No one will ever accuse me of being graceful. If there’s a piece of furniture in the room that is at shin or knee height, it is a guarantee that I will eventually slam into it. If there is a cupboard door open, I will inevitably smack it with my head. If there is something in the room – even if it has been there for years and I have successfully walked around it without injury a thousand times before, eventually I will manage to connect with it and find a way to hurt myself. My entire life is lived with a constant network of bruises, scrapes and scratches on my legs and arms and most of the time I cannot even remember how I got them.

I am telling you this so you will at least understand why it is that I managed to somehow slam my foot into the bottom of the cat tree at the top of the stairs last night, and quite possibly break my toe. I could claim that it was late and I was tired and in a rush to find Allegra and give her her nightly feeding of special food that must be stuffed down her throat, but the truth is that I would have been just as likely to do it if I was as awake and alert as I could ever be.

I am forever stubbing my toes on things – it comes with the territory when you are clumsy – but I’ve never done it quite this bad before. Usually there are a few moments of hopping around on the uninjured foot saying many colorful words that would have gotten my mouth washed out with soap when I was much younger, and then it is fine. But this time I think I really did some damage to my little toe. It just kept hurting, and the pain got worse and worse until I was sitting on the bed with tears running down my face. Richard got me an ice pack, and called the advice nurse, and I slept with it elevated on a stack of blankets, the ice pack on it, all night.

I spent today limping around, feeling a little ridiculous since it seemed like a lot of fuss for a stubbed toe. I finally gave up after work and made an appointment to see a doctor because it just kept on hurting, and felt pretty idiotic going in to have them look at my toe because I couldn’t manage to get out of the way of a cat tree which has been a stationary object in that house since we moved in over four years ago.

The good news is that whatever I did, I at least did not do any damage to the foot itself (unlike the oh-so-amusing time I was walking barefoot down my carpeted hallway, stepped sideways accidentally, and managed to break my foot). The doctor suggested I just buddy-wrap it to its neighbor and noted that due to the pattern of bruising (and a lovely purple shade it is, too), I probably did fracture it, but it wasn’t too severe, and even if they did x-rays, they wouldn’t do any more than just tell me to ice it and elevate it and for crying out loud, try to stay away from those toe-crunching cat trees in the future.

So this evening I am trying to just stay off my feet, and keep my stupid possibly broken toe elevated, and thinking that in my next life, along with being thin and having naturally wavy hair, I am also going to be at least a little bit more graceful. Because really, shouldn’t I have outgrown this sort of thing by now?

There are times when sometimes I wish I hadn’t ever made this journal public; where I wish I had come at this completely anonymously so that I could then talk about things that maybe I shouldn’t really be discussing in such a public setting. And there are times when I wish that I had magical powers and I could, with the mere wave of a hand, reverse the course of something inevitable, and while I was at it, also exact a rather healthy dose of come-uppance to those who are far overdue. But I cannot do that here, and most of the time – when I am not angry – I accept that it’s probably for the best that I set myself these boundaries from the very first entry I wrote in this journal, and that not writing things out – no matter how true they might be and how badly I might want to spill out those stories for everyone to read – is far better than people stumbling on them later and having to deal with unwanted consequences.

So I will leave it at this – while I may not be able to discuss things, one of my flaws, perhaps, is that I am fiercely protective of my family and my friends. I learned long ago how to pretend that everything is fine and to smile and nod, but do not think for one instant that I have forgotten what was done. People can change, this I know, and I have seen it happen to those who have hurt my friends and family in the past. But I also know better than to let some people beyond certain walls, and when someone does something to hurt someone I care about, I am allowed to wish that somehow, some way, they will be made to pay. And I also know that no matter how much time goes by, there are those who can, and should never be trusted, ever again.

Is this fair, to even bring this up here, when all I can say is that I cannot say anything at all? I write this journal for a lot of reasons, not the least of which is to keep track of things that are going on in my life because I have a swiss cheese memory when it comes to remembering when things happened and what I was doing. And sometimes it is important to document the things I cannot talk about in some form, just so that when I read through this again, years from now I can remember that sometimes bad things happen too.

