Head Hunted

I've always read about people getting calls from head hunters, with lucrative offers of employment with six figure (and up) salaries.  But the only head hunters I've ever encountered are the cannibals I've read about in books.  Until two days ago, when an actual head hunter gave me a call-out of the blue-and asked me if I'd be interested in a senior environmental attorney position.  I don't know if I am or not, but I am definitely going to explore this!  It's exciting, and makes me feel flattered.

For over a year I looked for work with no leads, finally (and gratefully) landing the position I have today.  I love my job now, the flexibility is incredible, and my safety net insured.  But. While direct compensation was not discussed, I think it is safe to say that it will be significantly more than current levels.  But the job flexibility will go with it.  You know how everyone says they have a price?  If I even make it past round one (much less two or three...) I wonder what my price will be?

In knitting content, I'm working on the light blue fingerless mitts. I've used the white handspun Bolivian alpaca from the stupid cows in the sweater I'm raveling to embroider little leaf designs at the wrist.  I can't say enough good things about the Knitpicks dpns (US3) I'm using, smooth and pointy.  I'm knitting these tightly and am experiencing no problems at all.  The yarn is from a recycled Express sweater (wool, angora, nylon, viscose blend) and is very soft.


I'm also finishing up the matching mittens to my red and orange beret.  I'm using the same yarn I used for the beret (a Gap recycled wool sweater) but added two strands of red 2 ply cashmere from a recycled sweater for a bit more warmth and softness.  The cashmere ups the squish factor considerably.

Not content with the number of project I have in progress, I have officially started my first ever toe-up sock-I have to admit that not having to kitchner is a big draw-it will also be my first short row heel, so lots of firsts in this sock.  I'm using Opal self patterning yarn and loving the stripes of purple that are magically revealing themselves.  Photos when I have enough done to have something to show for it besides newly invented curse words.  I'm using "Judy's Magic Cast On" with the help of You Tube videos.


I think this final fridge photo says it all, I made the tiles by getting small magnets and adhering them to the back.  We've had a lot of fun with them, although it is clear that their charm has worn off for all members of the family except moi.  That's okay, I know I am easily amused.  Sticks, string, scrabble tiles and a cup cups of coffee can keep me occupied for hours.

Tribute

Mary with her older brothers, Gene and Henry "Chub"

Mary Connolly was a remarkable woman, she was born on May 23, 1941 to Henry Callan and Catherine Callan nee Zwack in Dubuque, Iowa.  She had 2 older brothers, Gene and Henry, a younger sister Molly and a baby brother, John.

Mary and her father Henry - first holy communion.

Mary with her mother, Catherine

Mary in high school.

Popular in school, she went on a double date one day with a friend of her older brother (she told me there was no way she was going to go out with an older man on her own-she was 17, he 20).  Fast forward to their marriage in August.  Baby number one came, and then two, both boys.  They were fast outgrowing the small place they rented.

Mary and Baby #1

Mary had her hands full wrangling two fiesty boys, while pregnant with her third-her husband worked at the packing plant - working all the extra hours he could get - and came home to rock babies.

Mary got her little girl and soon added another son.  As the child count hit four, so did sorrow, as the newest addition struggled with a heart defect that later claimed his young life.  Heart broken though she must have been, Mary had little time to give into grief, because during all the hospital visits and juggling four little ones, baby number five made her appearance.  The count was now 3 boys (one in angel status) and 2 girls.

A move was inevitable, there was literally no more room, so they weighed their options and that city girl followed her husband to the country to raise up the children and offer them a safe place to run and play and get dirty and grow.  St. Donatus, Iowa, population?  Less than 200.  She was 26 when the doctor told her her next pregnancy held a surprise-twins!

I'm on the left, Heidi on the right.

Growing up (that's me with the hammer) circa 1968.

My sister and I were born in October, 1966, after what certainly had to be a wretchedly hot summer. No air conditioning, only a fan and screen doors-constantly banging while kids ran in and out.  Think of it:  three babies in diapers (cloth diapers folks, hung on the line to dry) and the house they put a down payment on gutted, room by room, waiting for evenings and weekends when Dad could renovate.  Mom cheated death at age 29 when surgery removed uterine cancer-but the same life saving surgery also took away any more pregnancies.

Folks think country life is all daisies and lemonade, but that's only on television.  There were all kinds of obstacles-a party telephone line for one, and a long distance toll charge anytime she called her mother.  Living in the city, Mom had never learned to drive-she was stuck out in the country until Dad got home from work, or fishing, or hunting, or...

Dad ordered Mom's birthday cakes, she made ours.

