Unencumbered Woman breathes life into 2015

  Alas, the weight of it all brings the most active of us down to our knees.  Although I don't try to wash this blog with upbeat truisms, I do try to utilize my own adventurous spirit in designing tales about working at the process of making life a bit lighter in it's experience (ok, blah blah blah).  So I  try to take wacky times, sometimes awesome times, and inspired creations, and document as time blasts forward.

So what happens when the Unencumbered Woman literally takes to bed and plays sick for a month?  Although I've been tempted, blogging about my bedroom is almost (OK, not really) but almost off limits.  How many photos of myself doing crosswords in my PJ's can the world sustain, let alone this quiet little blog of liberation and freedom.  So, I put the brainstorms on the back burner and stuck to some of the domestic arts for which I have achieved little to modest amounts of notoriety for.  

Getting back in the saddle must require some application of the basic principles of the site, and so, I offer this, a study in the adventures and dreams that we find in our own comfortable home, while nursing illness, fear of cold and ice, and the inertia and ineptitude that only the greyest of Chicagoland winters can deliver.

James Garner in Rockford Files

So let us begin at the very beginning.  The very beginning, oh children of the 1970's, is Jim Rockford  (James Garner 1928-2014).  I spent so many weekends as a child stuck in a mobile home in the misty rainforest of the Oregon Coast.  We had one or two channels at our weekend getaway, and I always had some nifty craft or jigsaw puzzle to pore over.  Rockford was one of the higher quality standards that you could find on TV ca. 1980.

Rockford's home/office

And what's an Unencumbered care for?  It's just amazing, to think how far we've come in the intervening years.  Here's the lead character, always playing fair, never carrying a gun, tolerating pushy clients, living in a quiet trailer, parked right on the shore of the Pacific in Southern CA.  Look at how ratty the trailer is!  This, of course, was a symbol of his liberation.  The guy had served time, and now was in companionship, mainly, with his father, eats hotdogs at a stand by the water, and quietly pursues a life as a self-employed PI, "two hundred a day, plus expenses."

 For those of us who dare, or try to experiment with alternate life paths, trying to balance, family, health, values, interests, sleep and circumstances, Rockford's story is all too compelling.  To quote Sarah Silverman, "How do you even make money??"(on In Bed with Joan, episode 1).  The more I think about this question, the more often the response is, "live cheap."  What's cheaper than Rockford's setup? I'm also obsessed with all of the quickly LA ladies he works along side and with as clients.

defense lawyer friend, Beth, played by Gretchen Corbett

 It's easy to find sexism in this dated show, but looking at the "lady lawyer" "lady hippy" "rich lady murderess/theif" the range of characters that we were exposed to seems deep in a fashion that is often missing in TV programming today.  One gal has the full on crochet poncho and fringe boots.
And so, in a roundabout fashion I tell a tale of January 2015 as sitting watching marathons of Netflix programming while crafting and plotting creations (and a hefty dose of NYT Crossword Puzzle).  And, fellow athletes, I've discovered, happily, that, as long as you have an obsessive activity, exercise is NOT absolutely necessary to fulfill obsessive desires.  Bonus?  Skip the workout, and you get more crafting done!!!!!

Nichelle Nichols as Lt. Uhura

Today we discuss the beloved Uhura Dress, #2.  Hot off the hook and I'm thrilled with the results.  It's one of the more difficult pieces I've worked, following the pattern designed by Crochet Goddess Doris Chan, but as this is the second time I attempted the piece, it was a little more free-flowing.  I skimped on the yarn, so ended up with a product a lot closer to the length of Nichelle Nichol's original Star Trek dress.

100% Bamboo Yarn, Southwest Trading Co.

So, in the name of indoor activities and adventures to be had while nursing illness and down-times. We celebrate with a photo shoot in teen-bedroom.  Willing teen photographer is a bonus, so, here we go!

These are the eyes of an adoring mother. No less than thirty minutes before a Driving Lesson(!)

See, kids!!! This is fun!!!! We have fun, even in January, we make things and do things!

We're sort of lucky that the teen allowed us into her room for the photo shoot, and it's not altogether obvious that we were soon rushed out.  But that's life with a teen.  You take whatever little bit you get, whenever you can.  It's nothing like those younger years when they hang on your every word and action.  But this, friend, is the cycle of life and I'm preparing myself for the inevitable.  In this much, I'm sure that spending more time around the home is a good thing.  With college and beyond around the corner, if there was ever a time I wanted to see my kids at breakfast and dinner it is now.

If you must know, this quiver stitch is a magnificent creation requiring great concentration.

Proud Crochet Goddess

Thoughts on internalization, denial, time.

What happened to Mom?  I'm still working hard, trying to sort this out.  All through the months of January, February, March, and April, I've been saying that I'm in denial, waiting for the truth to sink in.  But, I guess this is the way it's going to be.  I refuse to internalize the information that someone as constantly present in my life, someone as reliable, responsible, intelligent, strong, willful and independent is now and forever gone.  That she has left us to fend for ourselves in this world is outside the reach of my emotional self to comprehend.  And if I continue to deny it's existence, perhaps I will be able to function as a strong, intelligent person myself.  Perhaps I'll be able to raise my own game, a tiny bit, so that I'm more organized, more on top of it, more mature, more adult, more Motherly.

