Making order out of chaos

My friend Jen recently gave birth to a beautiful little girl whom she and her husband named Keagan; I’m now an honourary auntie!

I knit Keagan a blanket (my first attempt at anything larger than a dishcloth, and it actually looked pretty decent) and I wrote her a letter. I’d been toying with the idea of posting it and finally decided I would. So here it is, my letter to my lovely little niece:

Dear Keagan,

You’re finally here! We’ve all been waiting what seems like forever for you to come, and now that you’re here we all feel compelled to give you presents (and this will happen with great regularity because people LOVE to spoil cute babies).

My present is in the paper grocery bag along with your parent’s Supernatural CD. I would have wrapped it in something fancier, but Canada Post seems to know when you do things up nicely and then they drop your parcel in a puddle.

Anyway, my gift is a blanket that I knit for you. It’s pretty big considering how small you are. And given the heat wave going on in Ottawa, you probably won’t need it right away, but it will be handy come winter as a lap blanket or car-seat liner.

Here’s the really cool part about this blanket though – it’s not just some boring practical gift like socks or underwear, it’s actually a magical gift.

I know, I wouldn’t believe me either normally, but this really is a magical blanket.

Here are some of the uses I’ve discovered so far:

1. It makes a very comfortable flying carpet. That being said, if you’re off gallivanting in the Himalaya’s, do NOT let any yeti you meet use it. Yetis shed like mad and their hair is really hard to wash out – and this is a very washable flying carpet. Also, if some old guy in Cairo with a red hat and a cane offers you a bag of so-called ‘magic beans’ as trade for the carpet – say no and walk away. He’s a crafty one.
2. A very warm superhero cape. You’ll want to build up to really heroic feats though. Rescue a kitten in a tree a few times first and then maybe move on to rescuing folks in evil secret lairs. Lots of heroes think they can just start out big, but really, it’s like any other job – you start small, learn the ropes and work your way up. You’ll also find this cape great for rescuing people who got trapped in the Alps because they thought it would be fun to re-enact The Sound of Music. Try not to judge them too harshly, they can’t help being that stupid.
3. A small, but cozy, teddy bear fort. You’ll need two sticks and some string too, which I didn’t include because Canada Post won’t let me mail sticks. Something about them being a dirty safety hazard. Absolute rot in my opinion. If any of your bears start making lame excuses about needing to use the blanket to protect them from monsters, give them the blanket anyway; then follow them when they all sneak off to the annual Teddy Bear’s Picnic. You won’t taste better honey or sweets anywhere and the blanket does a fine job of keeping curious ants out of the custard.
4. DO NOT let your parents know about this one! This is secret information I’m about to divulge. Now, this blanket’s most useful magic is its ability to hide things. You’ll discover that hiding stuff under your bed when you’re told to “clean up that pig-pen you call a bedroom” will drive your parents absolutely wild. I could never see the big fuss either, I mean it’s all in one spot and easy to find right? Parents lose their minds over this sort of clear-headed logic

So, when you’re cleaning up, stuff everything under the bed as usual, and then put the blanket over the stuff. The blanket will create the illusion that there is nothing there – it’ll blend itself and all your things right into the floor.

That’s a very handy trick if you like collecting snakes, snails, rocks, cute toads or sticks and other things that destroy vacuum cleaners and make mothers shriek like old tea kettles. Trust me on this, I know.

That’s all I’ve discovered so far about the blanket, let me know if you find any new uses for it!

Welcome to the world little Firefly – I’ll try and visit just as soon as I possibly can.

Love,

Auntie R.

(and Uncle Joe too, though, he was no help at all with the knitting)

Sometimes, I have delusions of grandeur and I convince myself that I am a fabulous baker.

Those chocolate chip cookies I made that were burned on the bottom and runny on the top? Crappy flour, bad recipe and the oven malfunctioned. Hardly my fault.

The birthday cake that had a rock hard centre? Faulty batter courtesy of Duncan Hines, and the worst cake pan in the universe.

Anyway, Joe just started a new job, so I went to the market and bought us something a little extravagant for dinner:  a whole chicken brought up and hand fed by monks, fresh vegetables picked by angels and a box of Betty Crocker angel-food cake mix. With rainbow sprinkles.

How hard could angel food cake be?

As it turns out, not only can I not be trusted with cake mix or baking, but I am capable of making a mess that would terrify even the most hardened Molly Maid crew.

I blame the electric beater I used.

I turned it on and mixed up a rainbow bit batter that would make Martha Stewart envious – but then to clear the beaters, I turned up the beater and splattered batter all over everything ever;

Walls? Check.

The grill, knife block and wall? Check.

My clothes, face and hair? Check.

The counter, floor and oven door? check, checkity, check!

But, the batter that was left over made a very decent cake which I then collapsed by decorating it in very heavy butter cream icing.

However, Joe, the best husband ever, ate my mostly collapsed cake with great enjoyment. In fact, I had only one piece of it (just to be polite to myself) and could often find Joe cutting himself a generous piece and sneaking off with it.

I have no idea what I’ve learned from this except that angel food cake batter in the eye is very fizzy and hurts.

I have finally got up enough courage to start writing what I think may turn out to be a novel (or a really, really long short story – hard to say).

I’m at the 30,000 word mark and I’ve discovered that writing stories makes you a little mental.

On a good day of writing, my 2000 word minimum comes easy as though the words were being dictated by the people in the story and I was just the recording secretary.

I love these days.

The bad days definitely feel like me doing the work. Each word comes as though I were pulling it out of thick mud, or excavating it out of a diamond with nothing but a sharp stick and willpower.

Over the last few days I have abandoned all sense of pride and started arguing with the characters:

Me: C’mon…I can’t write this by myself! I don’t even know what happens!

Them: Why should we do all the work? You showed up late today and completely neglected us last Friday.

Me: But, the kid upstairs used the sprinkler to water my bedroom though the open window. I can’t be held responsible for that little devil spawn’s actions!

Them: Whatever lady – but hey, good luck and stuff.

So, I’ve spent the last few days feeling like I watched most of the finale of the most awesome show that ever was, only to miss the last 15 minutes because the cable cut out.

And worse, my characters are all wandering around with superior smirks on their faces because they know how it ended.

Jerks.