So I signed up for a knitting class at my neighborhood knitting emporium (now a Starbucks!). I had done some basic sewing, but had zero skills in the hand-to-eye department, so I was a bit wary about my ability to actually tie a series of knots that would end in anything else but tears.

Did I mention that I was desperate? So I purchased my size 7-gauge needles (good for beginners, makes a medium-weight knit like a Shetland sweater) and a ball of worsted wool (again, like a Shetland sweater and REAL easy to see your mistakes on), sat down and prepared to re-learn my left from my right. Surprisingly, it wasn’t so hard. If you can tie a slip knot, you’re on your way. There are two methods to basic knitting. The one I favored is the traditional two-handed technique, where you use your right hand to pass the yarn over the needle. The other — French! typical! — involves winding the yarn around your finger and passing it over your needle from there. Actually the results are identical; it’s only what feels right to you.

By the end of that summer, I had made a number of swatches. The amazingly easy knit/purl jersey stitch (you’re probably wearing it now — it’s like a basic sweater or t-shirt — one flat side, one bumpier side) was a favorite, but under close supervision I was knitting away at more complicated patterns: cables, seeds, the sky’s the limit. In an ambitious moment, I decided to knit my niece a blanket (still unfinished — whoops) in a freaky and complex pattern.

Tip #1
Make your first project small and accomplishable.
The satisfaction of actually completing something is important for continued interest and success.

Tip #2
Find a shop or source for really interesting wool.
It helps if, after you’ve invested numerous hours and frustration in creating an object, you actually want to wear it. (In NYC, great yarns can be found at the Greenmarkets)

Tip #3
Find a laid back shop or friend to walk you through the beginner steps.
Remember this is a task designed to reduce stress, not exacerbate it.

Scarves are really easy and satisfying. There are also some simple hat patterns that can be done in a day or two. Anything that involves a straight line is possible (big bag? shrug?). Remember last winter when every magazine was showing chunky knit hats, scarves, bags and sweaters? Chunky knits up easy — the bigger the needle and wool, the faster it goes. Relax, listen to the radio and use your time to make something for yourself. Handmade doesn’t mean perfect. That’s the point.

A one-woman demolition team against the stubborn idea that men should just know how to please you, Mama Gena conveys the message that when we start getting all Puritanical and pleasure-avoiding, we are not only not having any fun, we are not fun to be around. And that’s not very sexy. And in Mama Gena’s world, sexy is the basal building block of life, a kind of dynamic DNA that charges all interactions whether romantic or platonic. Sexy, ladies, is fun.

At her School of Womanly Arts in NYC, Mama Gena gives weekly classes in both man training and pleasure fulfillment, an art she considers to be lost. To become a Sister Goddess you must tell men and yourself EXACTLY what you want (meaning you gotta identify it) then ASK FOR WHAT YOU WANT. Get over yourself, just get what you want, never mind how; men are dying to provide it for you and you’re gypping them by being so opaque, Opal.

This is the bedrock wisdom from which Mama Gena spins her theories on pleasure and why it’s not a decadent evil thing, but a natural law in decline…though revivable.

Now Mama Gena has apparently gotten divorced but don’t hold that against her. Ain’t nobody happy if Mama ain’t happy, right?

We set out for Churchill Downs decked out in new frocks and sporting fabulous chapeaux. Of course, arriving at the perfect outfit was not without angst as we were tossing dresses in the air like Joe Namath used to complete passes. It was my daughter’s thirteenth birthday and she brought a friend, so it was us four girls (OK I use the term “girls” loosely as I’m sure we’re considered past that age) off for a day of racing and celebrating.

As my luck (or lack of it) would have it, the weather forecasters were again way off on the day’s temps. More 50ish than 70ish. So we, as women are want to do, sacrificed the creature comforts of a warm coat or sweater for the sake of maintaining our fashion sense. Translation: We froze our asses off because we hadn’t been smart enough to throw a sweater in the car and even if we had we would never have put them on and ruined our “look.”

The Kentucky Oaks really was a scene; full of women in outfits that ranged from the outrageous to the sublime. Sorry men, it just ain’t about you today; it’s all about the women’s hats and outfits. No one gives a damn about what kind of suit or blazer the guy’s got on.

We hooted and hollered for our fillies but apparently we did not hoot or holler nearly enough as none of our picks came out on top. But it didn’t matter; it was all about the experience. Even the young ladies with us seemed to soak up the atmosphere and file away future Oaks and Derby fashion do’ss and don’ts.

As Oaks Day drew to its conclusion, we faced our greatest challenge. Earlier we had paid $20 to park in someone’s front yard right next to the track. When we came back to claim the car, we realized to our horror that we were boxed-in ten deep. Strung in front of my car was a steel cable attached to two steel beams that were embedded in concrete and sunk into the ground. It didn’t look promising.

My daughter and her friend resigned themselves to the fact that we were going to be there for awhile; ah, ye of little faith. Ellen and I inspected the cable and determined if we could get a wrench, we could unscrew one end of the cable. This would allow us to drop the cable and drive off free and clear. So here we are in our finery, as we proceed to go up to the “houses” next door (OK, they’re more like shanties but I use the term “house” loosely) and ask the gentlemen (again a term I use loosely) if they have a wrench? We were the block’s entertainment, as at one point we had five guys standing around my car scratching their heads trying to figure out what to do. It was clear we’d have to go to Plan B.

