The house where the crazy lives

Unless you live a much more sheltered life than probably most folks do, really obviously mentally ill people are easy to recognize. Talking to someone who's not there? Check (although in the age of cellphones, that one's not so recognizable on first glance any more). Dirty, unkempt? Check . . . deinstitutionalization and substance abuse aren't good for everyone. We all know the overt signs. Medicated schizophrenia or manic-depression are harder to catch.

And then there are people who you have to get to know before you really see the crazy. The nice-seeming fellow parents who can't stop talking about their problems, the girlfriend from high school who just keeps dating losers, the guy who has 62,467 model airplanes in his garage.

And then there's me. I look as normal as any parent of active young children might. Well, I think I look sane. Our house, on the other hand, perhaps tells a different story. Not only are there chickens and bees, and children home during school hours, here's what our entry way looks like today:

I see a blue fencing bag, a huge new snake cage (a long snake needs to stretch out), two spinning wheels, bags of snake bedding, two knitted items, a baby carrier, and a pink umbrella with horses on it. Pity those with snake phobias who walk in unsuspecting.

And our bookshelves? Here's Blue Faced Leicester and bobbins for the Babe. How new a spinner am I that I realized very late that there were ones with bigger ends for non-lace spinning?


Some partially-used bobbins:


Here I was thinking that knitting was a hobby that was slowly creeping over my entire house. Spinning seems worse. Plus, if you "spin" the way I do, there are bits and bobs of half-spun mistake wool all over the rug. It looks something like it might if I followed through on my threatened plan to adopt miniature sheep and keep them as house pets. I found this wool-strewing thing out when Things 3 & 4 were rolling around, burrito-style in a fleece blanket this morning. They were festooned.

In my out-of-the house moments, I've been pegging along on the bottom of the green sweater. The green sweater that I'm half-convinced is now way too wide for Thing 1 but I have to finish it. And sooner rather than later. I'm hoping to actually get it done some day. Yes, there is at least one if not more obvious mistakes. I'm going with the prancing pony test on this one, though.


Also, knitting this little lace pattern has me thinking about people who say, "The lace pattern was easy to memorize." Maybe it's not just that I live in Distractionland. Maybe it's that I'm not the kind of person who memorizes numerical things well. Social Security numbers? I know two, and only because they sort of rhyme, for lack of a better word. Phone numbers? A handful, but not the cell phone one that doesn't seem to have a pattern. As I knit this, I remember that the first line has matching K3tog decreases, and that rows 5 and 7 are almost identical, but I don't at all have it memorized. I just recognize it like a familiar face, but the name isn't there.

The words to "Night Fever," though? Got them!

"I got fire in my mind.
I got higher in my walkin.
And I'm glowin' in the dark;
I give you warnin'."

Crazy indeed