Iguazu Falls, Argentina, kco0295
Rosaliene Bacchus (rosalienebacchus.wordpress.com) is one of my favorite Double X Avengers in the blog world. The Double X Avengers are those gifted with the most chromosomes, the most genes, the most sense, cents, and thus the most likely to survive in the future “Survival of the Fittest” paradigm.
In 1995, long before I met Rosaliene in cyberspace, I traveled to Argentina and Chile and took this photo at Iguazu Falls, Argentina. It does not show the violent food poisoning I got at the fancy dancy hotel, probably from unwashed lettuce. Shame on me for eating uncooked food. Should you desire to live among those with Survival Skills Technology, do not eat uncooked food at the Olympics. Take your own food to Iguazu Falls.
Having said that, I offer another “Lesson in Living from the Double X Gene Pool.”
My all-time favorite instrumental, “Moonlight and Magnolias,” reminds me of Savannah. It is cut #12 on this CD.
Here at home, music is cosmic balm for me. I first heard “Moonlight and Magnolias” on a jazz radio station broadcasting from Charleston (that’s the one in South Carolina, for those who don’t know, where the War of Yankee Aggression began).
The 20th century radio station went off the air before I learned the artists’ or CD name. I searched high and low, finally finding it two years later at the “listen-stations” Barnes and Noble used to have but can no longer afford. I ordered the CD. Kinky. “Moonlight and Magnolias” is not typical, and it shows what the group can do.
As you may know, everything is free in the Cosmic Commune, and money doesn’t exist. Therefore, we spend our free time having fun. Having fun includes swimming at Iguazu Falls after we clean up the water, and dancing to good music. These are the two best exercises known, except for the third one, and they are free, as well.
Having said that, I add that when you’re tired of swimming and dancing, you may want to sit down and knit some socks, for fun and profit. The Cosmic Improv Group, deprived of their own opposable thumbs, likes to give me advice on how to do a more efficient job.
Cosmic Improv Group, Chapter 4: “The Knitting Dimension ensnares katharineotto.planetearth.ind in Earth Plane Reality”
By katharineotto.wordpress.com, an alter ego of katharineotto.planetearth.ind, representing unlicenced freedom to be who I am. 080116
The first socks I ever knitted. kco0105
The Cosmic Improv Group helps me knit, in its way. Its unique way, should I choose to see it their way. I’m to “attitude-adjust” as necessary to get what I want.
I finished knitting my first pair of socks, but the CIG–that contingent of advisors who haunt my imagination and worst nightmares–made it as hard as possible. I was counting stitches to decrease, to shape the second toe, trying to figure out what the directions were saying, and having trouble reading the small gray print on the back of the yarn label, when the phone rang, startling me and making me lose count, my place in the directions, and my composure. The caller hung up in the middle of the answering machine message, or so I thought. But the fax machine made noises as if to receive a fax, and then it quit.
I figured it was Capital One trying to fax the bill I never received and requested two days ago. Capital One can’t just send a fax then and there. No. It has to be processed through another office in another city, so I was told the fax would come before 5 p.m. on the following day, which was yesterday. So I was awaiting this fax, which did not come through. My mind runs through a list of worst-case scenarios, primarily that the impatient fax sender lost her job and hung up before recognizing the phone could take faxes. I would have to call again. Maybe the fax was out of paper or malfunctioning. This is the story of my life.
Meanwhile, I hear the Cosmic Improv Group gossiping about me. Fukyoo leads the band. “See how easy she is to provoke?” he quips. “It’s only a fax. Let’s see if we can make her make a mistake on her sock, so that it’s not just like the other one, and she will have to live with the imperfection forever.”
“Okay,” say the others. “That sounds like fun.”
“Oh no you don’t,” I respond in my mind, not mad enough yet to say it out loud. I go back to work. The phone rings and hangs up again at the same place. The fax starts and stops. This happens a third time, and I pick up the phone but only hear fax tones. I hang up. I check the fax for paper, and it seems to be okay. I rail against these angels, who, I decided, have caused my machine to malfunction. I worry that the overworked, underpaid, stressed out sender at Capital One will give up and I’ll have to call again on Monday. I change the fax machine to fax only mode so the answering machine will not pick up.
I hear Fukyoo and the others chittering in the background. “Let’s make her lose her knitting needle. That worked yesterday.”
Yes, it did. I took my finished and unfinished socks to a meeting, but when I got home, my fifth double pointed needle was nowhere to be found. Never mind that I was only using four needles. I had bought five needles, and my sense of order dictated (yes—dictated) that I should be able to account for all five of them. I searched high and low and finally decided it fell out of my bag at the meeting.
I had been losing and finding these needles since starting the socks. Usually they fall in the crack between seat and arm in the recliner, but my cat was sleeping there and I didn’t want to disturb him. I felt around the sides, to no avail. When Bud finally moved, I found the needle in the crack behind him, but by then I had been fifth-needle-less for over two hours. I had gone through a temper tantrum with a good yell or two at the sprites who plague me with their games.
So, I’m still concerned about the fax Friday morning, the toe of my sock is begging to be finished, my feet are cold, and I sit down to refocus on the project.
But I can’t find my fourth needle. Yes, I know I have a fifth needle, but that’s not the point. (Pun. Ha, ha. Get it?)
“Where should we hide her needle this time?” say the sprightly spirits.
“I know. Let’s hide it in her hand. She’s so upset now that she has forgotten how to count to four.”
Yes, the needle was in my hand, but then I couldn’t find the pattern, and when I found that, I was so insecure, that I plodded super attentively though the last few steps. And a perfect sock I have. And the fax finally came through. Twice.
It probably helped that I’d let loose with a belly buster of a temper tantrum at the Fukyoo crowd, at the top of my lungs, somewhere in the middle of this emotional intensity. “No, you can’t make it easy,” I screamed. “You have to make it hard. Why can’t you people get lives of your own so you won’t have to mess with mine? Don’t you have anything better to do?”
“But you’re so much fun,” they say. “We enjoy playing with you.”
“Mere flattery,” I say. “If you think my ego needs sycophants like you, you are wrong-O. If you really want to have a good time, you’ll do things to inspire rather than infuriate me.”
“She’s hearing voices again,” they tell each other. “Voices inside her head.”
“Yes, and she’s talking back to them.”
“You know what that means.” They all look at each other with great concern.
“Maybe we should back off. She might really crack under the pressure.”
“She cracked a long time ago, if you ask me.”
“Don’t tell her that. It will only upset her.”
“Good thing she has no neighbors. If anyone heard her scream the way she does, they would surely have her committed.”
“At least she doesn’t scream or talk to those voices in public.”
“Not yet, but we’re working on it.”
How America looks from Bali, 1996