Have I mentioned lately that canine camaraderie and knitting are mutually exclusive?
Especially at our house. With our Labs.
Last week I posted that I’m trying to complete a 10-for-10 knitting plan: 10 knitting projects in 10 months. That’s all well and good. But here’s what happened when I sat down to try to knit today:
Continue reading Wigglebutt Wednesday: Yes = No
I hate exercise
Just to be clear, when I say exercise, I mean going to the gym or taking an aerobics class or doing regular repetitive weight routines and keeping track of sets and reps on my scorecard. Think barbells, mats, mirrors, exercise equipment, circuit stations, drippy sweat, sticky seats, empty water bottles, and humid locker rooms.
I hate that kind of exercise.
Oh, it’s not for lack of trying. Over the years I’ve been an active member of Bali Fitness, Club Genesis, Planet Fitness, and the YMCA.
I’d pack up my little duffle bag complete with combination padlock, water bottle, shower stuff, change of clothing and shoes, and ear buds and music source (that’s changed over the years from a cassette players, to CD players, to ipods, etc…), and then I’d drive myself to the exercise joint of the day to do my thing.
The thing was, I felt stupid and out-of-place and fat and unfit (even in my skinny, fit years), sub-standard, and extremely self-conscious in those places. Naturally, I never stuck with it for long.
When the gym didn’t work, I ran.
And I loved running.
To be sure, I dreaded the first mile every single time I went out to run, but once I got that behind me, I felt strong and free. I loved the solitude and the cadence of my feet hitting the pavement, the soothing rhythm of my arm swing and easy, regular breathing. Running made me feel soooooo glad to be alive.
I ran regularly for over 10 years. Then knees and asthma and time and wear-and-tear on my joints made running less joyous. Life got crazy, I started working full time in a sedentary job, gained the mid-life spread, and left running behind. I physically couldn’t do it anymore.
Fast forward fifteen or so years.
Continue reading Exercise? Me? Hah!
I would not call myself a knitter. I am a person who knits.
A knitter, in my mind, thinks constantly about the craft; she ceaselessly eatsdrinksbreathespondersplansanddreamsabout projects; her fingers (when otherwise unoccupied) find themselves attached to knitting needles at any moment and every opportunity. A knitter creates, works on, and completes her projects. She perseveres.
I’m more a “fits and starts’ person who knits, a needtodothisprojectbythisparticulardate person who knits.
I’m not really a knitter.
Not yet.
I learned to knit in early 2012 in a local yarn shop’s beginners’ knitting class. I decided to take the class when I learned I was becoming a grandmother for the very first time. Grandmothers knit, right? So I would learn to knit. This fifty-one-turning-fifty-two-years-old gal was going to learn a new trick.
Continue reading The Stash Beckons: Am I a Knitter or a Person Who Knits?
[Warning: Serious post ahead.]
I love animals. My family loves animals. Most people I know (with a few exceptions) love animals. Yet somehow I missed how common the connection is between humans and beasts, that is, until recently. Or maybe I just never thought about it before.
Continue reading Wigglebutt Wednesday: Connection
I don’t like being scolded.
Like most people, I feel uncomfortable, even threatened, when someone wags a finger in my face.
I certainly don’t like feeling stupid or defective or manipulated, which is exactly how I feel when a hyperconfident spinmeister tells me how to fix my presumably lacking life in five easy steps.
(Shall I tell you how I really feel?!) 😛
Oh my. Where did that rant come from?
Continue reading My Finger Wag is Busted
Dirt Road Ramblings 