Frustration is thinking everything is going right and realizing it isn't. My aran went to error land this pm. Actually probably did it earlier but i caught it tonight. So it is off the needles and my frustration level is not doing well as i can feel the level rising. Still I plan on staring it over tomorrow. I will get it going. Anyway knitting is another life lesson, you can always pick up and going forward is a possibility in any situation when life is off the needles. Do have my sock to the point it needs to be for Saturday's class, the back of the PERN is done and the other sock is ready for the gusset.

It is Tuesday of spring break and i realized I have to go get my plates for 2013-- another chore for tomorrow. Also Wednesday is the hump day and the break will wind down. Monday we start over in school and have four weeks to polish off the year ten four weeks off until college classes start if they make. If they do not fill I will have four months off before I teach again. I may get used to not having anything to do or a set schedule. A taste of coming full retirement and I am sure It is near maybe one year; maybe 2.

Easter is a season of new beginnings-- a new start granted to us by one man's willingness to give His life for all of ours.He bore the pain our errors when we went off the pattern and had to reset the stitches of our lives. It was a great gift and I for one am grateful.

Celebrate Waffle Day with a waffle frolic. The waffle is descended from the oublie, a flat cake cooked between two hot plates and stamped with a crucifix, used in the celebration of the Eucharist. Sometime in the 13th century, a craftsman forged the plates in a honeycomb pattern; in Holland, the resulting cake was called a wafel. The word appeared in America in 1744, when a lady wrote to a friend, after a supper party: "I was not a little grieved that so luxurious a feast should have come under the name of a wafel frolic." Thanks Susan Albert Wittig for the new thoughts for today Marc 25-waffle day.

New perspectives? How many times has this phrase been needed in life. I know my life has been made up of new perspective several times. My family moved often so my grade school years were at three schools and high school and college were at two. I have taught in three states, studied in Arkansas and England, married, motherhood and divorce. Each one caused me to shift focus and priorities and step forward into the unknown. Scary yes but the treasures found along the way were immense. Tree daughters who with their families are the core of my life though we do not live in each other's pocket. Memories of events that can still warm the inner spirit and learning that no one can take away. My life is richer because of the step off from the comfort and known into a new perspective.

I used to worry and fret when a new slant on life presented itself. I do less of that now. About 1992 driving back from Nebraska and a visit to my mother who never once called me by my name( I was Sara, my daughter or Anna Mae, her sister,) I hit a snowstorm that matched the the storm of tears in my eyes. Then suddenly the ditches were full of deer-- the white tailed variety that see cars as hurdles to be jumped. Then the God moment came and I said OK you have me here God. You are in charge. since that day I have not fretted over what ifs in life. Yes I worry but I do not stress and fret about the facts that I cannot change. He is in charge and I follow doing what I can and then letting go so He can.

Snow last night; sun today. Moisture for the dry earth of my chosen state. not much here but western Kansas and the Nebraska border lands had a real downfall.So once again He shows us that he can care, but I fear the summer heat which mimics the heat of his wrath.Yet his plans for us are always good if not easy to understand or endure.

The vikings on the history channel has an avid viewer in me and also the Bible. What interests me is the Christianity of the latter side by side with the brutality and paganism of the former. A contrast to be sure and both are great viewing. The Bible retells familiar tales and well enacted but somehow lacks the passion and presentation of the Vikings. Perhaps the Vikings attracts me as it is a rendition of the era that rings true and one that is unknown to us. The Bible also rings true do not misread me but at times, it seems serene and calm. Not a bad thing but the bloody swords of the Vikings clashing is more energetic. Cecil De Mille's epics may not have been accurate to text but they exuded passion and drama. One felt part of the tale, and in this new rendering that power to feel part of it is for me anyway lacking.

So I need to get to the needles and work on something. Much of it has to wait until Tuesday when I will steek and spend most of t day in the shop getting ufo's in line to finish,and some rows on the aran. Tomorrow te shop is closed so house and papers are the target. Will also get some naps in and some writing other tan this.

