Monarch

September 15th, 2012.

My eyes cracked open at around 5:00 am, and I sat up slowly in my bed. Protestations from my body resounded; a combination of frayed nerves and a lack of sleep caused my heart and my head to pound in tandem.

I got up and paced around for a bit, being careful not to wake my parents who were snoozing in the next room over. The repetitive movement brought me no comfort, as my mind was being barraged with a never-ending cacophony of "What Ifs":

"What if the DJ is late?
What if I spill something on my dress?
What if I forget my vows as I'm standing in front of everyone?
What if I look fat?
What if I get some kind of food poisoning and throw up all over myself?
What if I trip in my ridiculously high shoes? I knew I shouldn't have gotten those shoes...Oh, sweet Lord, why oh why do I not think of these things??"

My fear of tripping in those high shoes might sound a bit overly-dramatic, but those were some pretty dang tall shoes, Readers. 

I was finding myself slipping into a small meltdown. I sat down on the bed, scrunched my face up, and began to do what it is I usually do when I find myself losing out to my anxieties: I prayed. Or, more accurately, I began to whine to God.

"God, I beg of you,
Don't let me throw up at the wedding. Oh, Lord, please, oh please don't let me throw up at our wedding.
Don't let me trip as I'm walking down the aisle.
Don't let me look like a fool! Please, oh please, Lord, don't let me be a laughingstock in front of my friends and family!"

My mind was reeling with anxiety as I listed each and every potential disaster. Just as my head felt as if it would explode with worry, I saw a flash of orange and black gracefully waft by my window, framed by the lovely pinks and light blues that go along with a beautiful New England sunrise.

I sat there, eyes locked on that spot. After a couple of seconds, it happened again, and that flash of orange and black was revealed to be a particularly large monarch butterfly, happily fluttering about in search of nectar. Immediately my mind went from worrying about spilling red wine on my dress to my (very) limited knowledge of entomology, and I quietly said, "What're you doing out this early, you beautiful thing?"

I stood up and walked to the window. The butterfly had landed on a tree not far from my room, slowly flexing her wings. I felt my face relax, my lips forming a small smile. 

My body was still churning with nerves, so I pulled on a sweatshirt over my pajamas and walked across the street from the hotel to climb around the rocky shore for a bit. The butterfly fluttered away towards the small thicket of trees behind the hotel as I passed the tree she was perched on. 

I sat on a large rock and just watched the Atlantic, letting the peaceful, rhythmic music played by the waves provide some much needed comfort. I got up and walked along the rocks, enjoying the cool, salty air. 

One year ago today, I took that butterfly to be a sign of sorts; God's way of distracting me from my imagined disasters, and perhaps a sign of his approval. 

"It's okay. You're going to be just fine. This is part of my plan for you. Your marriage has my blessing."

I didn't see the butterfly after that morning, as she probably wasn't interested in hanging around all the noise and hullabaloo. And, as it turned out, I didn't throw up on myself. I didn't trip in my too-high heels. I didn't spill wine on myself, but my wedding veil did fall off after the wedding ceremony. 

My bridesmaids were on it. :-)

Our wedding day was the beginning of the happiest year of my life so far. It was a day that I will never, ever forget. 

I never told John about the butterfly.

Yesterday, John and I did somewhat of a pre-anniversary gift exchange. For our first anniversary, he gave me a beautiful necklace:

"It's okay. You're going to be just fine. This is part of my plan for you. Your marriage has my blessing."

Here's to many anniversaries to come! John, sweetheart, I love you so much! 

<3

Reflections on Ash Wednesday.

Good evening, Readers.

It's Ash Wednesday. I did the Holy Day of Obligation thang and heard mass at St. James Cathedral early this morning.

While it's true that I've always preferred the fellowship and community that a small parish brings, St. James' always leaves me feeling breathless when I worship there. Every. Single. Time. The atmosphere, the artwork, the music oh sweet Christ the MUSIC! I sometimes go to the Cathedral just to listen to the organ if nothing else. I effing love organ music. One of my Absolute Favorite Things Ever is not only listening to the organ, but physically FEELING the delicious vibrations in my chest as the music is played and the notes go lower and lower.

As I sat waiting for the 8 am mass to begin, I couldn't help but be a pleasantly surprised at the number of young(ish) people in attendance this morning. I shared a pew with a tired looking young lady wearing scrubs, behind me were three young men in jeans and hooded sweatshirts. Students sleepily yawned as they knelt to pray, and young professionals double checked their phones to make sure that the sound was turned off.  I caught the eye of Scrubs and we shared a smile.

It's nice to know that there are at least a few pew-fulls of "twenty-somethings" living in Seattle who will go to mass without being dragged there by their mom.

This year for Lent, I've decided that I'm not going to focus so much on "giving up" a worldly indulgence (although the hubs and I ARE doing that; we're giving up sugary soft drinks). Lent is a season of reflection, and as I reflect on my life so far, I find that I have a lot to learn in the way of following Christ.

