The Diaries of a Fat Chick

I love to knit.  When I was 16 the mumsi entity taught me how to knit a sweater during an unexpected teachers strike that lasted two weeks.  I knitted off and on after that but my love for it really wasn’t rekindled until a few years ago.  Since then I’ve collected yarn like an overzealous squirrel collects nuts.   And I’m no yarn snob that’s for sure.  I’ll buy any type of yarn that strikes my fancy and I had a large collection of yarn from second hand stores and thrift shops.   I know a lot of people who like to knit or crochet only when the weather turns cooler and while I’ll admit that my penchant for knitting grows stronger in the winter months I’ve also been known to start an afghan in the middle of July when it’s 37 degrees outside.

I’ll try my hand at knitting just about anything and am not afraid to tackle something I have no idea how to do.  Afterall I have you, dear internets, to guide me along if I can’t figure out a stitch and if that fails, I also have mum.  Ask her about the time she, while at work, taught me over the phone how to cast on with nothing at her disposal but two pens and an elastic band.  The woman is the MacGyver of the knitting world.

I have a weakness for knitting toys and, as such, have a large collection of books and magazines on knitted toys.  Most of these books I acquired at local second hand book stores and I’m especially fond of the ones that have the previous owners notes and comments written in to them.  I’m fascinated by the thought of someone else, years before, sitting down with two metal sticks and a ball of yarn and creating the exact toy I’m about to attempt. 

Earlier this year when mumsi was visiting, she helped me sort through my vast collection of yarn and while it hurt me deeply to do it we did box up a bunch of yarn that I thought I would probably never use and donated it to a thrift store.  I vowed to not buy any more yarn until I had used up the yarn I already have.  I should have known better really.  I can’t resist yarn and when it’s yarn that’s on sale… forget about it. 

A few weeks ago I was visiting Zellers and found myself (purely by accident) wandering into the yarn section.  I stumbled upon yarn that I have often drooled over, but at a tag price of $4.97 for a 50 gram ball, was never willing to actually buy on my current budget.  Imagine my surprise when I discovered it was on sale for a mere $1.99 per ball.  I sprinted off to grab a basket and loaded it up.  The Bernat Haven yarn is described as a “luxurious alpaca blend” perfect for knitting scarves or afghans.  It consists of 59% acrylic, 22% cotton, 16% alpaca and 3% nylon.  And let me tell you, that 16% alpaca makes it sinfully soft.

I purchased 14 balls of yarn for a mere $30 in two wonderful shades called “Shamrock” and “Blue Haven”. 

Later that evening I decided a scarf was in order and began my latest creation.  It’s a simple pattern, 30 stitches cast on to US size 7 needles with nothing more to it than knitting on one side and pearling on the other but the simpleness of the pattern makes it wonderfully soothing and a breeze to work on when watching tv or having coffee with a friend.

For any of you looking to take up a hobby, I urge you to give knitting a try.  It doesn’t have to be fancy, start with something simple like a scarf, you’d be surprised at how comforting and soothing it can be to create something out of a simple ball of yarn.

That is, of course, if you can wrestle your knitting needles away from the man who tries to relive his childhood dream of being a rock star by playing air drums with said knitting needles whenever you put them down.

 

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I was a slow bloomer when it came to driving.  I didn’t even get my drivers license until I was 19 and even then I only did it because I was embarrassed that I didn’t have a license yet.  I loathed driving; in fact it scared the hell out of me to drive.  The mumsi entity drives a standard so that’s what I learned on (next time you see her ask her about the time I almost backed into a ditch and the time I was parking and hit a police car…good times people, good times…).  But I will confess that when it came time to take drivers education and my road test I did it on an automatic.  I was so scared of driving I could barely concentrate on steering let alone trying to shift. I had to take the road test twice.  But before you mock me, consider my grandmother who spectacularly failed the road test at least 11 times before finally passing.  When my brother and I were little, I can still remember clearly the conversations we had with our mum:

Mumsi:  You get to visit with Grandma today.

George and Kelly:  Yay!

Mumsi:  She’s going to be here in a few minutes.

George and Kelly:  Yay!

Mumsi:  Now what have I told you about driving with Grandma?

George and Kelly:  Always wear your seatbelt!

Mumsi:  Exactly.  And what will happen if I find out you were in the car with Grandma and didn’t wear your seatbelt, even for one tiny minute?

George and Kelly:  You’ll tan our asses!!

Mumsi:  That’s my good kids.

