A $10 Sunday

Outside the art fair, a little boy, pictured, was selling Garbage Pail Kids magnets his cousin had made, at $2 a pop.

On the way home I spotted a garage sale. And this planter, for $2.

Oh yeah, and the Sunday NYT, $6.

It was $10 happily spent...

Ted Kennedy's Incident

A guy in my comedy class wrote a hilarious sketch about U.S. Senator Ted Kennedy at the gates of Heaven. Without exposing the sketch, which I feel like could easily be on stage, it also included the hard-to-forget tidbit, or "incident" (I love it when politicians do something horrific it's an "incident," whereas with regular folks it's a "crime") about Ted Kennedy leaving the scene of an accident where a young woman, a campaign worker named Mary Jo Kopechne, had drowned in the passenger seat beside him in the Summer of 1969. Kennedy and Mary Jo were returning from a Fourth of July picnic. He was much older than most of the people at the picnic, and married.

The evening before Mary Jo's body was discovered, Kennedy had driven his car off of a bridge on Chappaquiddick Island, Massachusetts. Kennedy managed to escape from the submerged car, and fled the scene. Mary Jo drowned by suffocation. It was determined that she may have survived had the rescue effort been more immediate. Instead, her body was found the following morning by a diver whom was alerted to the submerged car by two amateur fisherman, per Wikipedia.

Truthfully, outside of having read Black Water, a Joyce Carol Oates novel that fictionalizes the 'incident,' and gets inside the head of Mary Jo Kopechne whom tells a first person, stream of consciousness tale as she is drowning, I didn't know much else about Ted Kennedy. In the sketch I learned that he helped usher in the American with Disabilities Act, and various other important pieces of our country's legislation that have helped people of color, people with AIDS, etc.

Still, though, when I think of Ted Kennedy, I think of Black Water. And of how awesome of a writer Joyce Carol Oates is. She has been criticized by some for being too prolific-- as if there is a such a thing!-- (with an exclamatory break in a sentence like that being of JCO's style)-- though I suspect those critics are just jealous. I also suspect Mary Jo's family is thankful to JCO and those whom refuse to let the story of their daughter rest as easily as Ted Kennedy's life, which continued effortlessly minus the speed bump that was Mary Jo Kopechne.

Barack Obama as Chia Pet, Then & Now

Back at the end of March I was dismayed to see a Barack Obama "Determined Pose" Chia Pet for sale at Walgreens, and wrote about it here on GONE, as well as on the WindyCitizen.com

All over the country, other Walgreen's shoppers weren't impressed, either. The doll was removed from Walgreen's shelves, though not before this North Ave. shop owner had purchased one, and began planting Obama's hair.

Here are two photos of Chia Obama, one taking in early April, and one snapped yesterday afternoon while en route to a meeting. Both shots are of the same chia pet, in the same window.

Did the owner decide it wasn't worth watering anymore?? Note: There are other healthy plants in this shop. Why was this one neglected? The hairs on Obama's head kind of look like from a weeping willow tree....

The Cat Colony That Never Transpired

I am so sick of talking about my idiotic, self absorbed, underemployed, whiny life, and the weekly eNewsletter, that it's time to talk about something else. Like my cat.

An embarrassing thing happened, for which I feel much shame. It involves a failed cat colony in my building.

Lest anyone think I'm a crazy cat lady, the colony actually involved expunging my cat to the hallway, kind of like one big Alcatraz, but for cats. For anyone that knows my cat, he's a terror. A simple, furry hug one moment, and an Oh-Gosh-Where-Did-I-Put-That-Neosporin- hunt the next. Sure, he looks adorable, and innocent from all the self absorbed coverage I've given him, but the fact is that Koji cannot be trusted.

Over the years I've more or less kept Koji's bad behavior to myself, lest I face embarrassment, and old as time nurture vs. nature debate. Surely Koji must be the product of years of bad parenting, executed by yours truly? Perhaps I fed him too much, or didn't play with him enough, or provide enough toys, or enough discipline. Perhaps instead of videotaping him when he jumped from couch, to ceiling, I should have been telling him not to engage in dangerous, reckless behavior.

In any case, here I am, the shamed parent of a 10-year-old son with bright brown eyes whom is slamming his body against the office door as I type this. Should I not be responding to his cries, playing yet again with the wand, and magic dangling catnip filled fish? If I were a better parent would I get away from this damn computer, and engage in constructive, informal play with my son, whom has grown up before my eyes, and is now like in the body of an old man, carrying all the bad habits I assisted him in developing like a badge, or an albatross, depending on the day, and his mood?

