vigilant to counteract this dark use of the power.

~       In keeping with the first consideration above, I recognize that "evil" is a pretty relative term so, if you need to use it to get your kids to go to bed early or talk some one into going to the move that YOU want to see, it's ok.

~       In order for the power to be effective, the superhero must quickly evaluate whether or not the proposed hypnotic subject would be susceptible.  If the power is used on some one too old or too young or a teenager with an attitude, it will be deflected as they are immune.  A superhero who is hit with his own Geriatric Hypnosis can become confused, disoriented, and delusional.

~       Geriatric Hypnosis only works when the subject is unaware that it is being administered.  Delivery, creativity, and frequency are necessary, but must be balanced.  In other words, you have to look like you know what you're talking about.  If you can't do it with WHAT you say, body language is key.

~       The power of Geriatric Hypnosis it short lived, especially in those who recognize it early and make frequent use of its power.  Peak power years are between the ages of 45 and 55, depending on how masterfully he or she harnesses the power.  It is inevitable, however, that those who are subjected to Geriatric Hypnosis eventually discover that they are being benignly bamboozled.

Like other children, I knew I was destined for greatness (see "The Size and Shape of Our Legacy"). My idea of greatness has changed over the years; perhaps to make myself feel better or maybe just because I misunderstood it when I was young.  Never did I suspect, however, that I would possess a power that could change the world; now I know that to be the truth.  Did Aunt Velma use Geriatric Hypnosis?  Does it matter?  She definitely changed the world in a good way for this little girl and we all should strive to do the same with our own super powers.  Where's my cape? 

A Trip to JoAnn's

My girls and I, coupons in hand, a song on the radio, laughter on our lips, hopped into the Jetta the other day and headed straight for JoAnn's of Edina.  I was reminded of the girlhood trips to the fabric store, eager to reproduce the experience for my brood.  It was always nice, peaceful, and a "girl" thing.  How wonderful, I thought, to be reliving this moment as a mom with my own daughters.

Not long ago, I purchased a very basic sewing machine and for the past three months have limited its use to hemming pants, sewing linings in crocheted purses and patching together tee shirts and items from Good Will to make a few eclectic and hip pieces.  It is all part of our effort to be cool, shabby chic, and green, by recycling just about everything we can lay our hands on.  Since I am "taking the summer off" (i.e. "unemployed"), I have been able to maintain the "cool, shabby chic, and green" label by isolating my children from any other kids who know better.  My girls were excited, I was excited; we three girls were ready to rock out at JoAnn's of Edina!  I promised to stay away from the yarn…..

Since every one else had the same coupons I did, of course the place was packed. That's ok, times are a little different but the experience would still have a special flavor.  In keeping with true form, I hustled all females to the bathroom before shopping began.  I have a very small bladder.  While we were in the bathroom, my youngest pointed to something on the floor, "What is THAT?!" she said.  "Looks like one of those wood chips they use in landscaping," I replied, "that must be what it is."

"Mom, I think it is poo."

"What?!  No one is going to leave crap on the bathroom floor at JoAnn's of Edina." was my practical and wise reply.

"Touch it with your shoe," came the challenge.

"Okay," Have I mentioned that I am not one to back down from a challenge?

Ten seconds later the bathroom was filled with squeals of disgust.  This was not starting out like my childhood trips to the fabric store.

I was pleasantly surprised when my kids chose easy level patterns.  Their fabric selections were predictable – a pretty pink print for the eldest and a rock and roll neon green and black for the youngest – and they didn't fight about choosing from the sale fabric, clearly marked by the 50% off signs hanging above the shelf on which they rested.  Have I mentioned that I NEVER buy anything that is not on sale?

The line at the cutting counter wasn't even that long.  I was reminded of the days of my youth when I first thought about my future career.  I aspired to be a fabric cutter.  Nothing seemed so fulfilling to me – color for the eyes, texture for the touch, scissors that start the process of creativity.  I loved the thud of the heavy bolt of fabric as it hit the table when the cutter would boldly spin it to dislodge the material for measuring.  I reveled in the sharp and slightly grinding sound of the shears as they work their way through the material - a little like fingernails on a pleasant chalkboard.  It was perfect and there are times when I think it still would be perfect for me.  Poo aside, this would be nice.

After my two fabric orders were cut, the woman informed me that neither of them were 50% off as they were "fashion" fabrics instead of "basic" fabrics.  She had some ridiculous reply about how they can only put out so many signs and that is why they were under a sign that said "50% off" at JoAnn's of Edina.  I could tell that she had respinded to that same comment many times during the day.  While I am not one to exhibit my annoyances, this and the poo in the ladies room was pretty difficult to get past.  Nevertheless, I gave it a brave try.  "No worries," I said, "I have a 50% off coupon."

"That coupon doesn't take effect until next week." 

"But I got it in the mail last week."

"You can use a 40% off general coupon that should have also been part of the circular."

"But I was going to use that coupon for a craft for my kids for a father's day gift."

"The fabric coupon doesn't take effect until next week."  A ten dollar, home made shirt turned into a twenty dollar home made shirt.  My fond memories quickly dissolved in a pile of poo on the bathroom floor.

"Mom," said my little one, "I'm sorry I picked something that wasn't on sale!"  Ack!  Damn you, JoAnn's of Edina, damn you!  I quickly let her know that it was JoAnn's of Edina, not her, that was responsible for our momentary financial crisis.

We hunted and gathered our notions – elastic, thread, lace – all incredibly overpriced, and hidden among the giant aisles of the crafting super store, and checked out.  I was now committed to making a shirt for twice what I would have paid for a store bought version from Indonesia.  On our way across the parking lot, my older girl said, "Mom, we forgot to tell them that there is poo on the bathroom floor!"

In a feeble attempt to get back at JoAnn's of Edina for stealing my money with their bait and switch, giving my 7 year old a guilt complex, and smashing my warm memories of the peace of fabric shopping, I replied, "We'll let them figure THAT one out themselves!"

And while our experience wasn't quite what I had hoped, it quickly became its own unique memory when my kids laughed and said, "Yeah, let them figure THAT one out for themselves!"