The Hard Things In Life

These are “Joe’s Office Socks” by Anna Peck. I’ve been working on them since Christmas, but after my dad died in January I had little motivation to finish them. To be honest I really don’t know why I was making these socks for him. He didn’t like wool, and red was definitely not his favorite color. Maybe I was trying to scare the cancer out of him with scary wooly socks. I’ll torture you if you don’t get better dad! Poor guy, at least he didn’t have to wear them after all. I ended up finishing them anyway, because life goes on after all, and I like to finish things. I didn’t want them to sit around though, so I gave them to our good friend and neighbor Dave. Here’s to you Dave, saving homeless socks from a melancholy lifetime on a shelf as a bad reminder of who they were supposed to go to.

Father’s Day is coming up. I don’t care if you hate him, call the old man up to at least say “Hi”. One day you’ll find yourself saying, “I miss dad because…”


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Retro Reduz Shrug-Done!

Every woman needs a lot of black. Black shoes of course, from high heeled to flat mary-janes. The little black dress is a wardrobe staple, useful for both funerals and hot dates (how convenient). Black tee shirts, career pants, pencil skirts, the list goes on and on. Introducing my little black Retro Redux Shrug, knitted in Cascade 220 wool from the book “Lace Style” by Pam Allen & Co. As you can see, I’m pretty happy to have a finished object, and for myself no less. Thor is helping me to celebrate in the above picture. Farther out it looks like this.

Please forgive the obvious bra strap issues. I’ve had this thing done for weeks and just wanted a darn picture, but I also had a husband who was too busy to take said picture. It was a “wham-bam-thank-you-mam” kind of deal. I didn’t get 20 shots like those top models, just two. Either way, I’m very impressed with it, and will wear it a lot, though probably not in the summer because the wool makes it fairly warm.

On another note, mother’s day is tomorrow. Thank your mom for going to the trouble of having you and keeping you alive, it’s tough. To my mom: I love you very much and hope you find nothing but happiness in the world. Thanks for not killing me or performing a lobotomy on me, even when I deserved it. I love you!

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Polly (Paulie) Opossum

In the interest of maintaining some sort of connection to the world outside of the work/home time loop I call my mother every few days. She always has something funny to say, some interesting event, or even just some sage advice. I called her yesterday, ready for anything, and of course she didn’t let me down.

Me: “How are you mom?”

Mom: “Great! We were getting the pond cleaned when we discovered we had a baby opossum living in the brush near the filter. Mark put out some cat food and trapped it. We named it Polly.”

Me: “Polly?”

Mom: “Yeah, because it can be a boy or girl. You know, Paulie/Polly?”

Me: “Of course…”

Mom: “So then I took it to the bank…” (My mother used to work at the bank).

Me: “Ewww, why?”

Mom: “Well, I wanted to show the girls. Roxy really hates animals so I marched up and plopped it on her desk.”

Me: “Did she scream?”

Mom: “Of course she did. Terry thought it was cute though. Little button eyes and soft fur. It didn’t snarl or anything.”

Me: “I think you are looking for another pet. That thing is going to give you rabies.”

Mom: “No, I made Mark drop it off by the river. But there are more, I think a whole family. I’m just going to tell Mark they keep coming back because he’s feeding them the cat food. It’s his fault. What do you think?”

Honestly, I think she won’t give up until she gives the poor man (my stepdad) a stroke.

I don’t need a opossum, I’ve got this.


Here’s to all creatures, great and small.

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Who the heck cares?

Ok really, I embark upon this whole blogging adventure not really expecting a fraking person to care. Will anyone read this blog? Probably not. Is it a big deal? No, because mainly I write for myself. Let me show you (dear imaginery reader) why.

       It was in the summer time, when the hot sun made the fecund smells of the earth rise, and the crickets composed new melodious harmonies, that I first met the faerie Queen. It had been a generous summer in many ways, and for a traveling musician such as myself, both gold and women were ripe for the plucking. ‘Twas my time of harvest, or so I innocently thought.

Who in the heck wrote this? Couldn’t have been me, my brain feels as mushy as a week old sweet potato. It’s been a year since I graduated with a BA in English. A year since anything of any magnitude has spouted forth from my pen. A year since I have worried about things other than bills and hourly wages. What the heck happened? The pages are all scattered on the html winds and pen drive tornadoes; I have no clue where  most of my writing went. Do I want to give it up for good? I guess not, that’s why I’m here.

Who is Cennyknitnick? Cenny is what my name, Ceinwyn (Ken-when), gets shortened to by in-laws and college roomates. I knit, therefore the middle is obvious. And my married name is Rudnick, though I’m one of those terrible unconventional wives who hasn’t changed her last name yet. (Don’t worry, I’m not a bra burner. That would just be wasteful, and saggy). I just can’t find the court house…honest! In the interest of stimulating those visual learners let me give you a pictoral glimpse into the essence of my life.Hunter in Scarf

Meet my best model, Hunter. Of course most models don’t need chewy toys, but give him a break. Look at how he works those eyes, Tyra would be so proud. He’s wearing the “Here and There Cable Scarf” from Scarf Style, in poison colorway. Heidi, eat your heart out.


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