And so, it was this weariness, and overall sense of defeat from dealing with him myself over the years which led to my seeking out other playmates for Koji. I looked no further than my neighborhs, whom have a small black cat, a perfect play mate of the same species whom I imagine would be a better fit for hanging out with 18-plus hours each day.

In the beginning, things were close to utopian, that thrill of having both had tough past lives in the alleys, fending off rats, and then being carted from shelter, to shelter, and then finally in the hallways of a new building meeting somebody that looked just like you, and could hang out with you almost as if you had both floated in the same sea before birth was pretty intense.
Salem, and Koji, oh did they play! I have many photos of their early days together.

Soon, the visits became more frequent. It was almost as if they each hated their respective apartments so much - and perhaps, their parents-- that they began doing whatever it takes to break out into the hallways- darting through a mother's legs while she is in a hurry to get to her tarot reading job- crying all hours, convincing their parents to send text messages to each other coordinating play dates amid the three busy schedules of an unemployed sales professional, an unemployed recent college graduate and dog walker, and a mostly unemployed student that is perhaps still foolish enough to believe he'll get an awesome job when he graduates.

Maybe it got to the point where I no longer cared how much time my boy spent in the hallway, away from me, and his hearth. Maybe I secretly wanted Koji, and Salem to run away together, and visit perhaps on the Jewish High Holidays, and maybe New Year's Eve. Whatever it was, I admit that as a parent I became distracted, lulled by a combination of other priorities, and an instinctive feeling that my cat was truly happier doing his own thing, and perhaps the day-time cat colony would be a change in the right direction for both of us. A healthy change.

That optimism, and audacity of hope has since faded. It came to my attention from a concerned custodian about a month ago that there had been complaints of cats running loose in the halls. Some unkind words were exchanged, mainly from him, to me, and I scurried away with my boy, saddened and disturbed by other allegations I had heard, very inappropriate, taboo behaviors witnessed by neighbors whom perhaps did not know the story of the cat colony, just that there were two domesticated pets leaving excrement in their hallway.

Ashamed, I have locked Koji away in our home since that day, like a tortured Kaspar Hauser, and not the boy that once looked into his girl neighbor's eyes, and declared that his Papa was a Rodeo, too. I have, however, since seen Salem in the hallway, sometimes giving me a soulful gaze as I walked by, perhaps wanting so desperately to be the lucky person to open my door, and spend the remainder of the evening in Koji's company. Salem may even be wondering if I really deserve Koji's presence in my life. On one instance a few weeks ago I became aware of excrement, and, as Koji had not been in the hall for some time, I assumed it to be hailing from the butt hole of another cat, yet cleaned it up on behalf of the colony. I sent a note to Salem's parents saying I had cleaned up cat shit, and was it theirs? Or mine? Maybe my boy had snuck out? Was it possible?

On August 24th, a good 30 days after Koji had been confined to the apartment, I received this note tucked between my doorknob, and the wall.

To the Tenants at XXX-XXX and XXX-XXX W. XXX Ave.
Please be advised that we have received complaints of cats running loose in the hallway. Additionally the halls have been littered with excrement. This is causing a health and safety issue in the building. You must keep your cats in your apartments at all times. Cats can not be let loose in the hallways.

Thank You,
My landlord whom shall remain anonymous, but is awesome

I sent my landlord a note of apology, and a bit of explanation about the cat colony, though I did not use the word colony, for fear of being perceived of another dimension. Rather, I discussed Koji's past as an outdoor cat, and his desire to play with the neighbor's cat, also formerly from the streets.

Now, I'm off to give my boy some love. In absence of a colony I am going to give him something even better: a Family. And quality family time.

Headlines in the Non News

Chicago Selects Vendor for Privatizing Its Wind

AT&T, Sony, Playstation Rock Out Lollapalooza

Kosher Jews Evade Swine Flu

Chicago 2016 Logo Appears in Local Woman's Discharge

U.S. Government Wants Your 1996 Chevy Celebrity

Kiddieland Slated to Close, Kids too Fat for Rides Anyway

A-Z with Wicker Park's Sidewalk Sale

Truth be told, I have class on Saturday afternoon, and with discretionary spending on lockdown, I might not be able to do much shopping at this weekend's Wicker Park Bucktown Sidewalk Sale, but that won't stop me from trying to help spread the word of the sale. It takes place this Saturday, and Sunday, from 11 am until 6 p.m. Links to the web sites of all of the aforementioned stores can be found in this newsletter, where the A-Z story initially appeared.

