Monthly Archives: March 2013

Pollyanna thinks she should join

Lyda here.

I just found Craftaholics Anonymous courtesy of BlogHer.

Where I saw this pattern for a very cool crocheted lampshape that I had to share with y’all.

which led me to hip2thrift, the blog of the creator of said lampshade and other cute projects, crocheted and otherwise.

BlogHer has a whole section on knitting and crocheting, and another on sewing, as well as just about everything under the sun, including tutorials and links to all sorts of blogs.

And the baking section has a link to Pastry Affair and a recipe for Black Tea Cake among other delicious goodies.


Just thought I’d share with y’all.

I love the Cosmic InnerNetting…


Pollyanna chooses love

Hey Rhode Island!

The Pollyannas agree with Matthew:

Choose love

I don’t know how anyone could say it better than that young man.

But maybe this will help:

batman Family, Family, Family...

Pollyanna and the Dogs of Silliness

Lyda here.

As y’all may remember, I am currently renting a room in a friend’s condo, aka Chez Disney. To say that my friends enjoy all things Disney would be to miss an opportunity to use the word “obsessed.”

Their dog – aka Disney Dog – is a springer spaniel with more enthusiasm than sense. He believes that he is the undisputed ruler, not only of the condo, but also of the sidewalk and street outside. This means that neighbors, cats, and vehicles inspire a vocal concert from Disney Dog.

Disney Dog loves the sound of his own voice. Once he starts barking, he just keeps on for the sheer joy of it. He is completely capable of barking for an hour nonstop. Yes, I timed him. His bark sounds vicious, like he wants to tear someone apart. And his bark is not worse than his bite, as I can testify from personal experience. Just a minor misunderstanding. Or two. Ouch. He really would tear a stranger apart if only we would let him.

His hypervigilance could be comforting when I’m home alone, except for his habit of sleeping in my roommates’ closet where he can’t hear the passing parade. I think he uses the closet as a quiet place to unwind a bit, the dog equivalent of smoking in the boy’s room.

But maybe he has a secret exit. Maybe when I don’t know where he is he’s off being Super Dog, cape flying.

No capes!”  

Disney Dog would not be great in a zombie apocalypse. His frenzied barking would attract zombies. He would attack any potential human allies. He would hurl himself at the first zombie he saw, which would not end well. At best, he might distract the zombies while the humans make a run for it in the opposite direction. He is no Samantha.

Did I mention that I started a Zombie Apocalypse Survival Team at work? I’ve got a nutritionist/first aid expert, a martial-arts black belt/technology expert, and a scrappy fighter/funny chick. So far. It’s important to have people you like on your team, because the post-apocalypse might last a while. And no whiners. You need funny and resourceful people. My plan is that we bug out and meet up with the Sith Master at his dad’s house, where we make a long-term plan based on the situation.

One guy told us he won’t join, because he doesn’t want to live in such a world. Instead he volunteered to be bait while the rest of us escape. And y’all thought I was weird. I think he might change his mind when the time comes, but if not, well, we’ll make sure his sacrifice is not in vain.

Did I mention there’s a TV show called Surviving Zombies? Lots of good tips there.

Did I mention that I digress…?

Now, go read this post  about a more intellectual dog, on The Velvet Cerebellum – which is an awesome blog name and has nothing to do with fabric – and laugh.

* More Wisdom from Edna Mode.

Pollyanna is encouraged

Lyda here.

Exciting – readership is up since I started posting regularly again. And apparently the new trend is to “like” a post instead of commenting.

But y’all know I had to check out some of their blogs. So here is a smattering, for y’all to check out as well.

In no particular order:

Hannah Jane is a writer, artist, and theater student. Her most recent post quotes this poem and speaks lyrically and with longing of Greece. Lovely blog!

When you have swam in the sea
a lake will no longer do;
everyone else was always a pond
but the ocean was always you
Tyler Knott Greggson]

Refined Quotes (or quotily) includes quotes, movie stills, and music clips. Like this one: They Are Night Zombies! 


Tell ’em Pollyanna sent you.

Pollyanna is inspired

Lyda here.

I was reading the blogs in our blogroll – check them out, great blogs every one…

I was over on Mason-Dixon Knitting, and I clicked a link

And fell in love.

Self Portrait, 1959

I had never heard of Vivian Maier .

Now her photographs haunt me.

No one knew about her work until after her death. All this beauty and insight was almost lost forever.

I am definitely entering a photograph in the county fair this year. And I say to all of you:

Please share your gifts with the world. You will never know how much richer someone’s life may become, or what you will inspire in them.

Pollyanna versus the Outsider Syndrome of Doom

Lyda here.

Check out this post by Havi of The Fluent Self:  Clan of the Outsider. She makes an excellent point:  Everyone thinks they are an outsider.

I certainly spent my life thinking I was an outsider. My family was weird. I was weird. Different. Perhaps even… special. Oh, that “s” word!

And I thought my pain was special too.

I thought my pain – emotional, psychological, spiritual – childhood pain, teenage pain, adult pain – every kind of pain – was too different  for others to comprehend. And certainly too vast to ever heal.

That made me feel like an outsider. “They would never understand” kept me from being open, from being honest, from reaching out.

I had a death-grip on my pain, cradling it inside me, too often withdrawing to lick my wounds, too frequently snapping at anyone that came too close like a feral dog.

And then I went to USM. And I learned to think differently about my pain.

I learned to share my pain. Haltingly at first, starting with smaller wounds. Working my way up to the pain that condemned me as weak, horrible, and repellant. Or so I thought.

I learned to listen. Really listen. And I heard the pain of others. And it was not different than mine. Not less than, not more than. Not different.

Their pain inspired not horror, but compassion. Not repulsion, but love. And so did mine.

I learned to forgive myself for judging others. Including forgiving myself for judging them as being unable to love me exactly as I am. Pain and all.

I learned that it was arrogant and selfish to think that my pain was different, or that it could never be healed. To think that others could not feel compassion and love for me. To set myself apart from everyone else.

I learned to forgive myself for judging myself as wounded and as unlovable.

And with forgiveness, came healing.

I learned compassion. Not only for others, but – this took much longer – compassion for myself.

I even learned to love myself.

And y’all know what RuPaul says: “If you can’t love yourself, how the hell you gonna love somebody else?”

Also, y’all remember, don’t be jealous of my boogie!

But I digress…

And in almost-unrelated digressions…

Havi also led me to the Pulp-O-Mizer.

Because everything is better as a pulp fiction cover, right?


Go play, y’all.