knitorious

Who are you? The sequel

I was really going to just leave it at that.  Y'all got me thinking more about Mary Jo, though.

Sunday Scribblings, Who else might I have been?, Part II.

If my name was Mary Jo...

If my first name was Mary Jo, my last name (married) could only be LaPierre.  I'd be fresh-faced and petite and have a standing appointment at the salon (every sixth Tuesday) to keep my short, curly, auburn hair, well, short, curly and auburn -- and also have a facial.  I'd have standing appointments, on varying schedules, for massage, manicure, pedicure, waxing, hydrotherapy, and the occasional body mask treatment.  "Soccer Mom" to my three boys, I'd cart them around in a Saab 9-7x which Dr. LaPierre would keep in tip-top shape -- standing service appointments and also regular detailing, he's obsessed with the cars.  We'd have been high school sweethearts -- I was cheerleader to his quarterback -- though I'd first laid eyes on him, and "knew," when we met during a rainy Safety Patrol convention in sixth grade.  I would volunteer at the boys' schools and be devoted to the local women's shelter -- my mother was a battered wife and, well, I know that they need every bit of love and help and hope and support they can get; I would be part of an underground to aid their safe escape.  I would teach the women I help to knit -- to give them something else to concentrate on while they create something useful for themselves or their children; it may turn out a misshapen, oversized, acrylic mess, good only for a laugh, but that's useful, isn't it?  Even the angry frogging is sometimes useful.  We all try to learn from our many mistakes and keep trying.  My favorite knitting projects would be elaborate, lace shawls.

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This sentence constitutes the standard mumbo-jumbo disclaimer about fictional characters and not hurting anyone's feelings, especially anyone named Rhonda, Mary Jo or with the surname LaPierre.

What a fun exercise --  more fun than I anticipated!

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I have a lot on my list today.  I switched and have today off instead of the usual Wednesday, and you can't argue with a three-day weekend.  Mack is coming, too!

I did not get out of bed and nab my 45 minutes for activity when the alarm went off yesterday (and today, of course, it didn't go off).  I opened my eyes and it was DARK outside.  Sunrise is at 5:50 a.m. -- and my alarm goes off at 5:00, so it's still REALLY dark.  Just can't do it.  Besides that, I had a hot, humid, sleepless (from 3:00 a.m. on) night.  I had a headache and was exhausted last night -- after going to Dinner Helpers for the first time in a few months, too, so... nothing yesterday.  My car is in the shop today (I should be channeling my inner Rhonda), as is Ali's (Help me, Rhonda!), and she has DH's van and there's a real ballet going on here in terms of people gettign to interviews and to work today.  I have to go to the bank, and I think I'll WALK!

Knitting.  I was a little early for the meal prep session last night, so was able to knit a few rounds on my Trekking sock.  I had tried the night before, but was so distracted with watching Project Runway that I ended up with the wrong number of stitches on my needles and just had to put it away.  (I wonder what would have happened if Bradley'd had Twiggy.  Vincent totally bombed on that!  I used to have a Twiggy doll -- she was like Barbie with short hair, bigger eyes, and no boobs -- more like an enlarged Skipper.)  Back to the knitting...  I may finally, finally finish that freaking sock today!  I had Fib all laid out on the table last weekend (man, this week went FAST) and pinned a sleeve to the body and then couldn't find my needles -- not a single one.  I remember "organizing" them (why do I even try -- I bet Mary Jo would never lose her needles) and I know they're all together in a small plastic box -- the long ones, the short ones, the chibis... where's the damn box?!  I made an emergency stop and bought some everyday needles.  Good to go with that.

Have a great weekend.

Who are you?

Sunday Scribblings... on a Thursday...

Who else might I have been?