I do not know why this always happens. I admit quite freely that I am a procrastinator, but when it comes to knitting projects I’ve actually been pretty good about getting started early enough so I have time to finish. This is likely because knitting is fun, unlike doing taxes, writing term papers, or cleaning the house, and since I start feeling a little antsy if I don’t have at least one project on the needles, getting my gift knitting out of the way isn’t as hard as tackling most other things.

And in my own defense, I had actually mostly finished my Mom’s mother’s day present by last weekend….except that when I seamed up the shoulders and laid it out I realized that the pattern I’d selected was simply not going to work with the yarn I was using, and there was nothing to do but rip out the entire thing and start over. Surprisingly there was no wailing or weeping or gnashing of teeth, and actually very little swearing. I think I am getting used to this.

So when I say that I have spent this entire past week – every free moment – knitting, I am being very literal. I ripped out the whole thing Monday night. I also ‘swatched’ up the first sleeve – which, it turned out, I had to redo half of, but at least I had something started. Tuesday I woke up with a sore throat and decided to stay home, where I alternately napped and tried to talk my body into being healthy again, and knit. All week I have been getting up at 5 (or earlier) every morning, going to work, then coming home and knitting until the wee hours of the morning, before staggering into bed and then waking up in too few hours to start the process all over again.

However, I did it. My fingers are streaked with an interesting turquoise blue color because the yarn was a bit overdyed and the tips of my right first finger and thumb are strangely numb and I am unbelievably tired. I may have been frantically seaming the last sleeve on, and hastily tacking on the hook and eye for the front closure on Sunday morning (I sat on the floor of the sanctuary to do this – luckily I wear bike shorts underneath my skirts because otherwise my friend – who was there mainly for moral support – would have gotten flashed). But I got it done, and I don’t think I am being modest when I say that it is absolutely gorgeous and I am more than a little proud of myself. Here are pictures of my mom in her new sweater: front, back, and side views.

When I was putting on my pants this morning I noticed that the zipper tab was a little lopsided and wouldn’t fold down all the way. I fought with it for a little bit and didn’t think any more about it until I got to work, and – as I usually do at least once or twice – headed into the bathroom. There I discovered that the tab was broken, and while it is easy to close a zipper with no tab, it is next to impossible to open one – especially when you are wearing the article of clothing it is keeping closed, and you are…well…in a hurry.

Luckily I remembered that a paper clip can work in a pinch, so I zipped back to my desk and grabbed the first paper clip I could find. My makeshift zipper pull worked like a charm (ha).

However, I didn’t want to have to be surreptitiously sneaking paper clips into the bathroom all day so I figured I might as well try to find a slightly smaller one that I could just leave attached to the zipper. Except that the only small one I could find was bright pink. And I must admit that I did ponder the dilemma of using a bright pink paper clip as a replacement zipper pull on black pants because while it tucked neatly underneath the fabric covering. Because it is oh so important to match one’s accessories to one’s ensemble even if one of those accessories is more commonly used to hold paper together.

We have had the usual things today – getting up too early (thank you cats), hastily casting on for another pair of socks because I needed a portable project to bring with me for Sunday School, choir practice, the last session of ‘The Gospel According to Seuss’, where we took on ‘The Sneetches’ and ‘The Zax’ – a discussion that didn’t have quite the twists as when we discussed ‘Horton Hatches An Egg’ a few weeks ago and put spins on the story that Seuss likely never even considered (such as whether or not Horton might have been either codependent, or needed some counseling to learn how to say no to pushy people (or birds)), but still lively enough to be fun.

Two of the newest babies showed up for all of us too coo over, and they are so very, very tiny – just weeks old, and still tiny enough to keep me too nervous to even consider holding them. It was fun to compare these two latest additions to the little boy who was born in January – especially as a way to see just how much he has grown. Because babies grow – and they grow so very fast that it almost seems as if you turn your head for an instant and suddenly they are in the next size up of clothes.