Think of the housework!  She finally got an electric washing machine in 1966 when we twins made our appearance, before that it was the laundromat or a wringer washer.  Laundry for eight, three meals a day plus a hearty lunch packed for Dad, and six pairs of sticky hands, dirty faces, and constant refrains of "Mooooommmmmm!"  We kids were no saints either, we fought and played and got hurt, needed stitches, rough housed our pets, rode bikes on gravel roads, got in trouble at school, traded childhood illnesses and generally must have drove her nuts.  Money was always tight.  Mom didn't work outside the home until her children were nearly adults.

Mary and her wheels.

Every birthday Mom made us our favorite cake and let the birthday kid pick the dinner meal.  We always made a wish before blowing out the candles.

Holiday tables groaned with her cooking.  Mom learned to drive when my sister and I started kindergarten, she was 31.  With keys in hand, she started her next career as chauffeur, a vocation that was kicked into high gear as school extra-curricular activities piled up on top of the endless grocery trips.

Mary at the lake on a summer camping trip.

Speaking of school, we all knew how to read before kindergarten.  We played "school" with my oldest sister as the teacher if it wasn't nice enough to go outside.  We were allowed to play outside nearly year round "until the lights came on" (if by 'lights' you understand I mean the one street light on our side of town), so there were pick up games of catch and baseball, endless bike rides and lots of stomping in the nearby creek.

Mom and Dad took all of us camping, for weeks, every summer, in Wisconsin where it was cooler.  We could doggy paddle in the lake (so long as we didn't go deeper than our belly buttons) get dirty, roast marshmallows over a campfire, ride our bikes over endless trails and soak up the sun, wild as natives.  Without fanfare or complaint, Mom did all the work getting us ready to go and packing up for the trip back home.

Mom made every one of her children feel special, loved and wanted.  She crocheted afghans to keep us warm, sewed halloween costumes and easter dresses.  Mom taught me to sew, a hobby I still love.  She taught us all to cook, and by her example I learned how to run a household.  She always had a book in her hand, reading nearly every day.  Mom made sure we were all present and accounted for in church every Sunday morning-she could quell unacceptable behavior in church with just a glance of her "mean" look.  Our Christmas trees sparkled with tinsel and homemade ornaments, hundreds of holiday cookies were baked each year, with gifts piled up-and she gave Santa all the credit.

Mom eventually saw all those little ones grow up, move away, marry and start families of their own.  Engineer,  plant supervisor, computer programmer, nurse, manager, lawyer... we all grew up and gave her grandbaby after grandbaby.

Grandma Mary's first wave of grandbabies, 1989

Grandma Mary & Baby K

Now Grandma Mary, she took every phone call, never offered unsolicited advice, stocked her house with dolls for the girls and trucks for the boys.  She stitched doll clothes and colorful, coveted quilts.  She painted beautiful ceramics and gave each of her (now grown up) children a hand painted nativity scene.  She worked at the ceramic shop, took classes to become a certified nursing assistant, and began taking care of aging Catholic nuns at the facility in town.

Mom and Dad

Mom loved to travel, and went as often as she could, usually with her brother and his wife.  New York, Montreal, Mexico (where she smuggled out 2 small switchblades as souvenirs for her teenage boys) and more. She and Dad moved to northern Arkansas in the mid 90s, escaping the harsh Iowa winters.  Fishing and hunting for Dad, swimming, walking, quilting and time to read for Mom.  Her flower garden flourished, quilts were made in her studio, and her children came to visit year after year-for reunions, for love, for comfort & solace.

Family reunion, 1999.

Mom picked up smoking as a girl in high school, a way to lose weight she told me.  She quit smoking in 1986, kicking the addiction by sheer will power alone.  But, the cigarettes had taken their toll and in December of 2000, at age 59, she was diagnosed with aggressive lung cancer.  Mom held on until every one of her children, by now scattered all over the country, made it to her hospital bedside.  We all were able to hold her, hug her, tell her we loved her, and hear her tell us she loved us too.

 Mary Catherine Callan Connolly died on January 26, 2001.  She is survived by my Dad, her sister Molly, her brother John, six children, 14 grandchildren and 2 great grandchildren.  My Mother was the most beautiful, the kindest, sweetest, most perfect lady I ever knew.  I've never met her match.  She, no doubt, is with the angels, with her baby Todd, her Mom and Dad, and her brothers, Gene and Chub.  I still miss her so much every single day.  I still can't believe she's gone.  My mother is why I believe there is a God and a heaven.  I have to believe I can be with her again.

I love you Mom,

-Heather

Baby It's Cold Outside

This has been an unusually cold January.  It was down to 12F outside this week.  I know it's winter and it's supposed to be cold, not balmy, but this is different. I do not like such intense, bone chilling cold. It's too cold to go out, it's difficult to get this drafty house warm, and at some point I'm as layered up as I can tolerate.