Because there we were, in late 2013, doing the aging hospital patient dance. Anybody who has gone through this once, twice, or more times, knows what it's about.  Somebody goes to the hospital, and it's a familiar situation.  My mother, three years ago, had the same attending doc in a similar hospital stay.  When the patient goes in, we've been in and out so many times, dealt with the system so many times, it's nearly impossible not to make light. Here I am, taking photos of cars in the parking lot, relieved at the sun and blue sky of "not  Chicago." We're already fast forwarding to discharge and rehab and where next and how high functioning and what caregivers and what's covered by Medicare and private insurance and what am I gonna tell everybody?

This obsessive sock stopped midstream when Mom left. 

Armed with crossword puzzle book, coffee cup and a yarn project, I'm willing to sit the thing out.  Mix in game shows, local newscasts, and we've got a week's stay in the hospital. For Mom, I diligently brought the paper and heck if she didn't sit in that hospital bed and read the whole thing, and do the Jumble for good measure.  It wasn't a perfect reading, and the Debbie Macomber book that she's been working on since June, well, she held it and played at reading…. Let's just say that for a quiet week, Mom and I hung out in the hospital. Not saying a lot, enduring tests and respiratory therapists and family and meetings with docs...we were passing time, working on our respective projects.

And projects, what is it that builds an obsessive?  What makes it so impossible for me to believe that an eighty five year old woman with a history of respiratory illness would die so suddenly?  This greeting card, for one.  Mom, and her childhood friend, who, together, attended grammar school, college, pledged the same sorority, exchanged the Very. Same. Card. since 1963. Every October, both ways, without fail. Including 2013.  Each year the friends would add a note, a date, and send it back and forth, early and late in month. (Mom's birthday came second).  So we had the card nearby when Mom died and we were going through the contents of her desk (including the many holiday correspondences from 2013, yes, she managed to send Christmas cards).

The card is a testament to my Mom's sense of order, humor, intellect, loyalty, good taste, and eternity.  She was a materialist in the very best sense of the word.  She spoke through actions and things, but never placed the value of things beyond their obvious worth (or worthlessness).  Through Mom, I have come to greatly appreciate the beauty of truly simple things, and things embedded with meaning.  If I bring an object into the home, it might as well have significance.  And so, in the material world, I come to terms with Mom's passing.  

This sock is a cruel reminder of me, sitting in a sun-filtered hospital room deciphering a brain-busting cable pattern, while the respiratory therapy guy, who must have been six foot six, kept on coming in and doping Mom up, in an effort to get her lungs open and stop aspirating her food.  Once, Mom looked at me and joked, "will the sock fit me?"  I argued that the sock was for me, not her.  Later, while she was resting, I looked at the thing, and thought, "Maybe I should make these socks for Mom, they'll be light."  But not only did I not get to tell her that, the sock was nowhere near complete and she was gone. 

As the New Year approached, we began thinking and discussing the reality that Mom wasn't responding to therapy in a fashion that would return her to her lifestyle and her home as she wished.  When we, a few days later, found ourselves tending Mom in her own beautiful bed, I sat and gazed at the embroidery that I had fashioned when I was twelve years old.  All these years later, Mom still slept and woke with this embroidery hanging right above her bedside table.  So, as we moved into the stage of hospice, I set up a tray and chair next to her bed, brought my coffee, yarn, crosswords, and sat, tending to her needs, gazing at the Fall scene.  My mother's material world enveloped me for so many years, and continues to do so.  Her decline, at home, was rapid, and she was saved the grace of being known as a Bridge Player, a Bingo Player, a Loyal Friend, and a master of her own domain.  Check.

"This has fall written all over it"

My re-entry into the five day work week has been an adventure indeed.  I'm feeling like I've kind of got a sense, now, of what it feels like, or what it will feel like for the time being--sort of like being in a blender, twenty four hours a day.  Now, more than ever, it's all about efficiency.  I'm always trying to get more things done in the same amount of time, but come to think of it, since I'm forever committed to my own leisure activities, this means further efficiency in the manor of my hobbies.  Loyal follower probably remembers the crochet while biking post, and I often discuss the concept of squeezing a workout of sorts in between parenting responsibilities.  One of the precious aspects of the unencumbered woman's life, however, is the quiet that one finds when they have a little extra down time in their life.  So I've been running on the treadmill at the YMCA lately, but the minute I get on the machine I feel bombarded by video monitor, my own ear buds, and all manor of electronica.  The other week I was interrupted by countless texts, etc., all related to the carpools, practices, etc..that the kids were involved in.  Today I tried a new tactic on the treadmill, a combining of one calming obsession with another.  What might that be?

Crossword puzzling while running, of course!!!!

Photos courtesy of Drew

Says Drew: "This has *fall* written all over it."

Drew: "The problem with these shots is you can't tell that you're running!"  

The problem, really, is that somebody who tries to do too much at one time doesn't do very well at any of the pursuits, but it sure is fun to try!  Maybe never again...maybe Monday! Who knows?  Some technical details to iron out:  is a difficult or easy crossword more effective for enjoyment and fulfilling workout requirements?  I tried to run while thinking about the puzzle, then would ramp up the elevation and walk while writing.  I was perfectly happy with this solution.  It's obviously healthier than blasting out my eardrums with classic jams which i tend to run on the iPod if left to my own devices.  I'm liking the quiet, and not watching a video monitor.  We'll see....will this be a year of famously ridiculous ironman workouts? After all these years, what else, really, is left besides near insanity,  without causing physical harm.