What We Do With Guns and Greens

A second coed at a Southern school was killed two days ago.  Another young woman from Georgia, she was found shot not far from campus, the University of North Carolina, 500 miles from the first murder.  There was only a few hours between the incidents, so it doesn’t appear to be one crazy person on a killing spree.  Is that a comfort?  Until we know more and there are likely suspects in custody, I can’t help but be on edge.  Worried or not, I can’t tell my daughter to live fearfully. 

I don’t want to pack up every gun in America and send it to a foundry to be melted down, only the handguns.  I’d love to see pre-purchase screening be much more strenuous, with longer waiting times even for a hunting rifle.  Real hunting should not be an emergency or a rash decision.  Taking the life of any creature should require some thought, and be for a purpose. 

I’m sitting on my bed with a knitted piece that is struggling against me.  I usually have the feeling that my knitting is my ally, that the yarn and I are conspiring to produce the sweetest product, the most wonderful item ever knitted.  I think it’s the use of a pattern and yarn that I didn’t choose that is thwarting me.  This time the materials and the pattern have me by the throat.  I cannot change a single stitch.  I have to stay in lockstep with the instructions.  I am up against one of my great short-comings:  I am not a rules person.   I have always questioned them, argued against them, done end-runs around them. 

Ooh, I am watching Amsterdam and there’s a teacher who happens to be in disgrace for having an affair with a student.  She’s blonde and British and she’s crying and wearing the most lovely sweater!  Now THAT’s what I want to be knitting!  Three-quarter sleeves that kind of bell out at the bottom, a modified ruffle at the bottom that would come just at the right place to camouflage a large rear (okay, you couldn’t hide my butt behind an eighteen-wheeler, but the design logic was sound), a soft, muted blue.  I would do it in a slightly fuzzy, soft, blend of cashmere and merino and rayon, so that there was just the hint of a sheen.   That is sooooooo not what I am knitting. 

Today I cooked a bag of kale, with lots of fresh purple onion and garlic.  I added a can of low-salt soybeans and let them simmer together for an hour.  I keep going back to that pot for another 50-calorie serving.  Amazing the bulk of truly good food that can add up to teeny calories.  It’s food that wouldn’t even appeal to me if I was still on that hefty dose of prednisone that propped me up through the fall and into the winter.  Hallelujah for low-dose prednisone and the B-cell killer, rituximab!  and about six or ten other prescriptions.  Hehe, I am glued together with greens, hummus, home-baked bread, and pills.   I’m not complainin’. 

Peace.

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2 Responses

  1. Your kale sounds wonderful! Unfortunately, I couldn’t cook it with DH in the house. Sometimes when he’s gone for the day, I sneak in a pot of greens. For some unknown reason, though, he like spinach. Go figure!

  2. Maybe the rules(instructions) need to be rewritten. Maybe they are flawed.

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