Plan B entailed me ramming the cable with my car, which loosened one of the steel beams from the ground. OK, this is our ticket outta here. Meanwhile, the guy in the Saab behind me has shown up and is whining about how he can’t get out and he doesn’t have any ice to make himself a drink from his well-stocked trunk. Oh poor baby! We realize we can pull this post out of the ground with a little man – or shall I say – woman power. Ellen asks Mr. Saab for some male assistance; his answer: “I’m holding the cable.” Typical. So my daughter, her friend, Ellen and I, mount a huge effort and haul this steel post right out of the ground.

Hallelujah, at last we’re free. And I mean in more ways than one. I had inadvertently given my daughter the best birthday gift; the gift of self-reliance. Today she learned that two determined, clever women are worth more than six big men and a trunk full of booze.

Go ahead, pay the lady.

The movie used to run wall to wall on every tiny channel across cable land. At any time the week before Christmas, I might bump into Uncle Billy freaking out and rushing around looking for the bank deposit; George and Mary panting all over each other on the phone with Sam Wainright; Nick the bartender overreacting to Clarence’s flaming rum punch and tossing “you two pixies” out onto the snow. I took a great deal of comfort knowing that all was progressing as usual in Bedford Falls. No matter how ornery George got: “Why do we have to have all these kids, anyway?!” “Let me really tell you what I think about your wife!” I knew he would still find himself inevitably at the snowy bridge, approaching redemption.

Seldom have the forces of darkness been as gently vanquished in a movie, or so many lives saved through the actions of a single man. George Bailey saves Mr. Gower the pharmacist from a murder rap and alcoholism, as well as the child about to drink the pharmacist’s accidental poison. He saves Uncle Billy from the criminally insane hospital, presumably for being a drunk and bankrupt, Ma Bailey from running a sleazy boardinghouse and possible brothel; Violet from becoming a hooker; Mary from becoming a dried up spinster librarian whose runaway eyebrows somehow grow to ten times their size post high school. Nick is saved from running a joint where “every man here is drinkin’ ta get drunnnk”; and brother Harry is spared so he can save hundreds of others when he rescues “every man on that transport!” Even the town cop Ernie is rendered sweeter just by association with George.

Even better, the dynamic of an entire town, the winning Bedford Falls, is saved from Gomorrohic destruction as the wicked Pottersville. Again and again, George checks the evil capitalist Potter and his minions, sometimes cluelessly, but always effectively. GB makes the perfect Everyman because he’s no crusading do-gooder. He’s usually doing good only accidentally, while trying to achieve something else like his own dreams or selfish ends. The good George does is a by-product he not only doesn’t value, but crankily poo-poos. All he can see is his own life and how he thinks he has failed himself.  That’s the brilliance of this movie and why I keep coming back for more. He’s an honestly humble man.  And he’s real.

How many times have I seen it? At least twenty. Yet each time, against my expectations, I still thrill to see George racing past the old theater which is playing “The Bells of St. Mary’s” (a dance hall in P-ville) – and the snow falling on the town square strung with white Christmas lights. “Hullo, you old Building and Loan!” I cannot wait for him to make it home to Mary and the kids and the IRS examiner and the circle of friends. I can’t wait for the moment where George finally gets it.

It’s a lesson too good not to get over and over again.

This is good.

Problems result when you pay too much attention to these reactions and try to change your behavior. You let people hold referendums on your worth with their opinions, and you hand over your power. It’s called people pleasing and results in midlife crisis and martyrdom.The older you get, the more you see that these judgments are often more about the other person and their particular bugaboos than about you.

Yes, sometimes people will give you the truth about yourself; but often it is distinctly colored by their own issues and less-than-reliable. At best figuring out the objective truth is an imprecise science, which is why you need some healthy detachment.You can’t care.

Exercise

The way to free yourself is to make yourself absurd to others and learn not to care. Guess what? It’s really hard. You must do something that others will judge as uncool. This may be a stretch, but over time your dependence on approval will lessen. Habituation over time brings results.

Try: Singing along with the radio in the car where everyone can see you. Especially at traffic lights. When you get really proficient you can even look over and smile at the next car, while singing. At the next level, roll the windows down and allow that Barry Manilow to float out. Be okay in whatever you do…and nameless people will no longer have your power.(You will.)

The witch is the wise woman, the crone who is good or bad, depending. She is utterly secure so she does not wield her power for effect; everyone knows she has got it, so it mostly stays nicely sheathed.But cross her, and others start diving the hell out of her way. Take a moment to celebrate the inner witch who is already present in your life.

Witchy Everyday Activities

Gardening the sorceress is deeply tied to seasons and plants and herbs. Whenever you are standing out there with a blank look on your face while watering or messing in the dirt you are actually in Your Witch.

Mixing up materials whenever you mix your skin cocktail up, make a cake or add fresh mint to your ice tea, you are bending the laws of the Universe by placing the disparate together in your own personal spell.

Telling the truth when you laugh meanly at someone’s pretensions and drop the social facade of nice girl behavior, you’re in your witch.When someone you don’t like gets their comeuppance, you’re delighted and guffaw loudly. Hello, witch.

Matchmakingany time you’ve ever put two people together on a date, or even just snuck them into the same room, it’s the witch.Soft hearted from time to time, the modern witch’s potions include hosting cocktail parties where their drunken friends can hook up.If you’ve ever assisted with a friend’s profile on a matchmaking service, you’re a witch.