Tired

This week of testing has left me feeling like a dish rag. I am tired like never before. I am physically tired but I am also mentally worn out. I think about things all the time... things that would wear anyone down. Suddenly I find I am the head of a family of five with all the responsibilities of aged parents and on the verge of life teenagers. Just thinking about how to get us all home to Newfoundland with two dogs is daunting in its scope. Pops is a huge help. We are thinking that taking the train across country would offer the girls a wee diversion after saying goodbye to their dad. Maybe it will help to take their minds off the fact that their lives are falling apart. Of course this is all dependent on the house selling... - - I have been packing up. It is hard to believe that this six year odyssey is over. I may not even get back here for graduation. Over the years I've been through 3 graduations. This would have been the forth and if truth be told the only one that really has meaning. I finished all 5 samples that I needed to finish today in class. But it took every bit of my concentration to get it done. I passed in one of them wet! But there it is and wet it was. We packed the cars up in a torrential downpour and thunder was all around. I had intended to walk through the grounds once more but it didn't happen. There's something significant there. I'm not quite sure what it is but I keep my fingers crossed that some how... some way Ivan return to Olds. I would love to come back maybe even to teach. Who knows. It's all so spectacularly changed... my life and my expectations are once again taking an about face through no choice of my own. Yes I know I could stay in BC but I honestly don't think that would be healthy. HH is not big enough for me to live with the other woman there too. I know I would become a bitter old bag. So I think this adventure that I am about to embark upon will be good for us if not totally welcome. Daughter# 2 is looking forward with anticipation. Daughter #1 is anxious but looking forward too. They both will miss their Dad dreadfully. And truth be told so will I... Just not the man he has become. His mind is so full of Her that he has forgotten how to see us. He has other woman blinders on. I've tried to make him see us again but there is no hope for that. He is well and truly lost to us. I don't know what doing this will do to improve his life but I think ( don't know) that at some point there might be regrets. It feels like he is replacing us with her and her children! I cannot understand that at all. The poor fool. It is sad really. Perhaps her children are more to his liking. Perhaps it's just me.. I just can't wrap my head around it all. I know he's tired of the old so I guess it's out with the old and in with the new.

Currently It's All A Crap Shoot

Friday arrives quietly in the night while the peaceful sounds of slumber prevail. I am awake at 3 a.m. But what is new about that. The last two days have been full of disappointment. We have not sold our house yet and the one we wanted which seemed like such an excellent fit turned out to be a bed of rot much like my life has been all along without me knowing. I am glad to know that it is a bed of rot because now I won't buy it. Who needs more rot in their life. Cut out the rot and your bound to find something good eventually. The testing continues in class. For the most part I am satisfied with my marks but there are occasional hiccups. I had a big test on Wednesday and got 100% but then I've spun at least two skeins that are only in the 70-80% range. I am not sleeping well and each night I wake around 3 a.m. This is because I spend too much time grieving for what I hoped would be my life. I look ahead and see nothing but hardship and loneliness with very little light on the horizon. The future with all myy joy of going home looks bleak at best and very dark at worst. Tomorrow/today is our last day here. Olds has been a haven in an ocean of flux. I still have five samples left to do. And do them I will. Our days are long beginning work at 8 a.m. And finishing up at 6 p.m. with very little in the way for breaks. We work at breakneck speed but it seems to be completed at a snail's pace. One more day and I will be glad to finish the testing. But as I walk through campus for the last time and look at the splendiferous grounds I think I will cry for love lost and all that goes with it. Saturday I will head home to the sham of my life. And what then???

Grammar

Sorry for all the punctuation/grammar/spelling mistakes in all away posts. Typing on a cell phone keyboard sucks. I'll leave it at that.

What's Normal Anymore

Normally I would be calling home so that I could talk to all of my dear ones. But though I talk to the girls each night... though I find out what's happening at home somehow it seems strange to not talk to the person I thought of as my best friend. Once upon a time he would have cared how my day was going... He would have wanted to hear about the testing that I'm slowly getting through... now there is just an emptiness where he used to be. So I tell you how it went instead. - - It was tough. A long day with incompleted work. I never passed in any of my skeins. They did not get finished in time. This is not as bad as it sounds. I love the instructor... She's awesome and so calm. She put our minds at ease right away. That is not to say that she is not tough. You only have to look at the questions she gave us to see that. But I think she will be fair in her marking. My first two questions were novelty yarns.. One with color and one with texture. For my color yarn I chose to make a cabled yarn from silk hankies. Love that and I've done it many times. I wet finished it but by the end of the day it still wasn't dry enough to complete the calculations for Bradford count. I will finish that today and pass it in. The second yarn with texture was a Bucle yarn which took forever and since a large part of it was mohair it too was still too wet at the end of the day to pass in. I have discovered that my instructor has never gotten more than two ply yarns for those questions. I never do anything by halves. A four ply yarn and a three ply yarn ate up my time like you wouldn't believe. I found that suddenly it was 3 p.m. And I still had two skeins left to spin and only an hour left. I panicked! I started work right away on the 5 yd skein on the low whorl spindle. It is about half finished. I will finish that today. I am going in at 8 a.m. This morning to see if I can catch up, but I was so tired last night I didn't even want to go to the fashion show. Last evening, which has always been an highlight of Fibre Week. - - So what's ahead? There will be more skeins added today to the roster and I am hoping that today will go better. I hope so. I'll be glad when I'm finished. I more thing done on my way to certification. The social activities for the most part are over... at least the formal ones are. I think there is a barbecue/party on Wednesday night, but other than that it is all work from here on in. Through it all I feel like I'm out of step with it all. How many people go around with a smile on their face when the whole time they feel like it is painted on. I meet other people as I walk around campus and wonder. Perhaps happiness is all just one big sham. - - on that note I will take my caustic and vinigary remarks away from this forum! Perhaps my new nickname should be vinigar.

