Dear Dear Diary
Sunday, September 04, 2005
 
OT/OOC

I have a convenient memory of squeezed box compartments.

Someone asked me this weekend when did I learn to hand sew? Who had taught me? And I breathed for a moment trying remember. I remember watching Meme sew, my father's mom, on the short stay with her after Grandpa Burt died. She made me a Holly Hobby doll from a kit, and she swore over the thing furiously. It was the first time one of my elders swore around me. I felt bad for making her work on something that I really couldn't play with- it was more of a model on a styrafoam base. She made me a yarn doll too, and showed me how to make it myself. I remember watching Gram sew- and I still treasure the few cloth dolls from her hands that I got to keep, and her patterns so I could make more. I remember Mom telling me how her father taught her how to dangle the needle so it would untangle. I remember being shown several times fancy embroidery stitches and their names. I quickly forgot the names. But I don't remember learning to sew, or the first thing I must have taken large crooked stitches on. I just... knew.

Jazz commented on being happy to get compliments on his wooden staves he is carving. Someone asked him how. I was baffled. How can you not know how? And I tried to remember who taught me to hold a knife? Who showed me safety circles and the knife etiquette? When did I start making buttons from sticks? I remember the rabbit I carved. I remember the frogs and the butterflies I carved from soap. I still have my knife. But who gave it to me? I can't remember.

And today, I am listening to young women from Ohio, and I am remembering how my accent changed every time I moved. How hard I worked to drop the "you know" from my every sentence, and the "like" as well. I remember they teased me for talking funny every time I have moved. But that's to be expected, when you move from Wyoming, to Florida, to Ohio, and upstate NY. I don't think my parents ever changed. Immutable. It's only when I look back can I see their changes.

I feel the same, mentally, as I did when I was 13. But I've changed too. And I wonder how much else I have forgotten, and what else do I know. I can make, or at least know how to make, almost anything. When did I learn it? How do I know?
 
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This rather schizophrenic blog was started as a fictional blog, written by a character of a story. I've since taken it over for writing personal stuff I don't mind sharing with anyone who cares. I am also writing thoughts about writing and stories that move me.


Other places I go:
Georg's Research
Help local kitties
I have relatives. Be afraid
Blessed is the One True Tami
Tata the Bodacious
Obligatory Yarn Harlot
It is impossible not to love Sandi Wiseheart once you've met her
The Tsarina
Holiday Yarns
Habetrot
I like the name Twiggi
Who to blame for my sock addiction
Maybe the cleverest blog title
Romancing the Yarn
Why I read Romancing the Yarn
Get an ab work out with laughter
My Kitty Obsession
Kittehs
You meet the nicest people playing video games
I'm such a fanboi
Rabbitch
One of my stalker targets
The other stalkee
I just love Josh (the cat)
Josh the Cat and friends
Pet politics
Pet Care
If I were a sheep, I'd be Delores
I live here now
Not Your Mama's Crafters
Make a Lily Pad


Anything not marked might be just me, Georg, posting as myself.

It's just this blog, okay? Some of it is story. Some of it is animals. Some of it is knitting. It's a blog.

For story #1, I do recommend starting from the beginning of this blog if you haven't read this before. Please start at the beginning.

I did mean it to be for http://www.nanowrimo.org - but I never got quite got it done under the wire.

CAST:
Jeannie is the author/main character.
Frank is her husband. Poor man.
Tony is musician/singer.
Angie is a teenager, who was Jeannie's best friend. Now currently dead.
Honestly, there is no connection between Jeannie and me and Frank and my husband.

Story #2
Frank and Ether. This will be much weirder than Frank and Jeannie. I like the name Frank. No one expects a Frank to lie.

Story #3
A desert story. Anna is the main character. Currently there is only her little brother and an old servant, and a mysterious redhead.

Story #4
The necro story. A young necromancer heads off to the Hated Ones to find her trousseau.

Story X
Reserving this for one-offs, poems, etc.


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Marriage is love.

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