Blue Monday?


I read a Facebook post this morning naming today as “Blue Monday“.  Since I’d never heard of this before today, a quick Wiki search yielded this, “Blue Monday is a name given to a date in mid-to-late January stated, as part of a publicity campaign by Sky Travel, to be the most depressing day of the year.  However, the whole concept is considered pseudoscience, with its formula derided by scientists as nonsense.”  Thanks Wiki, I owe you one.


I’ve several “balls in the air” as far as reading goes.  I’m listening to two very different books, one of which is Shirley Jackson‘s  Haunting of Hill House, an old school horror story and Danger to Self: On the Front Line with an ER Psychiatrist, by Paul Linde.  I call the Shirley Jackson book old school because, at least so far, it relies on the setting, the reactions of the characters and creepy foreshadowing to send chills up the spine, instead of blood, guts and over-the-top violence found in a lot of current horror stories.  I suppose what I’m really trying to say is that the creepiness of Hill House is psychological, with ideas that hook themselves in your head, that can’t be shaken, becoming more and more poisonous, malignant and frightening as time goes by.  I’m telling you, it’s creepy.


So, I had this crocheted, summery sweater that I loved  and the last time I wanted to wear it, I noticed that it had a huge ladder across the back, where apparently a stitch had come undone or dropped or some such thing.  I temporarily arrested it with a safety pin and put it aside with the promise to myself that I’d give it a good look, figure out where the problem arose and fix it.  Today I gave it the look I’d promised, decided it was similar enough to a dropped stitch when knitting to try the crochet hook method, and IT WORKED.  It really, really WORKED!  It’s not perfect but it’s so much better than it was, I’m really rather proud of myself.  Take a look and tell me what you think.



Yep, more than a little proud of myself.

One joy dispels a hundred cares.  Confucious





When my dad died last July, I had the task of going through my childhood home and deciding what to keep and what to let go.  Someone wisely told me that if I had any doubts about something, I needed to keep it and decide what to do with it at another time.  I’m so glad that I listened to that advice (for once) and hung on to a lot of stuff that when I was in the moment, stressed, tired, overwhelmed and sad, I wanted to just get rid of, to have this job over and done with.  Again, I’m so grateful I listened and here’s why:

Since I’ve been on leave from work, I made a pact with myself to go through at least one box a day, taking my time and really thinking about what I needed to do.  Again, when in the moment, I hated every bit of the stuff I had to deal with and didn’t care if I never saw it again; giving myself some time and space, with a small, doable goal, made all the difference in the world.  I rediscovered several framed needleworks, crewel, cross stitch and needlepoint, crocheted afghans, bedspreads and tablecloths and wonder of wonders, the cowgirl outfit my grandma sent me one year (can’t remember if it was Christmas or my birthday) that I was absolutely wild for.  It’s been folded up in a drawer for I don’t know how many years, I think I was around five or six when she sent it and I’m on the downhill side of 55 now.  You do the math.  It’s in amazing shape, except for creases and wrinkles, and is unfaded, a bright turquoise with white fringe and still shiny, sequined butterflies.  Now I have dreams of my grands wearing it and that makes me happy and misty eyed, with a little bit of nostalgia and feeling old mixed in.  Lesson learned:  Second looks sometimes reveal treasures, you never know.



Loving the white piping and the pearly snaps.

Love is a canvas furnished by Nature and embroidered by imagination.  Voltaire