And So It Begins

Level 6. A week of testing. I do have to say I'm nervous. Class will begin with a written requirement on the board and my classmates and I will be expected to execute that requirement. There are twenty to do over four days with a day of Indigo vat dyeing. Friday it will be over. Then I will have a year to complete my In Depth Study. I am hoping to be approved of the topic of Traditional Hooked Rugs: A Study of the Textiles Specifically Used And How To Spin For The Associated Fabrics. So I would be studying jute for burlap, flax for linen backing, and English long wools that were used in the weaving of worsted fabrics of the 18th century and the shorter down wools used in woollen mills for the fabrics used to produce hooked rugs currently. Jute, flax, Lincoln wool, Border Liecester wool, and Shetland wool, would be some of the fibers I would be studying with an eye to weaving the fabrics associated with rug hooking. - - I cannot allow myself to be distracted. One foot forward each day it will get easier so I am told. I sure hope so because it is all so very raw at the moment. Wish me luck... or say a prayer. I will need all the help I can get.

New Things To Think About

Today I begin classes. My first class is called Diametre By Design and is taught by Michele Boyd. I am so glad I decided to sign up for a class other than the next level in the MSprogram. All week there are classes in a variety of topics related to the fibre arts. Everything from wool judging to alpaca shearing to the Master Weaver program go on during Fibre Week. Fleeces abound as they are displayed and sold and fibre of every sort drift through the air. The vendors do good business as spinners, weavers, felters, and dyers purchase supplies for the upcoming year. Last night was the kick off social at which time the big donators to Fibre Week are given a nod, and then the newest Master Spinners and Weavers receive their certificates. And then finally a we sit for a keynote address. Last night we had a New Zealander speak about selling her creations in felt. She had on a stunning felted jacket that must have taken hours. I came home almost overwhelmed. Meanwhile I had run into my level 5 instructor and she had returned my level 5 books. I was pleased to look through the comments and find that the remarks were for the most part superficial. While all the Fibre Week events are pleasantly rolling along... there are bittersweet moments of my knowing that it will be a while again, if ever, when I will be able to participate in the the joys that are Fibre Week. I am staying in touch with the Daughters through it all and my mom and dad too. My parents will celebrate their 54th anniversary today. It eats at me that I will never celebrate such an occasion in my life. But then what's the point of dwelling on such things... marriage is a partnership and if it can't be one then it is not healthy. There is no point in one person being the engine and the other being the caboose. It just won't work. One no more wants to be dragged through life and neither does one want to do the dragging. Perhaps God will open new doors for me.. Perhaps God will provide me with a better life. I can only hope so because the alternative is too depressing to entertain.

Sour Milk

Yesterday was a strange day. I spent it alone and as a result I did a great deal of thinking. Thinking is something I try to avoid these days because usually thinking leads to crying... is synonymous with crying. No one wants to be around a sniveling crying basket case. The strange thing is that physically I wasn't alone. We went on our field trip to Carstairs and Shuttleworks and I sat in the back seat of the car. The other two that I was with we're gabbing away in the front seat while I stared out the window in the back. It was not easy to hear what was going on in the front since I needed the window cracked. So in the end I knew that even though I had two chatting and gabbing women in a vehicle with me the end result the 'aloneness' settled around me like a cloak in very short order. - as for our field trip... it was entertaining and very interesting to go and see a working woollen mill. Shuttleworks was a clean, modern store with every possible thing to do with spinning and weaving available for sale. But the drive was long and I spent much of my time very much in deep private thought. It may have been good for cathartic reasons but not really a good time or place to take off the blinders and see my situation clearly for what it is. - I came home in no fit state to be around others. - The result of my catharsis is this: that he is well and truly lost to me. That he has turned his back on me. That while debased about that I was on a huge grieving trip. I could be no more grief stricken if he had died. Indeed, he is well and truly dead to me. My Teapot is gone. No more. The end. Finished. But not only was I grieving for him. I was grieving for me too. - When I met and married him I was a young woman still with girlish ideals of love and romance. The last twenty years with him have stripped that all away and left me jaded about fairy tale love. There is no such thing. Up until two weeks ago, I thought I had been one of the lucky ones and found it. But what is hard and fast is that it was all an illusion. A magician's trick of the eye. Suddenly, I was seeing me as 'past her spoil date' and that as much as anything would make me cry. Even fine wine eventually turns to vinegar. That is what he has turned me into. I am vinigar and that is about as appealing as... well, it is corrosive really. So you see there really is something to cry over. Not only am I crying over spilt milk, I'm crying because the milk is sour - So now the question is can I practice a miracle. Can I turn vinigar into a fine old whiskey? Because until I'm no longer vinigar I'm not much good to anyone.