Following is an A-Z breakdown of all of the participants, and some photos of either the merchants, and/or their products (see tagged labels at bottom). Please note: Vintage Underground, and Hollywood Cleaners will also be participating in the sale.

If all of these stores were hypothetically programmed into a phone, there'd be a lot of pocket dials to Affordable Furniture (1314 Milw.), which is first on the queue. I met Affordable's owner a few months ago, and recall seeing fun pieces on display, like a child's lampshade shaped like a basketball. American Apparel (1563 N. Milw.) needs no introduction, though it serves as our nation's shiny tights HQ, and place to find comfortable, solid colored clothing, or at least according to the five different shades of black American Apparel shirts a woman that wishes to remain anonymous and writes this newsletter reportedly owns.

Belmont Army (1318 N. Milw.) has a bargain basement that is worth a pop in. Beta Boutique (2016 W. Concord, near Silver Cloud on Damen) has not-so-secret-super sales, but its location is a bit off the beaten path, and for a good reason: if it were easier to find I suspect it would be even more crowded. Bonnie and Clyde's (1751 W. Division) reminds me of another era, and recently held a party with sales up to 60% that will hopefully be extended to the sidewalk racks this weekend, too. The leather purse with the "handgun" embedded in its design, pictured, is from B and C. I think it costs like half my rent, so I shall stalk this purse from afar...

Cat and Mouse (2218 W. Armitage) is the place to find a board game, though you might want to save it for the last stop in case you end up staying a while, and playing it. Clothes Minded (1735 N. Damen) always seems to offer cozy sweaters, jeans that actually fit actual women's bodies, and baubles at the register perfect for tugging at the inner impulse buyer's pocketbook, not like I know by experience, or anything...

Elevenzees (1901 W. Division) got its name from the English custom of elevenses, involving a mid-morning snack with a cup of tea, which was a relaxing, and inspiring time of day for the store owner's father, if I recall correctly from a brief conversation long ago. Eskell (1509 N. Milwaukee) does a great job of mixing vintage, and new fashions, and partnered with Beta Boutique on its sample sale this past weekend. Eskell also carries quirky items like socks with cats on them, such as a pair recently given to me as a gift from a neighbor, and which I am looking forward to wearing on the next cold day, though I hope that day never comes. Wouldn't it be nice if summer lasted forever?

Findables (1643 N. Milw.) is an all around perfect spot for holiday gifts, housewares, eclectic pieces, topsy turvy dolls, vintage items, and much more. Previously written about in Street Scene, Findables will be closing soon, and consolidating some of its bestselling inventory to sister store, StoreB (1472 N. Milw.)

g Boutique (2131 N. Damen) was full of men on a recent pop in, presumably purchasing lingerie for women, something I wasn't aware of happening in real life, but for the sake of g Boutique I'm glad it is occurring in full force on a random Tuesday afternoon. Grasshopper 510 (1944 N. Damen) was featured in Chicago Reader's Boutique of the Week column. Greenheart Shop (1911 W. Division) offers eco-friendly treasures, and unique gifts like a clutch made of bottle tabs. For more photos, go inside Greenheart via Streets of Wicker.

Habit (1951 W. Division) is just a lot of fun to pop in, and out of, and if my memory serves correct there's still a few one-size-fits most colorful dresses on its circular display. One of those said dresses became my sole big ticket splurge of the summer, though the next morning I got a towing ticket for roughly the same amount spent on the dress, which reminded me to be careful with splurging, and parking, though I love the dress, and have received many a compliment on it, so no regrets, and thanks, Habit! Hunny Boutique (2027 N. Damen), Hejfina (1529 N. Milwaukee), and Helen Yi (1645 N. Damen) are mysteries, though I guess that means I need to check them out. For now, though, take a virtual tour of Hunny Boutique.

Joe's Jeans (1715 N. Damen) uses alliteration in its name, and I'm assuming sells jeans. Le Dress (1741 W. Division) recently won a 'Battle of the Boutiques' award. Lenny and Me (1459 N. Milwaukee) also won a 'Best Of' award. p.45 (1643 N. Damen) recenty hosted a spa night, per p.45's Facebook page. There's no doubt that Pour Vous (1750 W. Division) will probably find a way to make the sidewalk outside of its storefront smell good during the al fresco shopping bonanza. Psychobaby (1630 N. Damen) is a magical place for hipster moms, and doting aunts.


