Knitting with Joy

Hoo-boy.  Dear readers (and erstwhile listeners), it's been a long few months for me.  I apologize for the lack of posts, but the good news is that I'm not dead (Mother Crammer apparently heard this rumor and was already planning what to do with my antique bell collection!).  No, I've just been too depressed to write after what happened.  To make a long story short, I was let go at Jo-Ann Fabrics because my every-other-weekend shift cost the company more in paperwork than my actual "value" to the store (who knew not trusting direct deposit could be a career killer?).  You can bet Ben Franklin will be seeing my knitting dollars from now on.  Unfortunately, without the Jo-Ann discount, my knitting dollars equaled exactly zero (I could call in some favors from my ex-coworker Peg Samuelson to use her discount, but I'll save my knowledge of her genital warts-induced hysterectomy until I really need it).  Anyway, in my search for more money, fate intervened.  My boss, Mrs. Perkins, at Illinois Relay (my full-time job) was in a bind and needed someone to translate Spanish calls for the deaf immediately (apparently Renata was deported the night before).  I had taken French in high school, and knowing how France is a neighbor of Spain, I figured I could pick it up relatively fast (Canadians speak a version of American, right?).  So Mrs. Perkins throws me the headset, and here I go.  The first call turns out to be a telemarketer.  I wracked my little brain but the words weren't coming, so I translated them phonetically ("Ola may yammo hosay" and so forth).  Well, it didn't take Mrs. Perkins long to get wind of this, and it got ugly (not as ugly as the blouses she wears but bad enough).  In the end, I was put on probation and my hours were reduced (good luck calling anyone after 10 p.m., Spanish Hearing-Impaired Nation!).

So I've been soul-searching ever since the day I was fired, July 15 ("Cinco de Mayo" in Spanish--I'm learning!).  For days I was ready to curse the Lord and all of His creation.  Then my future appeared right on the television screen.  It was an ad for Near West Illinois Technical College.  You may recall I had an aborted effort there, but I'm starting the fall semester next week and now I have the right motivation to be a success.  Take that, Mrs. Perkins!

Faithful readers/listeners, please let's forget the "Mary experiment."  I will never let someone else blog in my place again.  I don't know if Mary will be institutionalized, but she should get back to taking whatever medication she was on.

Speaking of medication, it was at the heart of Mother Crammer's bout with "swine flu."  She did not in fact have swine flu, horse flu, cow flu, or whoopty-do of any kind.  Turns out that Mother, back when she was diagnosed with impetigo, received a topical solution from the doctor to relieve any flare-ups (I wasn't there for the appointment because I had to take Uncle Neil to meet with his probation officer).  The solution is a paste that comes in tube form (just like Crest), and Mother, with her weak vision, had been using it to brush her teeth.  I didn't discover this until I was taking care of Mother this last go-round, and she asked me to brush her teeth for her.  Lo and behold, I found the impetigo paste where Mother's Crest should have been ("I thought it tasted funny" is all Mother could say)!

As you can imagine, the impetigo did a number on Mother's insides for several days (I thought we might have to replace the toilet, but Mr. Roto-Rooter came to our rescue).  All is well with Mother now until her next malady.

The good news is that Joy is back.  I look forward to explaining some new knitting techniques to you soon.  Right now though, I just need some Joy time.

Important note to my readers/listeners:  Mary Rountwick will no longer be guest-blogging for me.  Also, her heart is back in her hands where it belongs.

This is Mary writing.  The entry two previous was by my rat-faced brother (he's 12 years old and should know to respect other people's privacy--that's the last time I leave my computer on without password protection).

Mary likes girls, mary li

Halloo, Lollipopcicles!  It's Mary still filling in while Joy is with her mom (nobody anywhere in the world has swine flu any more, Mrs. Crammer--get over yourself).

A week ago, I called for any and all questions from Joy's merry band of listeners/readers.  What a disappointment!  I didn't get one question that wasn't "crupid" (my little abbreviation that combines "crude" and "stupid").  The scent of my unmentionables is not for public knowledge (though if you must know, I use All-Temperature Cheer to make sure they're always fresh).  What a snooze to go through all of those e-mails.  I expected more of you, Quad Cities!

So in the interest of maintaining Joy's dedicated following, I will ask a question myself, one that's been burning in everyone's mind but no one is brave enough to ask (except for me!): Is Mrs. Crammer too involved in Joy's life?

I say "guilty as charged!"  To trade my judge's robe for my lawyer's hat, let me make the case.  When I invited myself over to Joy's apartment for Christmas week, Mrs. Crammer called at least twice a day (and usually only to see what Joy was eating!).  When I gave Joy a framed portrait photograph of myself on Christmas Day, Mrs. Crammer (of course she had to be there) was sure to put it on the top shelf behind a photo of Joy's uncle Paul gutting a deer.  And then on New Year's Eve when I gave Joy a smooch on the cheek at the first stroke of midnight to celebrate the occasion, Mrs. Meddling...I mean, Crammer (naturally she tagged along to Club 563 in Davenport) separated us faster than Miriam Tegels can knit.  Now I know why you're on Xanax, Joy Beulah (medicine cabinets are fair game where I come from)!!!

I for one believe that Joy would be much better off moving away from her mom.  There must be plenty of other places to live--and in peace!  In fact, I have the cutest spare bedroom decorated with all of the rugs, afghans, and cozies I've knitted over the years.  Joy could stay for as long as she wants (or longer).  Come on, all you Joy-sketeers!  Let her know it's time to step out of Mother Crammer's shadow (I'd create an online petition if I only knew how).

That's all for today, unless I think of another reason Mrs. Crammer is ruining Joy's life.  Cheers!

That name sounds so much shorter when I say it to my dog Stinky. 

As you can probably tell, I'm not Joy (she's a cat person).  So sad to say that Joy won't be able to blog at you for a while (Mother Crammer calls! Cut the cord already, Joy!  Just kidding!  Am I?  Of course!); so happy to be guest blogging for her.

My name is Mary Rountwick, and I met Joy at a knitting conference in East Dubuque last year.  We became BFFs immediately (for the Christmas card I sent her--in September!--I customized a stamp that said "Joy to my world" and imprinted it on the envelope--so cute!), so she asked me to blog for her while she's nursing her mom back to health.  I'm officially a blogger!

As your new blogger, I'm introducing a new segment (is that what it's called?  Sounds so Hollywood!) called "Ask Mary."  You, Joy's faithful readers, can send in questions about any topic (except whether I'm available--I am--but this isn't a dating site!). No matter how shameful your actions may be, you can come to Mary.

That's all for now.  Got to get back to work.  Mr. Saltermacher's colostomy bag isn't going to empty itself!

Dear readers/listeners, I was so excited to tell you that you can look forward to an upcoming episode of Knitting with Joy on KQAD (still "The place for rock in the Quad Cities"). My uncle Neil said that his long-in-coming plan to bring a Krispy Kreme to town were looking good (I don't know how--he hasn't had a job in three years; he must really be squirreling away those unemployment checks). He guaranteed he would sponsor my program seeing how anyone who is still awake at 3 am is either looking for "the Kreme" to soak up some booze or is a cop (not sure why that profession was singled out; as a radio professional, I like doughnuts, too).

After a three-day mourning period, I'm ready to talk about Beatrice Arthur, whose untimely death (all of 86 only!) sent the Crammer household (Joy and Purr-l) into a tailspin.  God's probably smiling as another one of the Golden Girls (Bea joins esteemed Estelle Getty; hold on as long as you can, Rue and Betty!) puts Heaven in hysterics (me and Jesus don't give a hooey if Bea's Jewish--she's in).