Last Saturday my mom arrived home from work around 2 a.m. She had just finished a long shift at the restaurant, probably had a couple glasses of wine as usual and had a late evening chat with some of her employees.

When she got home she thought she might have left her reservation sheet that she would need for the next morning, back at the office. She pulled our geared car back out of the garage but then decided to check the kitchen first before she headed back to the restaurant. She put the car in neutral and as she jumped out and headed back to the house she realised that the car had started to roll backwards. Instinct (she's like a friggen panther, I tell you) kicked in and she tried to stop the car. Being that the car now had a mind of its own, it knocked her over and successfully ran over her leg. She can no longer make fun of me for doing dumb things like putting the butter into the utensil drawer or how I can never find what I'm looking for even though it's sitting smack dab in front of my face. This one takes the cake.

If that wasn't enough, a few years before I was born she lost control of a bicycle (the brakes failed on her) as she was cruising down a hill and she went straight across the street and over the wall into Harrington Sound where they pulled her and her dangling ankle out of the water. They fixed the ankle but I guess they forgot to check her knee and she's had problems with it for years. About six years ago she got a replacement knee. This was the leg she ran over.

And my poor mother (if you can call her that- she's more like the extreme of clumsy) reminded me of when I was around 10 and I insisted we go on a bike ride rather than the walk she had initially wanted to do. I learned then, that my mother is a clutz of the highest magnitude when we were going up a hill just past my house and she keeled over on her side. Oy. After that I should have never let the woman operate any vehicle. She should've learned her lesson then!

I found out this weekend that my grant aunt, who was slated to die approximately two weeks after being diagnosed with cancer in April, is cancer free. When she was diagnosed she was given two options. She could let the cancer take its course and die without treatment or she could take the rigorous amounts of chemo and radiation but in the end the cancer that was pretty much riddling her body would eventually kill her anyway. Her prospects were grim.

As a person afraid of pills and hospitals and treatments I thought to myself when I heard her options that I would personally just let the cancer run its course and die without the medical fight. If I was told that my prospects weren't much better with all those chemicals running through my body I probably would have given up. But I guess my aunt had hope. Or something.

Last week I was asked by a friend why I don't believe in prayer.

"I think there are more proactive, logical things that can be done than asking for help from something we don't know is really there for a miracle," I said.

But while some people might hear about a family member being rid of cancer and turn around and thank a god for their miracle I still can't wrap my brain around that concept. I haven't asked a god for a favour since I was probably 12 and prayed that some boy would like me and send me flowers on Valentine's Day every night before I went to bed. That's what the Catholic church does to you.

I also can't begin to explain, understand, thank a god (or gods or whatever is out there) for sparing my aunt's life when that same being, feeling, long-haired man took two of my grandfathers (my dad's father died a month after I was born but my mother's stepfather, whom I was very close too, died 2 1/2 years ago) in that same cold, heartless cancer way.

I will praise her for fighting and she- the one who fought and wouldn't let cancer take her life- will be an inspiration. Not something I can't even put my finger on. It's not to say that my grandfathers didn't fight (maybe it does say that the women in my family are very strong) it's just that every challenge is approached differently by us humans. And I will accept that people die- good and bad- and that is enough explanation for me.

So I've done it. After 2 1/2 years of lousy pay, crappy benefits and lax rules I'm finally leaving my first real office job.

It's definitely one of those bitter sweet deals because things were going well in terms of our new team but even though I wasn't specifically looking to leave something came along that was way too good to refuse. It's not a job I would ever have thought I'd be doing but it's something that I'd dreamed of being a part of. You know it wasn't like that unreachable dream of one day being a star on Broadway but more of one of those "I can do that I just don't have the experience" type jobs.

But even though I have no experience there are some obvious drawbacks but there is so much potential for growth that I would never be able to get where I am at my job now. In two years, I will still be just a writer. In ten years, I will still be just a writer. With this new job, I could potentially be a planner if I can prove myself. In ten years, I could be a business owner. That sounds sweet.

