Archive for the ‘day to day’ Category


you know how sometimes nothing is really wrong, but nothing is really right, and you know you’re supposed to be figuring out the answer to one of those really big life questions, and sometimes, you come up with an answer, but it’s realllly hard to get yourself out of that rut you were in and implement the changes you figured out  and while you’re halfassedly trying to to fool yourself into believing that backward step you took, could, in the right light be construed as a baby step forward, you have a new revelation, and that one totally makes everything else make sense, but, it happens while you’re driving and, you couldn’twrite it down or tell anyone, and now it’s like a dream – peripherally, you catch a glimpse of it, but you can’t get a full handed grasp, and you know it was the answer – maybe the answer to everything, and you want it back….


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It’s freakishly cold here today. 17 below last I checked. It has put some gorgeous frost on all of my windows. I find myself moving from room to room, following the sun so I can be hypnotized by all the little prisms.

I wish I was a better photographer. I could share some of this. You’ll just have to trust me.

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I have strong vein of , “waste not want not” running in me. Combined with the attitude of, “use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without,” I tend toward a smidgen of packrat. I can’t get rid of something if I can see a potential in it.

I don’t live in a maze of newspapers, but, it wise to give me a head’s up if you want to stop by. That way I can clear a project out of a chair so you have a spot to sit in.

Sometimes I forget about things I’ve squirreled away and get to be surprised by a pleasant find. Yesterday I found a few pieces of PFD (Prepared For Dying) in my fabric stash. I’ve been saving yellow onion skins for quite a while and am going to combine these this afternoon. I can’t wait to see what happens!


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random notes on fears

i’ve never been good with allowing people to help me in any way.  i am stubborn and independent from a genetic basis, but, also maybe part of this overwhelming fear / loathing/dislike of needing help or just folks wanting to be nice and me being unable to let them has a little bit to do with the time in the hospital.  I start to feel trapped and smothered and unable when people attempt to help me.  It was just recently that i forced myself to accept small tokens of kindness as signs of friendship and love. the way they were intended.

how they helped me in the hospital was by setting my leg in the only way they knew how. and it worked.  it’s just, that i had to be trapped and strapped to that bed for 3.5 weeks and trapped in a body cast for 4 more months. if anything in my brain  references that help  whenever someone wants to help me or be kind well then, it’s no wonder i want to run.

it plays into my fear of authority as well.    i was 5. there wasn’t going to be help coming from any peers.  They were going to be adults.  I can stand back now and know that their intention wasn’t to scare the living shit out of me.  It was 1970 and  bedside manner was not a strong suit for my family dr.  nor his colleagues.  I have vivid memories of them on rounds rearranging my legs in their traction.  I’m crying and screaming, and they’re telling me this  is going to help me.  and i can’t protect myself in any way. I’m strapped to the bed across my chest, and my legs are in the air attached to the ceiling.  As an adult, i can acknowledge the difficulty of their task, but, why couldn’t they acknowledge they were hurting me? even if it was the only way to correct the situation?  5 year olds get it.  tell me you’re sorry that this is going to hurt so much, but, there’s no way around it.  they would never have had so little respect for an adult with my injury.

sometimes i get really down on myself for allowing these things to still be an issue. ( this whole broken leg business physically lasted about 6 months. at age 5 that’s 20% of my life.  That would be like expecting myself to ignore 8.5 years of my life today.) but lately i’m learning to  acknowledge that this is where my stuff comes from.  burying it doesn’t really solve anything.   I’m still going to have fear around authority figures, but, maybe I’ll be able to take a step back now and recognize that it’s an old fear I don’t need anymore.

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Not that I’m a total earth mother/hippie chick, but, I have strong leanings that way.  I never ever planned on coloring my hair.  Oh sure, I would do the occasional henna every once in a while, but that was just for fun.

As I got older, and I started getting  gray hairs here and there, the hennas became more frequent.  I always thought I would go gray naturally.  There were a few women I knew who had beautiful salt and pepper locks.  They looked awesome with their gray. I would too.

No good plan goes unchallenged.  The gray started coming in in odd chunks.  Had I not started coloring it, I could have sported a lovely bride of Frankenstein  – I prefer that to skunk stripes.

Nowadays, my gray has taken over the entire front of my face.  My halo of gray when the regrowth is strong.  It is a gorgeous white actually, but, 4 -5 weeks after my color, the regrowth is 1/2 – 3/4 ” and it completely washes out my face.  Why does it have to grow so fast and so white?

I  got it colored on Saturday and feel like a whole new person again. Younger, more confident, yet, sad at myself for needing the false security of my auburn locks.

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The Name Game


Someone with my name ran across my other blog this week and left me a comment. How cool is that?! The comment and, someone else with my name! I’m not certain how she pronounces hers. Mine is Car + on, NOT Care + on.

By the time I was in 4th grade I was so tired of being called Karen, that I took action. It caused my 4th grade teacher some worry, ( Honey, is everything ok? You’ve been mis-spelling you own name.) Knowing my phonics, I determined that if I just dropped that damn “o,” there should be no other option that to call me Carn (Car + on, just a little shorter.)

Well, there were. Carrie, Cam, still Karen, and one year I was registered at camp as Carl. I was too young to appreciate how much fun that could have been! Legally, it’s always stayed Caron. Carn became my nickname. I’m probably the only person whose nickname and name are pronounced the same.

A name like Caron is unusual. I can’t get any good stories out of parents as to where the choice came from. I was supposed to be named Denise, but, my aunt and uncle named their daughter Denise a few months before I was born.

People often assume it’s my last name, and then ask for my first name. When I declare, that was my first name, very few people apologize. They most often tell me that my name is pretty. And I always think to myself, HUH??? Pretty??? You thought it was my last name!! Yes, you’re right. Everyone knows the more lyrical, beautiful names are the last names. It’s not that I don’t like my name. I do. I just don’t find it pretty. I can’t imagine having any other name. Would I have become as unique and creative an individual if my name was normal? I’m thinking not.

I have caused a bit of consternation among my friends and family in the last year or so, as I have gone back to the original spelling for many things. It has to be legal on driver’s license, and checkbooks, documents etc… I like the way it looks with the “o” better than the 4 letters.

Some friends have postulated that when I dropped that “o” the winter of “74 – “75 I may have sent it’s energy off to someone who was just starting her broadcasting career. She’s gotten a long way with it, even using it as her magazine’s title. I could really use a little of that energy for myself just now, so I’m reclaiming my “o.”

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What a difference a day makes. Whatever evil took over the last couple of days has vanished. I’m not going to say I’m 100% functional, but sitting up without watching the room spin is a good start.

I have worked a bit on my resume, and applied for a couple of things online. Monster wants to know my, “target career title.” Well, so do I. I’m a flexible, intelligent, trainable monkey, and am capable of doing many things. I hate to put myself in one little pigeonhole and miss out on something interesting. I don’t necessarily have to do what I have done before. A new challenge would be nice. I’m going to have to think about this.

I’m going to go work on a new pattern to publish and sell. Can I put famous quilter in the target title?

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