I think we are, for the most part, done with the latest of our baby booms at church (only one more baby left and he’s due in the next week or three). It does make it hard to focus on what you are supposed to be focusing on when suddenly you are faced with a small cluster of teeny tiny people, but such is life.

I tried to sleep in this morning, I really did. But Sebastian has lately decided that wandering around downstairs while randomly yelling at the top of his overdeveloped lungs is simply not good enough, and what is far more fun and effective is to come into the bedroom, jump onto the bed, walk heavily over my body to my pillow and then yell at top volume directly into my ear. Gah. If I could just train him to do this on a set schedule he’d be a marvelously effective alarm clock, but ‘training’ and ‘cats’ are two words that rarely share peaceful coexistance in the same sentence.

Richard headed off for some sort of training, which I could have gone to except I really didn’t want to. So instead I gathered up all my relevant paperwork and headed off to the Davis post office because they have a passport application desk and I have put this off long enough.

It took me about an hour to get through the whole process – since it was, after all, at a post office – and that included retaking the pictures twice because I am so truly photogenic that I kept coming out looking as if I was coming off of a long drug-induced bender and the nice man who did the camera didn’t think I wanted that on an official document that I hoped would convince the people at the border patrol to let me back in the country. Then there was the issue of which forms I did or did not need in order to not only renew my (now expired) passport but to also change my name (since I went and got married a few years back).

But I got it all taken care of and I carefully paperclipped my oh-so-lovely passport pictures (the ones where I look least like I could be serving 10-15 for possession) and my check and a certified copy of our marriage license and my old passport to the application form and dropped it into the mail, and hopefully it will be returned to me in time for our Sisters’ Only Weekend, which was the whole reason I was getting the thing renewed in the first place.

And speaking of that, when I got home there was a message on the machine from my older sister, so after a bit of finagling, she got the three of us sisters on the phone all together for a conference call and we did our best to hash out the details of our tentatively planned trip to Victoria, BC in June.

I did a lot more knitting this afternoon (I am sure you are all just so surprised about that), until a friend called to see if he could drop by, at which point that was all the encouragement I needed to get up and try to clean the house a little bit, since it was starting to look a little cluttery. His timing was absolutely perfect because he pulled up just as Richard got home from the training, so we all sat around the table and chatted and tried to catch up on what he’s been up to, and it was lovely to see him again, especially since I think the last time we saw him it was last year.

Dinner was Mongolian Barbeque with the 20’s and 30’s group, and it was actually quite fun. We had a newer couple to the church show up – he sings tenor with me in the choir but we’ve not really had an opportunity to get to know her at all. And any excuse for Mongolian Barbeque is a good thing. There was a lot of talking and laughing and eating, followed by a trip to the nearby ice cream parlor for more laughing and talking and eating, and there were tentative plans made to maybe go see the new Star Wars movie as a group later this month (and then go out for dessert immediately after so we can all sit around and trash the movie together) and then it was time, alas, to go home.

We have been waiting for this day for a few weeks – or at least I have been waiting, that is. I really could care less about the opening night for the next installment of Star Wars because I know that that movie will make me cringe and I have no desire to be there when it first is released. But Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy is something to look forward, plus rumor had it that they would show the trailer for Serenity as well (which they did, which made us both cheer, but then they also showed the preview for a new Herbie the Love Bug movie and Richard very accurately pointed out that if this is not proof that they are scraping the bottom of the barrel he doesn’t know what is. Although I must admit that I will be putting the new Herbie movie on our Netflix queue, just because I am weak and must watch it just to see how horribly bad it will be).

Richard and I pondered times, but then decided to to to the earlier evening show in Vacaville. We fully expected it to be crowded, and were surprised when there wasn’t even one single person in line for tickets. We got there early, in anticipation of standing in line, but no line at all meant we had time to get inside and pick the best seats in the house, and also time for me to work on my latest pair of socks. The beauty of sock knitting is that it fits in my purse, you see.