Wearing your seatbelt probably seems like a no brainer to you “young ‘un’s” (Good heavens, I just used the word “young ‘un’s”) out there but back when I was little I can still remember lying in the back of our station wagon colouring while the folks were driving.  Seatbelts weren’t necessarily a given back then kids.  And who out there can remember riding in the back of your best friend’s father’s truck while he drove 60 km down the highway?  Just sitting on the side of the truck, the wind whistling through your hair, bugs smashing against your teeth, the occasional tree branch whipping you across the face?  Also, there was that time your best friend’s dad turned a corner too sharply and your best friend fell out of the truck and landed on the side of the road.  Man did Tina get mad.  She rarely got angry with her dad, she’s a daddy’s girl through and through, but boy howdy was she mad that day.  She jumped up and went stomping into the house, screaming and hollering at her mom about how he did it on purpose while her dad trailed after her protesting his innocence. 

But back to the road test.  I failed the first time because as we were leaving the parking lot I went over the curb as I turned on to the street.  I had no idea that was an automatic fail and the guy who was testing me never said a word.  We went merrily on our way, me proving to him that I could safely drive through playground zones without running over small humans and parallel park to the satisfaction of driving instructors every where.  As we pulled back into the parking lot and I shut the car off I was feeling fairly confident.  I had done everything that was required; I hadn’t run anyone over or sped so you can imagine my shock when he told me I had failed.  I made another appointment for the following week and walked home, doing my best not to cry.  I was already terrified of driving and now I had to do the damn test again.

The night before my second test, my mum took me out and I practiced over and over again leaving that parking lot without running over the curb.  My mum assured me that if I could do that in a standard than doing it in an automatic would be a piece of cake.  That morning I met with a different testing guy and, much to my dismay, he led me to the back of the parking lot.  All that damn practicing last night and we left the parking lot from a completely different exit!  Having perfected the parking aspects in my first road test, there was no need to be tested on it again so I drove around the city while the tester gave me random directions and read over my first test results.  I’ll admit to feeling vindicated when he looked at me and said “Why the hell did he fail you in the first place?”

“I ran over the curb when leaving the parking lot at the beginning of the test.” I shrugged as I carefully merged onto the highway.

“Ridiculous.” He muttered under his breath, directing me off the highway and onto a side road. 

Noting the playground zone ahead of me, I slowed down to the appropriate speed until I reached the stop sign.  I stopped, turned right and began to speed up, positive the playground zone had ended.

“Um, this is still a playground zone.” The tester said quietly.

I gave him a stricken look and slowed back down to thirty.  Sure enough, 20 feet later the playground zone ending sign appeared.  Knowing I was doomed (it’s an automatic fail when you speed in a playground zone) I began to drive much less carefully.  At this point I just wanted to get the damn test over and rebook for my third humiliating attempt.  15 minutes later we parked the car and I waited for the bad news. 

“So, you passed.  Congratulations.” The tester said, passing me a piece of paper to sign.

“Really?”  I sputtered.  “But, but…I sped through a playground zone.”

He shrugged, “Yeah, everyone does on that particular one.  It’s a really tricky one; it looks like it’s ended when it hasn’t.”

“So I really passed?” I asked again.

“You really did.”  He laughed.  “You shouldn’t have been failed in the first place.  I wouldn’t have failed you for running over the curb.”

“I love you!” I shouted.

“Okay, well then uh…”

“I want to marry you!” I interrupted, gripping the steering wheel and staring at him fiercely.

“Yeah, um, it was really nice to meet you.  Have a good day.”  He exited from the car quickly while I sat there for a few more minutes, cheeks flushed and eyes bright.  I was victorious!  I had received my license!  I vowed right then and there that I would never drive again.

I kept that vow for quite a few years, living in Calgary I didn’t need a car; public transportation was fast, cheap and reliable.  But then, then I moved to Kelowna where the bus system?  In a word?  Sucked.  I lucked out though in that I had an apartment close to my job so I could walk every day and Ben, bless his little heart, would willingly drive me to places that were too far to walk to.  I went another year or two without driving and was perfectly content.

However, Ben and I were married and it became obvious that sooner or later I would have to start driving.  Ben drove an automatic so I didn’t have to worry about shifting but the actual thought of driving made me sick to my stomach.  Every time I had to drive my hands went cold and clammy, my stomach ached and I worried about it for hours beforehand.

But eventually, as people had been telling me for years, the more I drove the more comfortable I became with it until one day I realized that I actually enjoyed driving.  The scarier parts of driving (merging, turning left across a busy road) no longer worried me and I loved the freedom of hopping into the car and driving wherever I wanted to go.  The thought of being lost no longer frightened me either; after all I could always stop and ask for directions.  Only two things remained that scared the shit out of me.  Driving in the winter and having the car break down while I was driving.  Luckily, we have a reliable vehicle that isn’t going to leave me stranded.    Unfortunately, my fear of winter driving has not lessened and I do everything I can in my power to not drive when it snows.  Have I mentioned how thankful I am to have an understanding husband?    It certainly makes my life easier.