The drawbacks, of course there are cons- it can never be perfect, are that I'll be working part time until I can show what I got (which is a whole lotta sass. Ha!). Now, in this not so perfect world I have been offered the perfect solution to being a part time employee- my current job has offered me my job on a part-time basis (project based because it's sad to think that all this time my job could have just been on a part time basis). Remember what I said in the beginning about this place being all-around crappy? I take it back on account of this. There are some really great parts about it. Like being able to resign and still be offered work. I love it.

But in the mean time (you can't rely on these people) I applied for a sales position and I have an interview next Thursday. Sales has always been one of those things that always seemed mind numbingly boring (I got stuck selling fabric as a 13-year-old to make money for my summer trips to Disney World. I. sold. fabric. That was it.) But I've always felt this desire to open up my own shop and sell jewelry, and now, of course, all my fancy crocheted things! So it would be a smart move to see the workings of keeping a shop (this store sells the cutest gifts and they also have a paper store.)

With that all said and done and assuming I am offered a part time sales position at the shop, I believe I can do all three (She-ra had sass and the power to do anything she put her mind to, OK, I'm just taking after my mentor). But I'm nervous that, as usual, my current job will suck the life out of me asking me to do everything until I'm at the brink of insanity when it is my future part time job (the one where eventually I will be screaming "show me the money"!) that I HAVE to focus on. At least if I took the option of mind-numbingly-boring-sales job I wouldn't be expected of so much. Or I could just have no life and do all three like the greedy side of me (and my bank account) is telling me to.


Was she ready for another thrilling episode?

I'm learning how to crochet. He he he.


This is so me in that totally awesome Mary Cassatt vibe sort of way.

And like everything I do or have (Gus, jewelry, magazines) I'm already becoming obsessive. I want to crochet everything. For now I'll settle for a scarf and an ugly afghan that I'll probably give NTF and make him keep on his bed. Even if it's horrid.

Unfortunately, living on a small Island it's hard to get any decent supplies- there's the basic craft store that recently downsized and has an OK selection of yarn but nothing special. And I totally want this metallic, pink hook that this lady was using in class on Saturday. So, when we go to NYC Miss Nobody I will be dragging your ass into the funkiest craft store I can find. Seeing as you're learning how to sew and you've been pining over that handmade journal, I doubt I'll hear too many complaints (as long as it doesn't take away from our shoe shopping, of course!)

But eventually, one day I want to open one of those awesome craft stores, like this one outside of Boston, where you can take classes, buy the coolest supplies and poke through a gallery of handmade crafts in a cozy spot similar to your own funky living room. It'll be fabulous. So, so fabulous. Ahhh... dreams.

I'm not a huge fan of cats but, man, this cat's face is priceless. He's definitely one of those no-nonsense kinda guys that, if I didn't have a dog, I totally would love to bring home. But considering Gus whimpers incessantly whenever he's faced with a cat (such a pussy!) it probably wouldn't be such a good idea (plus, my mother would kill me). But this guy's just chillin' at the SPCA watchin' The Lion King so even though his life looks pretty good he'd probably love a new friend :-)

I know what the title of this post should be (your freakin' crazy comes to mind) but I just can't help myself when it comes to my dog. So, I've left it blank until I can figure something catchy.

Now, in all his full glory, Gus has his own spot on Dogster (I know he was jealous that I was getting all the attention with my own blog and plus he's just SO. DARN. CUTE.)

Hopefully he'll make a few Dogster friends and now he'll have his own forum to pine over food and how he doesn't get to take enough car rides. For any dog-crazy fool (a-ha, I've got it) this is our mecca. Enjoy!

Ed. note: At least I don't dress my dog. Ok. Well, there was that time he did resemble a reindeer at Christmas but it's not like he has a Rock Star sweatshirt or anything.