The bible readings this week really struck a chord with me, especially the Gospel (Matthew 6, 1-6, 16-18):

1 "Beware of practicing your piety before men in order to be seen by them; for then you will have no reward from your Father who is in heaven. 2 "Thus, when you give alms, sound no trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, that they may be praised by men. Truly, I say to you, they have received their reward. 3 But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, 4 so that your alms may be in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you. 5 "And when you pray, you must not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, that they may be seen by men. Truly, I say to you, they have received their reward. 6 But when you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you. 16 "And when you fast, do not look dismal, like the hypocrites, for they disfigure their faces that their fasting may be seen by men. Truly, I say to you, they have received their reward. 17 But when you fast, anoint your head and wash your face, 18 that your fasting may not be seen by men but by your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

My relationship with God is a deeply personal one. And like many of my deeply personal relationships, my bond with the Lord has grown and matured in the same way that my friendships and romantic relationship has matured...my worship of Him now is very different than when I was confirmed eight years ago; heck, it's much different now than it was just three years ago!

The similarities between my growth as a Catholic and my growth as a girlfriend/fiancee/wife are uncanny. In my youth, I showed my love for the Lord by loudly proclaiming it! I sang on the Life-Teen worship squad, I was a card-carrying member of the "Grace Girls"...it's quite clear that I was wearing my faith like Flavor Flav wears his clocks.

It seems that I was (and often still am) quite fond of sounding my trumpet.

When John and I were first dating, we were insufferable lovebirds. If we were to meet in public before going out on a date, I would run into John's arms and he would pick me up and swing me around at least TWO times before we continued. We would always be holding hands, exchanging wistful glances, stealing kisses, the like. (not long after, when we figured out that our outward displays of affection made my sister REALLY uncomfortable, we turned it up a notch since her reactions to our constant spit-swapping was HILARIOUS! Love you, Susie!) We always made sure that the world knew that John + Jackie = <3.

It's taken about three and a half years, but John and I seem to have finally come down from the clouds. We don't go out of our way to act like lovesick puppies as much (in public). I find that I'm just as happy sitting with him quietly at home as I was when he would pick me up and swing me around. No words need to be said, no grandiose action needs to be taken...I am perfectly content to be sitting in the presence of the man I love most.

I love my Lord and Savior above all else. As I sat there, contemplating on the ashes, the readings, my peers, my marriage, my life...I felt a very real and comforting peace surround every fiber of my being.

I don't need to make a huge spectacle of myself in order to nurture my relationship with God. John and I feel just as affectionate and romantic when we quietly read on the couch together as we once did running through the woods giggling like a couple of idiots. In the same way, I feel God's beautiful presence in the peaceful silence of the Cathedral just as much as I once did when I was leading worship music.

Just sitting in His presence is enough to open my heart.

This year during Lent, I'm going to focus less on the outward displays of affection...and I will silently and humbly ask that God guide my heart with his peaceful silence.

<3

Year of Using Up the Stash: In which I lose my Netflix Documentary privileges

Good Evening, Readers!

41 days. It has been 41 days since I last bought any yarn.

The good news:  I haven't gone into cashmere withdrawal.

The bad news: Inspiration's cruel hand has been smacking me in the face. A LOT. Because of this, I've been  coming up with several projects I want to make but do not have the resources for.

I'm going to make a note of these ideas, but I don't want to dwell on them too much. If I do, I'll be grotesquely clawing my way to my yarn shop Gollum-style before long.

There must be something about limiting my resources that really gets my creative juices flowing. For the past week, I've been mulling over the idea of knitting anigurumis of people I like or find interesting; making knit versions of Hilary Clinton, Pope John Paul II, Niecy Nash, and Carl Sagan.

If I WERE to begin making these dolls, (and I will NOT begin these projects until my yarn stash is completely EMPTY), I'd probably start with Carl Sagan since he would be the easiest. No long doll hair, no complicated clothing...the whole knitting and construction process would be relatively simple. BUT, I am nowhere near finished with my goal of using up my yarn stash. A knit-version of Carl Sagan will have to wait.

I have made a bit of a dent in my yarn stash, though!

My husband and I decided to be homebodies this past Saturday; he was diligently working on some graphic design work for a client of his, and I parked my rump on our couch, knitting furiously away as I watched a marathon of depressing documentaries on Netflix.

Here is my first "Using up the Stash" project: a lovely lace dishcloth, which I finished while watching "American Meth":

The pattern for this dishcloth can be found here: http://wishingiwasknitting.blogspot.com/2007/04/happy-green-day.html

I proudly showed the finished project to my husband when the documentary was about halfway over. John looked up from his laptop computer, nodded in approval, and after glancing at what was playing on the television screen, visibly grimaced.