Ragstock (1433 N. Milw.) also has a bargain basement, and walls full of merchandise you can stare at for five minutes and still miss seeing at least three things. Spoil Me (1533 N. Milw.) and its owner, Caitin, will offer up deals at the sale in celebration of Spoil Me's recent three year anniversary! Stitch (1723 N. Damen) for some reason was heavily photographed one day when I was early for a meeting at Stitch's neighbor, caffe De Luca, so click here to go inside Stitch via de luca's neighborhood album on Facebook. Threadless Kids (1905 W. Division) and Urban Outfitters (1521 N. Milw.) are also participating in the sale.




vive la femme (2048 N. Damen) recently celebrated its seventh anniversary, and specializes in fuller figured fashions from a variety of designers like Kingley, and Posh, click here for a recent press release. Virtu (2034 N. Damen) carries Letterpress stationary, which I just found out about via its site. Veruca Salt (1921 N. Damen), Wicker Park Fitness (1735 W. Division), and Wow & Zen (1912 N. Damen) are all also participating.

$2 lunch West of Western

Drained from walking around the neighborhood, I flushed the newsletter out of my head, and headed west, to check out a friend's new condo, and to sit on a bench in the park.

Burger King, or a buggy? The choice was clear. I got a mini jibarito for $1.25, along with a $0.75 cent soda, and soon watched the pigeons watch me, as they circled near the bench where I was sitting. I read part of this past Sunday's NYT, and found its magazine's cover story,

"What's a Big City Without a Newspaper?"

interesting. While there's been no shortage of coverage on the death of newspapers, and its future, this story focused on an unlikely cheerleader to keep a Philadelphia daily going: a former PR spin doc with a lot of influence, and passion for the printed word.

An excerpt from writer Michael Sokolove's story is as follows: Journalists still know how to gather news. And the Internet is a step forward in disseminating it. What's broken is the pipeline that sends money back to where the content is created."


I hadn't seen the word pipeline used in that way to describe what's going on, but it makes sense. Pictured is a mini jibarito, and a woman named Jamie, and her friend's puppy, Munchi, whom were ahead of me in line at the buggy.

Town Hall Extremism?

Watching the news at 4 a.m. is never a good idea.

Anti-Obama sentiments, particularly in Montana, the site of the latest Town Hall Meeting, are rather disturbing. An American flag with a swastika where the stars should be, a black reporter expressing that she would have been fearful to have attended the town hall meeting, and many other citizen behaviors serve as a reminder that we haven't come as far as we think that we have.

Though an analogy to Hitler's Beer Hall meetings is most likely an extreme one, there is a grain of truth to it, and an unsettling feeling that comes whenever extremism is on the rise, perhaps felt more acutely by African Americans, and Jews, though maybe I'm just paranoid.

Around the time I had my bat-mitzvah, I became rather unpopular in my Hebrew school ethics class. The "Never Again" catch phrase, referring to the Holocaust, was all the rage, and if I recall correctly, the essay topic was, "Could the Holocaust Happen Again?"

I wrote about how never again is always now, and that history, whether we want to believe it or not, repeats itself in a vicious cycle. To look at the Holocaust as an isolated point in time, one that could have only happened with the Germans, in Germany, is not a good thing to do, because what happened in Germany could technically have happened in any country experiencing an economic crisis, and a people determined to find scapegoats. Antisemitism is as old as time, and while it sucks sometimes to be on the other end of comments from strangers, and acquaintances that smack of it, as happened again recently, I'd not trade my outsider status, or cultural ties, or the traditions I celebrate for anything, even if it means feeling a bit short of breath, and having a hard time getting that black reporter's words, and tone out of my head from the coverage I watched on TV shortly before falling asleep.

The reporter said that as a female, and an African American, she would not have wanted to be in a room of people where someone was tearing up a Rosa Parks poster. I couldn't agree more, and while I hope the Montana town hall meeting was an isolated incident, the skeptic in me wonders what other people in America are feeling right now, the ones that aren't living the big city life. The optimist in me hopes it was just a small group of right wing outsiders showing their true colors in the heart of Montana, and not indicative of a viable movement.