Growing up in Iowa, you would think I would be more nonchalant about winter temperatures, WV is much milder, winter-wise than Iowa was. I remember, as a girl, multiple consecutive days where the thermometer never got close to zero. Where the windchill meant temperatures of -15 or -20F and we had to go out in it because they did NOT call school off for frigid temperatures. We had a trusty woodstove that we used to heat the house, falling back on the furnace only when necessary, so that meant the big woodbox would require refilling, cold outside or not.

Perhaps it's the yucky feeling of waking up with my teeth literally chattering, soaked to the skin (from hot flashes, but I'm only 44 for Pete's sake!) and freezing while I change pajamas I'm getting older and wiser, because I'm starting to sympathize with my Mother who hated Iowa winters.  Driving was precarious, keeping that woodstove going was a full time job and the snow sometimes started as early as October and lasted until Easter.  By February driving on country roads felt like driving through a tunnel, a blinding white tunnel, with the snow piled up on either side of the road and the plowman at a loss as to where to put any more.  On top of all that, Mom also suffered mightily from arthritis.  Her poor joints felt every Canadian front and nasty precipitation pattern that found their way to our little corner of the world.  She and Dad eventually moved to Arkansas where Mom said it never got really cold and the hot, humid summers made her aching joints feel even better.  In fact, she said she loved the heat.

Now, I am the one who can predict weather with my left knee.  I'm like those old folks in front of the general store, "ah yup, storm's a comin' - my knee's all stoved up" as I limp down the steps in search of aspirin and a hot shower.  Was it from an old cross country injury?  My brief career as a 7th and 8th grade cheerleader?  Those years as a soldier hefting who-knows-how many pounds of rucksack on endless death road marches?  Carrying my babies around long after they should have just been allowed to walk, fussy or not?  I don't know.  Given how much it bothers me, I'm grateful it doesn't show up in both knees.  I also think there must be a hereditary factor - Dad and my sister K both are on a first name basis with "Arthur" as the unwelcome guest is known.  Grandma C suffered horribly from arthritis, was nearly crippled by it.

Eldest son told me it was the barometric pressure change that caused my knee to hurt.  He went into all kinds of scientific detail about it.  Turns out there is even an Aches and Pains Map.  Somehow, having that map seems to make it all more legitimate and less old folks complaining anecdotal.  More snow is expected tonight.  I've got plenty of aspirin and ibuprofen.

 And a comfy bed dressed in flannel sheets and a down comforter to get that long winter's nap.

Worry

I'm saying some extra prayers tonight, because I spoke to Dad and W and found out that Dad is having eye surgery tomorrow on his "good" eye. He had surgery 2 years ago (I think it was 2009) on the other eye to repair a tear and remove cataracts. He has five cataracts he is going to have removed tomorrow and I think he said they will be replacing his lens with a high tech one. In his 70s now, I have to keep reminding myself that Dad is getting old. He seems ageless to me. After Mom died in 2001, I was so worried about him, afraid of the loneliness that would engulf him. My parents were really just kids when they married-Mom 17, Dad 20. Mom was only 18 when she had my oldest brother, and only 26 when she had us twins (we were babies six and seven).

Then he met W and after a quick romance they married. W is the best ever. Not really a stepmom inasmuch as we were all out of the house long before she and Dad married, she is more like my friend. Actually, she reminds me an awful lot of Mom, which is saying a lot and is meant as a huge compliment. She is kind, patient, thoughtful, up for anything, doesn't complain, and finds joy in the everyday. It must be hard on her to sit in the hospital and wait for news while her husband is having his eye worked on. I'm not a fan of hospitals, although I used to work in Irwin Army Hospital's laboratory for nearly five years. It's different when you are there as a family member, waiting for word on the one you love. I am never reassured by all the well meaning phrases "it's routine" "he's done this procedure dozens/hundreds of times" and the worst of all "try not to worry". I've been on the outside waiting for word and I've been the one getting the surgery... and there is no doubt in my mind-horrible recuperation or not, I'd rather be the one on the operating table.

As I was talking to Dad, I made sure to tell him over and over how much I loved him. I don't think we tell the people we love that often enough. It shouldn't take a medical procedure to just let him know he's in my heart, although Dad will be the first one to assure me that he knows he is loved by all his children. It means a whole lot to me when my three sons tell me they love me.

Love you Dad, you are in my prayers, tonight and always.

Brrrrr

I woke up to a very snowy morning. As predicted, T's school was cancelled, and I shooed him back to bed when he woke up to his alarm. The snow piled up on the telephone lines! I went to the grocery store 2 days ago, so we are well stocked, and I had no hearings scheduled, so it is a snowbound day and we're cozy here.