My dad named me Victoria.  As I've been told, it was a boyhood friend's mother's name and he always liked it, or maybe she made an impression.  I was always Vicki until fourth grade, when an older girl in my Girl Scout troop insisted on calling me Victoria.  I winced for a while -- it seemed so old-fashioned, so formal, so old -- but I'm glad how that she did.  I still don't prefer Victoria, but I don't wince anymore.  I remember Mom telling me that she'd wanted to name me Rhonda or Mary Jo; she will deny it or have no recollection -- I don't know if those names seem too Petticoat Junction, or not refined enough now, or if I'm just too old for her to remember being pregnant or me being a baby -- but that's what I remember.

If my name was Rhonda...

I'd ride a Harley and wear leather and have a tattoo, or two (or even more, or maybe bigger than you'd think).  I'd be taller, and a little bit thinner, and be a daring dresser -- simple but daring, a lot of black.  I'd have cleavage and you would know it.  My hair would be longer, but not any less gray; I'd wear it in braids a lot, and wear big earrings.  I'd have an ex-husband, or two.  I'd definitely be between marriages and I wouldn't be living around here -- but I would have my own house.  I'd own a successful auto repair business, and work on my brother's pit crew at the local race track; it's where I met my husband(s).  I'd laugh loud and often; too loudly for my mother; she'd call me "a hard ticket," as would have her mother before her, and wonder how I turned out that way.  I'd party hard, but infrequently.  My favorite knitting project would be socks.

If my name was Mary Jo...

Scribbling: My Shoes

I usually have only one pair of shoes in favor at a time, changing only with the seasons -- and as far as shoes are concerned, there are two seasons:  sandal season and not sandal season.  This is contrary to recommended practice for good foot health, but I've always been contrary to recommended practice for good health -- though I did quit smoking a year ago -- I don't floss, and I don't eat enough fruits or vegetables, I don't drink enough water or get enough exercise...

Sandal season generally runs from April to November.  For many years, I favored plain flip-flops with thick soles, but I have graduated and the sandals, most recently, have almost always been Birkenstocks -- a new pair every few years -- and, yes, I do wear them with socks.  In April and May, October and November, mornings in the upper-midwest can be chilly, but it warms up quite substantially during the day and toes can be fully exposed without danger.

I have a new favorite not sandal season shoe -- a waterproof, slip-on Bass -- which I happened upon last fall totally under the gun when I flew east and found that I didn't bring appropriate footwear for the weather.  My friend took me to a Bass shoe outlet and I bought two pair, but the slip-ons have been favored from the first.  I've never had a shoe so comfortable from the start.

There are others on the closet floor -- tennies, some mules, a pair of out-of-style heels and some strappy, dressy sandals -- special occasion shoes that spend most of their time collecting dust.  I can't just grab them and go, then, because they require dust removal (it can become quite substantial between special occasions) and verification that no spiders have taken up residence in the toes.  I should keep them in boxes, but I don't.

Among my favorite shoes of all time were my "ketchup-and-mustard" bowling-style shoes -- yellow and red, but not in a Ronald McDonald way -- that I wore to complete shreds in high school; the four-inch, spiky black heels that I broke while dancing to "That Old Time Rock & Roll" -- back in the days when I wore heels and danced.  I do still dance, but privately and not in heels.

I always thought it a very cruel trick of the universe that my mother, a confirmed lover of shoes in the one-of-every-color camp, has feet so much smaller and narrower than any of her four daughters and most of her granddaughters, too.  The shoe gene seems to have skipped a generation in our family, though, and the one granddaughter most apt to fit the stylish grandmother hand-me-downs is also a shoe-lover, and happens to be mine.

Writing prompt at Sunday Scribblings.

Further observations made whilst posting...  Perhaps the measure of a shoe-lover is not judged only by quantity of actual shoes.  Perhaps a shoe-lover could be someone who actually writes about and posts pictures of shoes -- on a knitting blog -- even before finding a writing prompt... could maybe cut some slack if it was a shoe blog, or they were knitted shoes... (who in their right mind classifies tennies as "special occasion shoes"?) maybe I am in denial about being a shoe freak.