Lynn's blog

I count myself among the good knitters, and I make so many stupid mistakes now. I chalk it up to the stroke, but I dunno.

Latest: I'm knitting an 1898 cap from the Seaman's Church Institute--free, everyone on Ravelry's knit it, etc etc. This is my first one. I got a skein of Briggs & Little from Maritime Family Fiber as part of a mystery set, which consisted of one skein of worsted in a lovely heather gray...and one skein of a blaring bright orange--"Hunter Orange."

I keep meaning to post an update here on how we're doing, for the three people who might read this. It's been a year--not half as long as I feared. John and I are double-vaccinated, considered fully vaccinated on April 21st; the kids will be vaccinated some time after the 19th.

This is a photo of me, taken the morning of December 5, 2014 in the bedroom of our temporary house. It's the last in a series of self-portraits I took every morning to document my life since a fire took our home three weeks before, and it's the last photo I have of my first 53 years.

Hey dog what up

i said hey dog what up

dog you got ears what up

OH HELLO KITTY I AM BUSY WATCHING MY BOSS

...ok well imma lay down next to you perhaps you will like to pet my butt

NOT NOW KITTY I AM STILL BUSY WATCHING THE BOSS SHE IS EATING SOMETHING

...so you not interested in petting my butt

GO AWAY

I'm sitting here at home, waiting for the all-clear from the novel coronavirus incursion, almost sheltering-in-place but not quite; the mayor and the governor haven't made that call yet. I don't know what's going to happen. If ever I wondered what it felt like when the Great Depression hit, I know now, because we are shearing suddenly down that path.

Friday was the fifth anniversary of the stroke that nearly killed me. I didn’t forget the day, I just ran out of time to write down my thoughts. I am wearing, for a couple of hours a day, a temporary prism on my right eye, an occlusion on my left, and no eye patch; they’ve set me back to where I was three years ago. I’m also using a keyboard, which used to be a part of my body and which hasn’t been touched in some months. Forgive me if I’m even more fragmented than usual.

Here is how it probably went between Stewart Dog, an extremely friendly little guy, and Blackberry Kitty, our very aloof cat:

HI MY NAME IS STEWART I AM A DOG I AM A GOOD DOG HELLO KITTY YOU MUST BE THE ONE THE BOSS CALLS BLACKBERRY OH HELP OH YOU HIT ME HOW COME OH HELP I WILL STAND WAY WAY OVER HERE OH DEAR

dont come anywhere near me unless i say its ok and im not saying anything in fact im pissed as hell wtf

I AM NOT LOOKING AT YOU I AM LOOKING OVER HERE INSTEAD OH DEAR

you damn straight youre not looking at me you damn dog

———————-

I've had difficulty walking since the stroke, unsurprisingly. (My gods, I'm happy to be walking at all.) When I walk, I walk lower to the ground on my right; it gives me a sort of rolling gait. It's bothered me for some time, but its cause seemed to be inherent to the stroke.

I was walking back from the credit union this morning when I made a realization: it's not that my leg is shorter, my hip is lower.

It's been three and a half years since the stroke. In that time, I have gone from lying prone unable even to pee by myself, to a wheelchair, to dragging myself along with a walker, to a four-pronged cane, finally to a single cane.

HI MY NAME IS OLAF I AM A DOG I WANT TO SIT ON THE LAP OF MY BOSS HOW DO I DO THAT

HI MY NAME IS STEWART I AM A DOG I AM A GOOD DOG I SIT ON THE LAP OF MY BOSS ALL THE TIME I DO NOT SIT ANYWHERE ELSE I GUESS WHERE DO YOU SIT I CANNOT IMAGINE SITTING ANYWHERE ELSE BUT THEN THE BOSS SAYS I DO NOT HAVE A GOOD IMAGINATION I DO NOT KNOW WHAT AN IMAGINATION IS OH WELL ANYWAY