My IN Box

Less than two years ago, I lived in a cubicle.  I drove forty miles a day through glacial traffic to and from it.  Within the cubicle, I was assaulted by e-mails and text messages and phone calls and visits from angry little creatures who neither wanted nor understood the technology I was made to foist upon them.  My associates and I were chronically understaffed and overmanaged.  And the virtual workpile, no matter how deeply we shoveled, was always up to our chins, and threatening greater height.  For 14 hours out of every 24, I was focused (or supposed to be) on the needs of my workplace.  Every day I would arrive at the cube farm, disarm access points on 5 different locked doors, dutifully place my dog collar of an ID badge around my neck and fire up my cell phone leash.  Three giant monitors on my desk would blink groggily to life, as I tried to do the same, aided by burnt coffee with polymer whitening-agent.  I punched a digital timeclock, which tracked my hours.  I logged into the networks, where the digital workpile lived and festered.  I logged into the phone system, which tracked my every voice communication, and where my conversations could be monitored from any telephone on earth.  I was physically tethered to the cubical, too.  A headset connected me to the land lines and allowed me to continue working the keyboard and touch screens which threatened my wrists, while the angry little creatures sniveled directly into my ears.  There could be no more efficient assault on all the senses at once.

And then, for some reason, after 14 years in the cubicle, I quit.

The soul-sucking dehumanization of my life as a technologist had finally taken its last from me, and away I went.  The door didn't hit me.

Now my IN box looks like this:

And This

And also, THIS

Now I interact with people and things that I like.  Almost every single day.  When I'm hungry, I eat.  If I'm sleepy, I take a nap.  If I need to breathe air, I open a window.  And there are these people who live at my house that I finally am getting to know.  I thought we were a family when I lived in the cube, but it turned out we were only weekend associates.  I actually know things about them now, like how and when they like to sleep, eat and play.  Stuff they never did during the two waking hours of each day that I was available to them, back in the old times.

Free of the tethers of access badges, time clocks, network use tracking and call monitoring, I have almost entirely regained my humanity (though I still have a distrustful relationship with my TV remote). 

And yes, if you're wondering, our financial world is completely different now, too.  We don't eat out, or have a housekeeper, or go away on vacation any more.  There are days when I don't know where the next bowl of Froot Loops is coming from. 

I wouldn't change a thing.

I am so blessed to have met my family before they outgrew me.  I am so lucky to have friends who support me in my work.  I am so fortunate that my health allows me to take eating and sleeping and running and jumping totally for granted.  Many Thanks, God, for all you give to me and mine.  I hope we can be worthy.  Speaking of which, I have a lot of hard and delightful work to get to.  My IN box is overflowing.
 

Welcome Diversion

Friends of the Blog Vicki and Lisa have given us all a present:  Permission to engage in Slow Knitting.

Slow Knitting isn't the same as knitting slowly; it's more akin to the Slow Food movement:  Independently-sourced, personal, and delightful.  Slow knitting is one of the 10 Secrets Vicki and Lisa share with us, and what treats these 10 things are!

Another of the 10 secrets is to find a Wise Woman with whom to knit.  Great advice that - so necessary to the learning of knitting is a Wise Woman that my own quest for one took three years and resulted in my first book.  I finally found her, but not in the form I expected:  She turned out to be an entire community, and a circle of friends, rather than one person.

And of course, there are patterns!  Getta load of these cuties:  Melvin the Musical Monster, by Rebecca Danger.  This pattern so enchanted Lindsay that she cast on immediately, and completed her first entire monster leg in one afternoon.

Other stunners include:
    
Sivia Harding's Smoked Jewels Hooded Shawlette - A wisp of beaded fluff with a cunningly fitted neckline and integral hood.

Linda Cortright's Wild Linda's Camisole - An elegant marriage of pattern and fiber, perfect to showcase the very best gourmet string.

Brenda Patipa's Memories Tab Cardigan - the cleverest use of leftover stash yarn I've seen in a long time, and one I'm dying to knit.

10 Secrets of the LaidBack Knitters is the quintessential collaborative effort: The co-authors, the designers, and even Vicki and Lisa's friends from Knit Night all came together to bring it into existence.  What better parents to birth a book than a group of loving and dedicated knitters?  Give this book to your favorite knitter as a present and a reminder of your affection.  Especially if your favorite knitter is YOU.

Dr. Jung Would Be Stumped

Carl Jung - pioneer of dream-interpretive psychoanalysis

Last night I had a dream that I was in a bar (didn't know why until the end of the dream - believe it or not, I wasn't imbibing).  I was sitting alone at a table, and in one hand I was holding a Phoenix (the bird, not the city).  In the other hand I had a Bald Eagle.  The two birds weren't friendly (perhaps because one is our nation's symbol and the other is, um, fictional?), so I was doing my best to keep them apart, by holding one on either side of my body.  

Phoenix (pretend bird), and Eagle (actual species)

Along came someone (I think it may have been one of my students from Sock Summit), who kindly offered me the gift of a Roadrunner.
 

American Roadruner (The bird, no the cartoon)

Not wanting to be rude to my student, I graciously accepted the third bird, to whose company neither the Phoenix nor the Eagle was receptive.

My efforts to keep all of the beautiful birds from hurting one another in the resulting skirmish of beaks and claws realized one of my worst fears:  My hands were pulverized into pulp.  I kept pleading with the three birds, "No, no! Please not my hands - I have to knit or I'll never finish my book!".

All three birds totally ignored me, but eventually Phillip came in.  I was sobbing, but he bandaged up my bleeding fingers, and helped me stuff each bird into a separate tortilla-chip basket (as people obviously would do in this situation).  And now, if you ever have wondered how my mind really works, this may explain a few things:

In my dream, Phillip turned to me and said "Hey! This sounds like the beginning of an awful joke:  A Phoenix, an Eagle and a Roadrunner walk into a bar..."

And that's when I woke up this morning, laughing to myself and checking my hands for peck-wounds.

I spent some time thinking about this dream, and what it might really be about.  Here's what I think:

1.    The Phoenix represents my imagination, and all the designs for the book I'm working on.  The designs are my favorite part of the process, and of the finished product.  They are my primary language - the mother tongue with which I communicate to my friends, the Knitters.

2.    The Eagle stands for the government and structure in my life. Without a schedule, it's just me knitting, and wistfully thinking how great things would be if I could share my work with my soulmates in stitches. 

And everything remains pretty safe for me, until the need arises to introduce:

3.    The Roadrunner, who must surely be my deadline.  I have to work fast and furious.  I have no time for mistakes, headaches, or any other symbolic Coyotes.

That third component has clearly unleashed a few fears for me, notably that something might happen to keep me from completing the book. 

Weird, no?  Poor Dr. Jung really dodged a bullet by dying in time to miss this one.  Lucky Bastard.