The views are taken from my bedroom, where I sit above all of the other houses on our little street. My bedroom is a former attic that has been converted to living space. I didn't do the conversion, but I did update it. Tomorrow I will take pictures of my cozy bed with it's new comforter and then all will know how hard it is to get out of such luxury and warmth on cold mornings. That's my Honda Pilot (circa 2003) buried under snow, in front of my dogwood tree, in the second picture. If anybody wants a ride somewhere today, guess what the fare will be? Digging out is my least favorite chore, I prefer to let it melt if I can.

I started to take apart the Bolivian handknit, handspun sweater I found last week at a thrift store for $4. Difficult isn't the word I'm looking for, but "tedious" might be. I have a whole new respect for whomever knit it, because it is beautifully knit and the intarsia so well executed. Each seam required mammoth fortitude but the handspun 2 ply alpaca is so gorgeous I knew I was going to do it. I rewarded myself with chocolate at quite a few spots along the way. I finally have the front half done. Stupid cows and houses and trees. The final pictures show the cakes of yarn after I wound them on the ballwinder from balls I hand wound while disassembling.

I had an impromptu late night dying session late last night with some of the lavender yarn I raveled from the collar. More on that tomorrow.

I'm going to fortify myself with more coffee and see where the laundry situation stands. I've done a couple of loads, but as all mothers know the washing and drying is the easy part, the folding, delivery and putting away is what drags you down. When I think of how, even today, women have to wash their clothing in an icy stream and hang it over bushes to dry, I feel a gratitude for my appliances and shame in myself for thinking laundry done at Chez Maryskid is a thankless chore.

But I'm still going to need more coffee.

Grandma J's Letter

I got a handwritten card from Grandma J today, she was writing to thank me for a pair of fingerless mitts I made and sent to her about a week ago.

They were marled navy Wool-ease with some magenta colorwork in cashmere. I didn't even bother to block them (or photograph them), just finished them and put them in the mail. W had told me how much Grandma J enjoyed the pair I made for her 2 years ago and wore them nearly every day when it was cold. Actually, she told me she considered them "her treasures" and wore them unless they were being washed.

Is there anything that warms a knitter's heart more than for those she loves to wear her handknits? I don't think so. So, unasked, I cast on for another pair of mitts to replace her old ones. I had promised W a pair to match her meret, but she graciously agreed to put her Mom ahead in line.

Here's what her lovely note said,

Oh! H---, what a lovely surprise. I've patched my red ones twice just lately, but they still have lots of wear in them yet. I wear them day & nite. Love, L L them. I've had so many compliments on mine-wait till they see my new ones. Love the color and fancy trim-they look like so much work. You can't know how much I appreciate them. Thank you so much sweetheart-you are so kind and thoughtful. W said you are a prosecutor for the State now, I told S you should be good at that; growing up in a large family. Ha. Expecting more snow today. You have more than you want too I suppose. A little more than 30" now. Hope the boys are enjoying their teen years and are all in good health... Love ya, Grandma J

After a note like that, I'm the one that should be thanking her. It brought tears to my eyes and a determination to finish another pair for her for that cruelest of months, February. The lost art of letterwriting is not lost at all. In fact, I know a young man in Army Basic Training in Ft. Leonard Wood, Missouri (we always called it "Ft. Lostinthe Woods" because of it's remoteness) who is probably looking forward to mail call every day-think I'll write to him tonight.

New To Me

I did a round of my favorite Thrift Stores recently, and found some new ones up in Martinsburg WV to visit-the result was a lighter wallet and a few very nice items and a pleasant couple of hours treasure hunting. I got three handmade baskets that are already put to use, tidying up the kitchen and dining area, I've shown my favorite here.

A cast iron enameled skillet also made it's way to the kitchen. It's navy blue and heavy, with a cast iron gridded skillet surface. It cleaned up beautifully but I haven't used it yet, I still have to season the inner surface.

I was fortunate to find a few beautiful cashmere sweaters that will be unraveled and turned into more beautiful cashmere yarn for me to knit with. I found aqua, black and dark red cashmere sweaters that will yield a lot of laceweight yardage.

I was most tickled by my sterling silver (stamped .945) ring with an (allegedly) amethyst faceted stone in a unique bezel setting. It was my most expensive splurge at $20. I've got it on right now, and it fits perfectly.

There were other things; cookbooks, bestsellers, needlepoint reference books and some Pyrex refrigerator containers. Of course the best thing of all was the flexibility timewise and workwise to be able to thrift (yes, I use it as a verb) midday coupled with the thrill of a treasure hunt. Many, many days I leave with nothing, but not always.