The movie was fun, despite the fact that the plot was hopelessly muddled and didn’t exactly make sense, and we were not the only ones who left the theater singing ‘So Long and Thanks for All the Fish’ under our breath, which was the song they played while rolling the opening credits, sung by the dolphins. From a knitter’s perspective the movie was amusing because at one point, all the characters – and the spaceship – turn up as knit dolls. Also, there cannot possibly have been anyone more perfect than Alan Rickman to be the voice of Marvin the depressed robot.

After the movie we headed off to Baker’s Square to get dinner and we were both so tired we were practically falling asleep in our plates. But now we are home and I am feeling wide awake and there is more sock knitting to be done, all while humming ‘So Long and Thanks for All the Fish’, which is such a perky and cheerful little tune that I fear it may lurk in my head for far longer than I really would prefer.

One thing on my list that I did not get done yesterday was to zip off to the store and buy all the parts to make trifle. And the reason I needed to make trifle is that today was the annual ladies’ tea and I agreed to make trifle, even though I have never made it before in my life.

The good thing is that trifle is easy – or at least the recipe we were all given was easy. The organizer collected a huge mound of glass bowls and distributed them to all of us volunteers last Sunday, so this morning I lined my three bowls up on the counter and then layered in thin slices of pound cake, freshly washed and cut strawberries tossed with just enough sugar to convince them to start oozing juice, and a mixture of vanilla pudding and sour cream. Then I topped them all with whipped cream spirals and stuck them in the fridge until it was time for the tea. This left me with about half an hour to spare, which naturally meant that I had plenty of time to cast on for yet another pair of socks. Have I mentioned lately how very much I adore knitting socks? They are the perfect portable project.

The theme for the tea this year was ‘Tea on the Orient Express’, and as usual, the room was packed to the gills. I parked next to a group of women who were just getting out of their car to head in so I convinced a few of them (begging politely is usually effective) to help me carry in the three bowls of trifle, since I had my hands full of other stuff – like the old antique iron train engine I was bringing as a centerpiece for my mom’s table. The engine immediately attracted the attention of one of the docents from the Sacramento Railroad Museum, who were there to give a talk on the history of the railroad in California, and he seemed actually pretty excited by it. Richard has three of these cars – an engine, a coal car and a caboose – and they belonged to his grandfather but may be even older than that. They are made of cast iron and they are extremely sturdy and if you happen to be walking around in bare feet and stub your toe on one they are also extremely painful.

The lunch was a little sparse, but one doesn’t go to these teas for the food. The presentation by the Railroad Museum docents was funny and delightful, and best of all, informative, and intermixed in the talk of the trains and laying of railroad tracks and the design of passenger cars was a link to the movie ‘Murder on the Orient Express’ on which the whole premise of the tea theme had been formed. My dad was Hercule Poirot, complete with waxed black mustache and bowler hat (we told him, however, that he had to keep his hat on, because without it he looked too scarily like some kind of Italian mafia). One of my coworkers was the Countess and she did rag curls in her hair and transformed herself so completely we almost did not recognize her. They did a little questionnaire throughout the presentations, where those who’d watched the movie were asked to remember important details about the various characters. I read the story years and years ago, but have never seen the movie. So I plucked my sock out of my purse and commenced to knit throughout the entire thing. Because I decided I needed something a little more exciting than plain old socks, this pair has a lace inset running down each side, and a lot of the little old ladies got a kick out of the fact that I, and my knitting friend (who was sitting next to me at the table) were making socks.

There were door prizes, as there are every year, and as I have each time I’ve attended this tea, I brought one along with the trifle and the iron train. This year I decided to try lace knitting for the first time so I made this, just to see if I could do it. Except that I am not so much a scarf wearer so it seemed like the perfect thing to donate as a door prize. And to sweeten the deal, my knitting friend whipped up a little drawstring bag for it, so it was a joint project. As it turned out, my dad ended up giving my knitting friend his ticket, which was then promptly called as a winner for a door prize, and because my mom had said she really wanted the scarf, my friend zipped up to the table, grabbed the prize she and I had brought, and gave it to my mom, amid much laughter by all of us.