All things being said, I’m a pretty good driver.  I drive cautiously, I don’t really have road rage (more like road temper tantrums and it’s really only a bunch of yelling and cursing) and I obey almost all of the laws of the road.  I say almost because I do have a tiny issue with speeding.  Just tiny really.  A typical conversation between Ben and I while I’m driving:

Ben:  The speed limit’s 50 here honey.

Me:   I can’t drive 50, it makes my foot cramp. 

Ben:  Uh-huh.

Me:  It really does.

Ben:  Uh… you’re speeding again.

Me:  Dude, I told you, I can’t drive 50, my foot cramps. 

Ben:  The speed limit’s 60 here.

Me:  Well…it’s more of a 65 to 70km speed that keeps my foot from cramping.

Ben:  Uh-huh.

Me:  Cork it.

Anyway, over the years Ben has warned me numerous times that I’m going to get a speeding ticket but thanks to a little thing I like to call my “cop radar” I’ve never gotten one. 

A few days ago we were on our way to the vet and I’d like to take this opportunity to point out that we were running late because of Ben.  Everything that happened after this was a direct consequence of Ben taking his own sweet time.  True story people. 

Five minutes before our vet appointment and I was hauling ass over the hill when my spine began to tingle.  “Kelly,” I say to myself, “You need to slow down your cop radar is… oh hello officer, why yes I will pull over as you seem to be indicating you’d like me to do.”

Ben:  Oh nice.  Unbelievable.

Me:  What do you mean unbelievable?  You’ve been telling me for years that I’m going to get a speeding ticket.

Ben: True.

Me:  My only regret is that you’re with me because you’re never going to let me live this down.

Ben:  Oh how very true speedy.

Officer:  Good afternoon ma’am.  Going a little fast weren’t you?

Me:  Yeah….

Officer:  May I have your drivers license and registration please.

Me:  Of course.  Beautiful day isn’t if officer?

Officer:  Uh-huh.  I’ll be right back.

Ben:  Nice try.

Me:  What?

Ben:  You’re going to get a ticket.

Me:  I’m not going to get a ticket.  I have a perfect track record;  he’ll just give me a warning.  You’ll see.

5 minutes later

Me:  I’m so not getting just a warning.

Ben:  Nope.

Officer:  Now, I’ve given you the lowest amount I can but I had to give you a ticket as you were going 22 over the speed limit.

Me:  Okay.

Officer:  The ticket is $138 but if you pay it within a month you get $30 off so it’ll only be $100.

Me thinking:  Do I correct his math or smile and nod?

Me:  Smiles and nods.

Officer:  Have a nice day.

Me:  Thanks officer, you too.

Ben:  I’m going to have so much fun with this.

Me:  Shut up.

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Way back in 2002, Ben gave me a guinea pig as a Valentine’s Day gift.  She was a red eyed, cinnamon coloured little girl who was so tiny she could easily sit in the palm of my hand with room to spare.  I named her Nadia and over the course of a few weeks easily introduced her to my other girl guinea pig, Scruffy.

Despite her initial tiny size it didn’t take long for her to grow into a rather large girl.  And the attitude…have I mentioned her attitude?  Scruffy was laid back and mellow, Nadia was the complete opposite.  She scratched, she bit, she wheeked loudly and shrilly.  My brother nicknamed her the Russian; we simply referred to her as the Red Eyed Devil.  When it was time to go back to their cage after playtime, I could easily corner Scruffy and pick her up, Nadia - we had to chase.  It often involved multiple bodies and a broom as she skilfully dodged and weaved around us.  I can’t even count how many times she bit me in the first few years.  Frankly - I adored her.

Over the years she mellowed out a little.  There was less biting and she was often quite content to just lie on my lap and watch the activity around her.  Six months or so ago she began to drag her back legs and we took her to the vet where she was diagnosed with spinal degeneration and arthritis, as well as a heart problem.  We dosed her twice daily with an anti-inflammatory and pain relief, gave her weekly bum baths to help combat the urine scald that sometimes happened and gave her lots of extra treats and cuddles.

Yesterday morning, as I was getting ready for work, Ben gently carried Nadia’s body to me.  Over the last month she had been steadily slowing down and in the last week her appetite had decreased substantially.  She would still eat but with none of the enthusiasm she had always shown for it.  The night before I brought her out for a cuddle and after holding her for a few minutes, called and made an appointment for her at the vet the next morning.  While she didn’t appear to be suffering I was almost certain that her time was short and I wanted the vet to confirm my fears.

The night before she died, I sat on the bed and held her for over an hour.  We cuddled and I snuggled her.  She was tired and wasn’t interested in moving much, she spent most of the night lying contently on my lap.  But, just before I put her to bed, I reached down to pet her and she bit me.  She hadn’t bitten me in a long time.

I smiled and kissed her and said “That’ll do pig, that’ll do.”

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