Writing now there's an item. Today on CBS' Sunday morning they had a segment on a 71 year old erotic romance write. she plans her scenes with the use of barbie dolls to see if what she writes is possible. Hmmm! Her publisher and she insist te story is more important than the sex but the samples she read put much emphasis on the words. Porn or erotic romances what is the difference? Should I try this genre? After all according to the report several writers earn a million or more a year. Not to brag I think I could do as well as 50 shades in the writing as being an English prof I should have better style but do I want to be remembered for that?

Dogs are settled. time to check email and work on some other writings.

Ok I should have gone to the grocery store yesterday. The cupboard here is a mother hubbard clone at the moment Now it is colder and some spotty precip going on. Really, I had a good excuse---dog groomer and her van were due at the house. So now I have clean but hungry dogs. Cheerios and yogurt for them and coffee for me.

Actually her visit and nice weather combined so I got the car dejunked. Funny how it can fill with yarn, sweaters and various other items. somewhat spiffier now. Just hope I did not toss something I will need later. Tat is so easy to do. But until that OMG moment happens te car is nicer than it has been. Also used the shark steam mop for the first time. Floors look good and it was just a quick try out run and i know bugs are killed. Am sure this will be a once a week routine.

Spring break has begun and it can snow if it wants to but hope it holds off the heavy stuff until after mass on Sunday as I lector at early mass. Nothing much planned but a lot of reading, knitting, and just quiet no rush living. I am so greateful tat the juco and the high school have break at the same time. It is a God thing in my life.

D2's orange, teal and black beanie is n the mail. Tuesday i steek the fair isle sweater and voila a cardigan! ave entrelac to get back too and socks to finish. Yes socks actually have 2 on the needles so I may finish a pair in this week. Teacher Marlo will be happy and I will be amazed. Big knit project this week is my Multicabled Aran sweater. Have nine ropws done and want to get more done so I can see it bloom. It is a Starmore pattern. I love her stuff and norah guaghan"s. I hope to take a Beth Reisel-Brown gurnsey workshop but I have her dvd if I can not get it done. Tat is my next pattern to attempt for the challenge of it. About to cast on a sweater for a baby due in July.

So now to venture out to get supplies in case it is a bad one. The dogs are sleeping so I will let them lie.(snicker here). Later.

Last day of classes before Spring Break. Notice the capitals. I am as ready as the students for the ease of no tests, no classes, and idle time. Our seniors are doing Senior Presentations and the smarter ones to my mind have scheduled theirs for before the break. But most are going after the break and I hear both staff and students bemoaning the unfinished but required research for the project. Procrastination is never good--- and judging is basically faculty this year. That means no little old ladies to be impressed by cute decorations or the fact the student is related to their bingo pal so the judging may be a little harder. Some have only 1 judge listed. If I were a senior,I would hope beyond all limits that i had 2 judges to balance the outcome. This is new this year and we will see out it goes.

The weathermen are all over the map---slight flurries today, big dump over the weekend or vice-versa. Whatever is sent we need the moisture and i have no have to night driving this week so it can come. I am to lector at 8:00 AM mass Sunday, so my hope is our moisture gift is fairly light. Moisture is a gift in Kansas lately. recently we have had snow and rain but the drought is not broken yet. Therefore wetness is welcome in any form.

Tuesday I will finally steek my fair isle sweater which means I will cut my knitting to make the tube into a cardigan. It works. I have even cut stitches in a good friend's steek but I still get chills when I realize it is my sweater's turn. Steeking is like life it has to be done to make the sweater useable but it causes fear just as in life stepping into the new can cause fear. Once done the steek creates more beauty and in life taking that step can make all the difference.

My life has been "steeked "several times. Mother hood was a big step and it is still steeking as each new level of the relationship is revealed. Divorce was more of a rip than a steek but the aftermath has left me stronger and need I say happier. Teaching is also like motherhood a constant process so the steeking of living goes on.

