I Have A Story To Tell Part I

I have a story to tell.  I don't know where to start.  Normally it would probably be best to start at the beginning.  But the beginning to this story was sly and cunning.  She came dressed in familiar garb with only the slightest of costume changes.   
"Look over here," she whispered trying to get my attention brushing my shoulder with a gentle but firm touch.
Of course now, when I reflect back, back to the beginning, I realize she was not subtle or gentle or quiet. 
I know now that she had been grabbing me by the shoulders trying to shake me to an awareness that I did not want to see.
On Friday, September 13th, 2019 my beloved Ross was diagnosed with Alzheimers.
This space here, "Lynda Grace An Hour Away", has been my safe space.  It's where I come to tell my truth. 
I asked Ross if he would be okay with me telling our story on LGAHA.  He was kind enough to say yes.   
Ross not only always encourages my writing, he is my biggest fan and cheerleader.  "Do you know how good your writing is?"  he continually asks.   
He is the one I show my posts to before anyone else sees them.  I  intently watch his face as he thoughtfully reads each and every word.   He never disappoints.  "It's good, really good." he says.
That always makes me smile and makes me want to continue to write.
I'm not sure what paths our story will take. 
My hope is that you, my dear readers will be kind enough to thoughtfully read each and every word, and encourage me along the way.  My hope is that our story will help others who are struggling with their own stories.  My hope is that our story will inspire and confirm the spirt of what is our common human story.
Today I want you to know that Ross and I are able to continue to enjoy our life together. 
The next time, on the next post, I will reflect back to what I now know was the beginning and begin to tell our story from the beginning.

If you would prefer to reach out to me, by e-mail you can do so here "lynsgems0701@comcast.net"

Thank you, friends.

Move This Here and Put That There And Cozy Afghans Too

This weekend we had a tease of cooler weather.   I am happy to be living in a locale where there are definite season changes.   It's perfect for someone like me.  I tend to get get fidgety when things stay the same for too long.  I suppose it's the reason I frequently re-arrange my furniture.

I reflectively and mindfully understand that re-arranging things is a way for me to have control over something, while at the same time distracting myself from worrying about things that I have no control over.

An important factor that usually preempts a re-arranging episode is the acquisition of a new piece of something that I have to find a place for.    In a way, I suppose the acquiring of things is another example of a benign way to rearrange my "life".

I would describe the moods of acquisition and re-arranging to be obsessive and compulsive, respectively.

Ross will testify, in awe, of the many times he has left the house, only to come back to find a huge armoire moved from one room to another or the bedroom flipped all around.

The most recent rearrangement happened yesterday at 6:00 a.m.

There was a course of events precipitating this one, which I will attempt to describe.  It may seem rambling and have no context, but at the end it will all make sense.

I am an enthusiastically compulsive knitter and crocheter.  In conjunction with my hobby, I have joyfully acquired and accumulated massive quantities of gorgeous yarn.  In knititng/crochet lingo these yarn quantities are referred to as stash.

Most crafty people are constantly either oohing and ahhing over their stash or they are having extreme feelings of guilt.  It's a back and forth kind of experience.

For the past month or so I have been in the guilt stage of my stash.

I thought the best way to accomplish an effective de-stash was to knit and crochet blankets or afghans.   Blankets and afghans use up a lot of yarn.

So in two months I completed one afghan and am halfway through another.

It would not be an exaggeration to say that over many years I have knit or crocheted over 50 blankets and afghans.  Most of those have been given away as gifts.

I also have quite a collection myself.  Some are slung over the backs of sofas and chairs. Others are folded at the foot of beds.

I have come to understand that these creations, which have become a welcome part of our home,  provide comfort and warmth for not only us, but for many of our guests.
They are within easy reach and are often the first object the kids grab when they settle in to spend the weekend.

They trigger memories of my mom's last days when she stayed with us.  She loved our bright sunroom and would often nap on the sofa, covered up with an afghan that she herself had crotched.  That afghan, now lovingly draped over "her" sunroom sofa is a bitter sweet reminder of my mom.

As I worked on my recent afghan project,  I stopped now and then to admire the design of the stitch and the color choices I made.

When I looked at the individual blankets here and there around the room, I began to see them not only as comfort pieces, but as works of art.   It was then that I decided they should be displayed that way.  At that moment,  the compulsion to find a blanket rack kicked into high gear.

I began the search with our local second hand shop.  It was my lucky day because I immediately found a rack in very good condition.  I think I paid five or ten bucks for it.

But, I could only fit three blankets on it and I definitely have more than three.   It took me a couple of days to find another one.  Which I did at Goodwill.

Now I had two blanket racks displaying three blankets on each one.  But I had no place for them.
They needed a special place.

On a sleepless Monday, at 3:00 a.m. I began planning my furniture re-arrangement.  By the time I got up out of bed at 5:30, I knew exactly what was going to be moved and where it was going to be moved.

When I am in my re-arrangement mania, the adrenaline is pumping.   I can lift, haul, carry and push if necessary, heavy and awkward pieces of anything. By the time Ross got up that morning, I had moved around and or swapped two chairs, a lavender wicker desk with matching chair, a table, a foot stool and a storage chest.   I'm not quite sure I like the wicker desk in that spot.  I think it needs a piece of art on the wall above the desk.

I do like the blanket racks and the way they show off my creations.

I am content...for now.

 Are you a "re-arranger" or are you one who "likes things just the way they are?

The What and The Why of It All

It's here I come when I am troubled. 

I often find that when I sit in front of my computer to write a post, I start with two intentional W's.
The "What" I am going to write about and the "Why" I am writing about the "What".

The What is normally straightforward.  It's usually an easy task to simply lay out the facts.
 
The Why, though, the Why takes more thought.   The "Why" may require more delicate handling.  I may have to prick my finger on a thorn or two before I am able to express the pain of the wound and ultimately be able to show you the beauty of the rose.

But today, the What and the Why seem to have switched roles.

Today the "feels" of the Why are eager to escape. They are wild, but hardly carefree. 

Today, the What cowers, hiding, in the depths of the thicket.