In other news, my boyfriend just surveyed the latest knitted blanket.

"It's not funny," he said.

"It wasn't supposed to be," I replied. "The assignment was to write a realistic scene, even if it's not funny."

"Well, it's definitely real," he assured me.

"Not funny at all?" I asked, somewhat hopefully.

Nope, he said.

I don't know why, but I think that's funny. It was fun to write anyway, regardless, though when I start to lose my sense of humor I know it's time to stop thinking so much, speaking of which, drinks are on the horizon.

the non blogworthy new old purse

Though my boyfriend is into food, he's not into chick flicks, and, as I worked on a neighborhood newsletter most of Sunday, and into Monday, my Monday afternoon was a lot like other people's Sundays, so I went to see Julia & Julie on a whim on Monday when most normal people are working if that makes any sense.

"What was it about?" he asked me in the car yesterday when he came to pick me up at a park about a mile away from an el stop that is five or so el stops past my normal el stop. I had been having one of those days where you want to escape somewhere, or scream, but not really having the strength to do either of those things after an appointment downtown yesterday morning I found myself happily reading a fiction book on the train home, and deciding that one of the things I miss about the commute to a job is reading on the train, I just stayed on the train.

At Irving Park I walked about a mile to a park that I used to jog through about five years ago. It was a park I knew well, because I went there almost every day when I lived in the area. The lifeguard at the Portage Park pool said that I couldn't get in without a bathing suit, even though I was just planning on sitting on a chair, and reading. I ended up on my back on the cement bleachers in front of a deserted softball field. Cement benches are great for the lower back, fyi, and I was holding the book up high with my right arm to block out the sun because I lost my sunglasses. Again. I stayed that way until I ached, and then transferred to the grass, and then my boyfriend called, and all of this was before noon. He said coming to retrieve me reminded him of having a senile grandparent that gets lost, but that it was okay.

Oh yeah, what's it about. Well, I told him that it's about a woman that blogs, and assigns herself a task, to cook a recipe each day from Julia Child's cookbook. She has to have a theme, a purpose to her blog, because, like me, she never finishes anything, either, with the exception of course that Julie Powell did finish the blog, and then it got turned into a book, followed by a movie. The impetus was that she was going to hit 30, and had a lot of uber successful friends, and was stuck in a dead-end job having nothing to do with writing. She also felt like she needed to be published to call herself a writer, which is a feeling I know all to well, though technically I have been published before, but that was a long time ago, and no longer counts.


Anyhow, I guess what I tried to tell him was that the movie was interesting, and inspiring, and the obsessiveness Powell displayed toward blogging, and writing hit a bit too close to home. I then mentioned that my new old purse, a birthday gift from my brother, sister-in-law, and niece should be coming any day now. Last year my mother got me a Blue Q purse from a trade show for my birthday, and because unlike most women I am too lazy to have more than one purse--- it's the transferring of stuff from purse to purse when I lose stuff, better to never transfer-- I wore out my no longer shiny butterfly purse. It is so tattered now that it's an embarrassment, yet I've been too lazy to change to a new purse.

Now, I have a new purse, and it looks just like the old purse did when it was new.

I told him that maybe I'd post a blog with photos of the old purse, and the new purse. A virtual record of my love for the purse. You batter, and use, and wear out the ones- and things- you love most, no? In an ideal world, you don't. In the real world, sometimes you do.

So here they are... old battered purse, and new shiny purse, both bearing butterflies, both from Blue Q.

"Is it blogworthy?" he had asked me in reference to the two purses. "No," I had replied. "It isn't, but I'll probably do it anyway."

Death of Drivable Cars, and of News, Too

Is there any irony in the fact that the Chicago Tribune's newly redesigned Web site, unveiled today, made it difficult to find an online version of a story, not just any story, but instead a poignantly written cover feature about perfectly good, well built, still drivable vehicles being sentenced to death, a casualty of the government's immensely popular "Cash for Clunkers" program, offering a $4500 voucher toward the purchase of a newer, more fuel efficient vehicle provided that the clunker, and its emissions, will never drive again, or, in other words smashed, rendered to scrap.

A boon for pollution activists? Or new car manufacturer lobbyists? It was another side of the Cash for Clunkers program that I was not aware of, as I had only heard about it from my mother. She'd heard the ads on the radio, and was urging me to check it out. As I sometimes do, I went to the Trib site, the newspaper in my hand, and intended to link the Trib story to my Facebook page to hopefully prompt some discussion on the story among virtual acquaintances.