"Isn't the lace pattern on this pretty? It reminds me of the orange one I did a while back, but you don't need a cable needle!"

"Hon, WHY are you watching this?"

"I messed up a bit with the p2tog tbls, but you can't really see the mistakes. The designer of this pattern did a beautiful job!"

"Oh dear God, WHAT IS WRONG WITH THAT LADY'S TEETH?!?"

"Hmm? Oh, that's a side effect of long-term methamphetamine use. The drug makes it so you can't produce any saliva."

"WHY ARE YOU WATCHING THIS?"

"I dunno, it was next on our instant queue. I'm almost nervous to use this cloth; I don't want the white to get stained."

He wrinkled his brow playfully to show his disapproval, kissed me on the cheek, and got back to work.

I decided to turn my attention away from detailed lace-work for a while. For my next few projects, I wanted to focus on PRODUCTION. "American Meth" had finished, so I flipped through the "Because you watched 'American Meth'" Netflix menu to choose my next dose of entertainment. I settled on "Cropsey", and knit these four dishcloths:

Pattern found here: http://www.craftown.com/washcloth.htm

This pattern is awesome. This was the very first knitting pattern I ever learned, and is one of the very few patterns that I can knit entirely from memory.

The solid purple cloth and the purple/white striped cloths turned out peachily. The tri-color striped cloth, though, not so much.

I thought I could get away with carrying the contrasting color yarns up the side of my work with the tri-color, in the same way that I did the purple/white. It was just a bit too much, and the cloth ended up folding in on itself. The picture doesn't show it, but the tri-color cloth will not lay flat; one corner of it folds in, making an almost-cone shape.

I was about three quarters of the way through "Cropsey" when I held up the nearly-finished tri-colored cloth to my husband and voiced my frustration.

"Ugh. This isn't working."

"What's not working, Sweethear-WHAT THE F---?!?"

"I know, right? I'm not carrying the color that much at all, and the cloth is buckling like crazy!"

"OH MY F---ING GOD, THAT IS DISGUSTING!"

"Well, yes, dear, Willowbrook was disgusting. Can you believe that they didn't shut the place down until the 1980's? It's no wonder people don't trust the mental health care community."

"THAT IS HORRIBLE!"

"The dishcloth or Willowbrook?"

"WHADDYA THINK?!?"

I playfully stuck my tongue out at him as his eyes widened with shock and disgust. He shook his head, put his headphones back on, and got back to work.

In spite of the tri-color washcloth not turning out as well as I'd like, I was beaming at my achievement of using up all of my purple and white dishcloth cotton! Hooray! I was feeling the knitting groove, so I set my sights on making a couple of Warm Up America squares. I got out some graphing paper, quickly sketched out an adorable pear, and made a quick color-work chart (which I will post if any of you, Readers, are interested in two-dimensional knit pears).

All stockinette. I'll post the chart for the pear once I figure out how :-) 

Cropsey was finished. By now, John was satisfied with his work and shut his laptop down for the day. He sat down next to me so we could enjoy the next docky together.

"Okay. I'M PICKING THE NEXT ONE."

"Oh, come on! You still owe me like five picks after we watched  all of  the "Cosmos" episodes last weekend!"

"I thought you liked "Cosmos!"

"I love "Cosmos", but it's still MY TURN!"

I playfully smacked him with a pillow.

"Fine, fine, sweetheart, you pick. But please, NOTHING TOO DEPRESSING."

He got up from the couch to pour us a couple of glasses of wine. I commandeered the remote and flipped through the line of documentaries, looking for something that wasn't so dark. I came across "Dear Zachary"; and thought it looked promising.

*For those of you who haven't seen "Dear Zachary" yet, major spoiler alert*.

John sat back down on the couch, and began to sip his wine.

"What's this?"

"It's about this guy's friend who was murdered."

"I SAID NOTHING TOO DEPRESSING!"

"It's not! It's a celebration of his life, a compilation of interviews about the guy for the benefit of his son!"

"*sigh*. Fine."

Readers, I promise you. I DID NOT KNOW HOW THE WHOLE SHANDA THAT THIS DOCUMENTARY IS ABOUT ENDED. I PROMISE.

I was happily knitting my Warm Up America squares, half-listening to the drama on the TV. I proudly held up the finished pear square to my husband:

"This is so ADORABLE! I'm almost tempted to keep it!"

"I knew it. I knew from the second the film started that she was going to kill that baby."

"You MUST give me a run-down on Photoshop. I'd like to post the color chart on my blog!"

"This is probably the most depressing thing I have ever seen. Oh my God."

"Well, yes, it was horrible, but think of the amazing things that the grandparents accomplished!"

"YOU'VE LOST YOUR NETFLIX CHOOSING PRIVILEGES!"

So, Readers, there you have it. Those are the first of many projects that will deplete my yarn stash, and why we've been watching nothing but Futurama and the Colbert Report as of late.

Until next time <3