There are other knitting terms that can be metaphors for life. Binding off for ending eras or relationships. casting on for new relationships etc but one that speaks to me is trust the pattern.Make that trust HIM because He works in wonderful ways just as all the twists and turns of an Aran cable pattern creates beauty in a sweater do not
always seem to work in the first repeats. The result if you trust will create something worthwhile.

So here I am after an absence of weeks. I so need to be here. writing and knitting are my release valves and I have needed to write.Was it lack of inspiration? No excuse there as my teaching daily inspires me in some way and can equally cause me to question am I doing it correctly. I know that seems a paradox but I do want to do it well. Maybe that is why after all these years I am still challenged and still seeking. I know that teaching the same thing in the same way for years has never been my style. I teach the same material but not same lesson plan.

Spring break is next week from both schools and I am like all my co-workers looking forward to it. No particular plans are made but in the days off I hope to clean the car, house, reorganize my stash and finish at least two "ufo's" now on my needles. Then I am going to write and veg. Hope the emphasis is on the former rather than the latter.

This is brief but I vow to do better. Right now I have to review my plans for French today.

My mother pulled me out of public schools not because of any real principle along religious or moral lines. I could read at third grade level entering kindergarten due to a bout of polio and the public school wanted to place in that grade. Mom said no and called her childhood pal Father Kazmareck and asked to enroll me at St. Teresa’s which across the street from our house. So my life was set for several years, During the school week I did everything my classmates did catechism, mass daily stations of the cross during lent and all the prayers including a daily rosary after lunch. Saturdays I attended the religious instruction at our Lutheran church.

Most of my tenure at ST. T’s was highlighted by Father Kaz. He laughed, giggled and slapped my mother’s butt to get her attention when she was pulling weeds. Why did he do it? To make sure she and only she would pack his lunch for the school picnic. He was a Hawaiian shirted. Khaki pants priest who made life and religion joyful if not very serious. However, all that was to change when his assistant pastor arrived in my sixth grade year.

Father Ritz was an escapee from behind the curtain where practicing your faith could mean death. Perhaps that though we students did not think of it at the time explained the man who was a polar opposite to Kaz. Father Ritz to this day I cannot shorten his title wore cassocks so starched the edges looked like knives, only during mass was the berretta gone from his head. He walked so quietly he was behind you before you knew it. If you were “sinning “ his hand would go to your shoulder and he would march you to the chapel where you and he would sit in silent contemplation of your error. Not one word of displeasure or reprimand just silence until the words “forgive me” issued forth and several Hail Mary’s were assigned. That silence was more forceful than all the laughing, “do not do agains” from Kaz.

Friday confessions were fraught with wonderment. Who was the priest in the booth? As a protestant I sat in the Mary row (yes we had ten Mary’s in my class and we had our own pew) closest to the booth. The Marys expected me to check out the shoes beneath the curtain. Loafers or sandals and they breathed a sigh of relief. If the shoes shone like patent leather and were laced oxfords, they began to reduce the things they would confess.

Ritz was not feared but he was not attainable. Silence surrounded him. Idle conversation was not his style. When he spoke, it mattered. They only time I feared him was the day I asked if Mary had had other children after Jesus. His hand slowly rose with a finger pointing to the door as he quietly said out protestant. Yet to give him his due, he was also the one who hand on my shoulder brought me back into class with a quiet forgive me. An adult who could admit his error, I was stunned.

But the image that still moves me is one again of near silence. Having forgotten my school bag in the chapel I ran across the street after supper to retrieve it. Going down to the chapel, I stopped when I noticed someone praying. Father Ritz knelt in a pew, sunlight streaming on him from the stained glass window. His hands so long lean and strong were moving his wooden rosary beads as tears flowed down his cheeks. I stood for a moment in a silence broken only by the clacking beads and then tiptoed up the stairs. My schoolbag could wait: I was sure I had seen a saint.