The top stories on the newly redesigned page involved a Chicago Blackhawk arrested for robbery, and assaulting a cab driver, an update on a dog fight, and a bunch of other stuff that was not on the front page of today's paper. I had to scroll a bit, and keep my eyes fixated on the busily designed screen to find the online version of writer Robert Channick's story.

Is news dying, too, just like the well built automobile cars of yesterday, its fate in the hands of younger, more-efficient-or willing- to- give-it-up -for-free writers? Or, does one just have to look a bit harder to find the kind of news they are used to reading, and expect from their city's top newspaper? It's also possible that the new design ranks stories by their popularity, and amount of clicks, which can be a dangerous thing when all the top pages are full of gossip.

It looks like I'm not alone in not being a fan of the new site. I clicked on "provide feedback," which should have just had a slew of comments like a story normally does. The extra click took me to a second screen that looked like a mommy blogger forum, with threads, and filed comments, which again required MORE clicking just to view the comments. Any site designer knows, the more clicks, the less likely a person will keep clicking. Did they construct the feedback portion of their site with that design tenant in mind??? It's a good thing that some people decided to put clear indicators of disapproval on their subject headers, using language like, "IF IT'S NOT BROKE, DON'T FIX IT."

In more irony, when I clicked on feedback, the url actually changed to an entirely different one: http://getsatisfaction.com/chicago_tribune

Get satisfaction? Maybe it's the heat, or the blisters on my foot, or other situations, but at least newspaper wise, I am confidant in saying I can't get no satisfaction online-- just yet. Now, off to read the newspaper version of the Tribune, which is so much different than the version I just linked. Why do I have a feeling one of these versions is playing for keeps, and it's not the one I care about?

Painful Lives of Knitters

So, I've been taking this knitting class for about eight months. Each week, we gather, knit together carefully, and sloppily woven projects, try them on, ooh ahh at each other's craftiness, take out some stitches, put in others, and overall, truth be told, it's a blast. I love knitting, always have. It's cheaper to knit than to go to a therapist, and you can learn a lot about yourself when you're knitting, and while in the company of other knitters.

Two gatherings ago, my wallet disappeared. It was inside my purse, which was unattended during a knitting circle break. The purse was resting on a couch by its lonesome, in a room of approx. eight knitters, half of which are unemployed, or underemployed. Due to its therapeutic powers, knitting attracts people in tough situations, both emotionally, and financially. People that need to knit...

It's possible I randomly dropped my wallet en route from a store where I purchased water at shortly before the circle began, or I somehow dropped it while pulling out my camera to take a picture of an exotic looking bird near the bus stop on the way home from the knitting circle. That is what I hope happened, and what I have convinced myself happened. I'd rather have lost a wallet via space cadet powers than harbor a seed of doubt toward fellow knitters.

So, I'd flushed the events of last month out of my mind. I'd canceled my single credit card, lost the lame, laughable single dollar bill that was in my wallet, and the bus card. A trip to the DMV to get a new license went surprisingly well. In terms of loss, I didn't lose much except the trust I had in my fellow knitters, and that is what I am mourning far more than the loss itself.

Yesterday I went to the knitting circle with a new attitude. Peace! Love! Forget about it! Unlike the final circle of the last term, where a few of the knitters had been absent, I smiled at them, back in gear, knitting needles ready for action. Frankly, it was good to see them, and all the other knitters, too. Like I said, I love knitting, and knitters.

The assignment was to knit about turning points in your life when you knew you would never be the same, and then to make a quilt out of them. As we went around the room sharing our turning points, most rooted in deep pain as turning points often are, without going into any further details a few of the knitters had had arrests in their pasts, some of the felony sort. A drunken altercation with a federal marshal on a plane, a drug arrest from being framed by the girlfriend of a friend, a marriage brokered to keep a lover, and an immigrant here in the country, a lawsuit from a dogsitting accident, and a bunch of other stuff that resurrected that seed of doubt I had buried, determined to not think about ever again.

I am looking forward to the blankets that these knitters will create based on their turning points, as I'm sure they will be outstanding, and powerful. Tough life experiences have a way of creating beautiful works of art, I'm convinced of that. Knitters are very talented, yet perhaps very tortured, too. Now that I've knitted about this experience, I am actually feeling better, and can finally put it to rest. The seed of doubt is dead.