Seriously, there's the beginning of the school year, typically Labor Day. That's the time your mom takes you shopping and you get new clothes that will make you suddenly cooler and prettier and less likely to be left eating your lunch alone at that table in the corner of the lunchroom (maybe it would help if your lunch was cooler ... hmmmm), and new notebooks and writing implements that will make your grades better. I'm guessing now it also involves a new cover for your I-Phone and maybe an indigo-blue streak in your hair, but other than that I'll bet not too much has changed.
And then there's New Year's, when we all make resolutions that we don't keep.... at least I don't. I read in yesterday's paper that some insanely low percentage of people actually keep their resolutions, something like 5 percent for men and 4 for women measured over a six-month period, so at least I don't feel quite so guilty. Let's face it ... I don't feel guilty at all. Because I'm a process person, not a product person ... it's all about the resolution-making process!
But to get ready for it ... there are supplies. And those have changed over the years.
A new calendar definitely, and not those free ones that come from the charities you made the mistake of supporting last year. Let's face it, there are only so many pictures of endangered snow leopards that you can look at before you just lose all hope for humanity.
Every year I get some form of new calendar and the format has changed over the years ... first, there was the planner (preferably one of those leather-bound things with lots of indexed sections to catalog all the change areas), then a PDA (I still have two or three old dead Palm Pilots hanging out in my home office waiting for the technology to return), plus, of course, MS Outlook (on the home computer) and its printouts, and most recently, my Blackberry (which ties my personal and my work lives).
I really want ... no, NEED ... a netbook. That way I could carry every thing in my purse. And, while we're at it, I need a bigger purse.
Back in the day, my mother carried around a little spiral-bound notebook with a page for each day labeled in her meticulous handwriting. She was fond of Peacock Blue ink and the completed items were lined through with perfect control--no wavy lines for her. Her internal mental wiring might have been sparking like an electrical storm in Arkansas, but those perfect lists in Palmer script attested to a desire to keep life's tasks under control. My older daughter has inherited the list-making gene, and takes it to newer, higher levels. Over the years, her lists have been a great source of family humor:
- Wake up
- Brush teeth
- Comb hair
- Get dressed
- Make breakfast
- Get kids to school
- .... well, you get the idea.
And, if you're a knitter ... and let's face it, most of us are ... or should be ... there's knitting to keep track of. Because along with those resolutions to save money and lose weight and exercise and get a new job and maybe a new husband, there are important knitting resolutions.
Like, finish all those projects that are hanging out all over your house in various stages of incompletion.
- That lace shawl that you can't find the instructions for and anyway, you probably should have put in a lifeline for exactly this point, but you didn't. And do you even still like it?
- The other six that you started that you really thought you might finish but ... well, you didn't.
- And all those single socks that need a mate. (Why? Just wear shoes and long pants--no one will ever know! Hey, it works for Lucy Neatby ... why not you?)
- And those holiday gifts that you really wanted to make but didn't.
- And the baby gifts for the kids who are even now entering "to do" items in their own Leapfrog computers ("apply for college--get someone to help with the essay") and probably won't ever fit into that darling Baby Surprise Jacket you thought you were going to make for them. And let's face it, their mother would have machine-washed it anyway and it wouldn't even fit the American Girl doll now.
What? You don't have bags hidden everywhere with skeins of yarn that you're really, really, no, really, going to make into something ... very soon?
Liar! I know you do ... but if it makes you feel better to deny, okay.
And how about all those needles? If a knitting anthropologist came into my house in its current state, I'm pretty sure there would be some very direct questions about my mental state. Such as, why did she buy all those needles? How many needles does any one person need? Why are there 4", 5", 7", and 9" DPNs, all in the same sizes (0000, 000, 00, 0, 1, 2)? Did she really need bamboo, rosewood, square needles? Why would anyone keep buying long, long circular needles (mostly in the same sizes just mentioned)? Why are they still in the original packaging?
Books? Beads? Roving? Spindles?
Okay, once you've found them ... now you need to put them somewhere where you can find them. More supplies needed--plastic tubs, no, wooden shelving, no, how about those big bags that your new comforter came in? No new comforter? Buy one to get the bag!
And now to inventory all that stuff. Spreadsheets, Access databases, lists on yellow legal pads ... if you don't make lists you'll never know what you had and you certainly won't be able to find it ever again.
Oh, wait! That's why we have Ravelry, right? Okay, take the photo of the yarn, enter the information from the ballband into the database ... whoops! the ballband is lost ... is that what the dog was eating a minute ago? Oh, well ... use a guesstimate. Then try to remember what it was intended for ... hmmm, does it really matter? Surely you'll be able to find a use for 2600 yards of Cherry Tree Hill lace yarn. And does it matter anyway, since somehow it's tangled into a rat's nest? Is that what the dog was doing when he took the ballband? Why do his whiskers look like Tequila Sunrise laceweight?
Now ... see why we don't keep our resolutions? It's just way too complicated.