So.. this weekend I am making cupcakes for Miriam’s old roommate’s wedding. She requested two flavors, orange and boysenberry (also her colors) and is expecting about a hundred guests. This is my biggest baking project to date, and I’m excited to see how it all turns out.

A couple of weeks ago I saw boysenberries at the farmer’s market and planned to go back to get some this weekend to do a batch before the real deal. By the time we got to the market, they were out of boysenberries. And we couldn’t find any in the store, not even frozen. I guess they aren’t that popular – although, popular enough to sell out. So I had to revise my plan but all will work out fine, and photos will come shortly.

Looking for these berries reminded me of my grandparents. I never had the “typical” grandparent people think of; the one who teaches you how to fish or sew, the one who bakes cookies with you and lets you do things your parents won’t. I didn’t meet my mom’s mom until I was 9, and she lived up in Washington. She made us use a port-o-potty because we weren’t allowed in the house, except one afternoon when she wanted all the grandchildren to practice a song we were to sing at her church meeting that week. We had to wear little booties and were only allowed in one room.

My dad’s dad lived 3 blocks from us my entire life, and yet we only saw them a couple times a year. I think Mom would invite them to Mother’s Day and Father’s Day, and Grandparent’s Day of course. But the day I think of most when I think of them is Thanksgiving. Every year we would all go to their house and eat dinner and it was a race to see who would fall asleep first, my dad or grandpa.

My grandparents had a pretty large lot and on it they had a chicken coop. Sometimes we’d go out and look for eggs. Honestly it was digusting, but as a kid I don’t think I minded that much. We would play hide-and-seek or Apples, Peaches, Pumpkin Pie.

All along their back fence, they had blackberry bushes. We would go out and pick lots and lots of berries. And eat lots and lots of berries. I remember my fingers getting purple from the juice. I remember all the thorns and sore fingers and thumbs – but still picking because what’s better than a fresh berry? MORE fresh berries. I don’t remember what we ever did with the berries we picked. You’d think we would have lots of berry pie, or on ice cream or in a cobbler. We might have. But all I remember is the picking.

My grandparents are both dead now and I drove by their house recently. My grandma’s son owns it now, I think. I wonder if there are still berries.

So.. sometimes I feel so invisible.

It will happen when I’m driving. Someone will just merge right in front of me, as if I wasn’t there. I’m surprised I haven’t been in more accidents, to be honest. I’ll be cruising along, minding my own, thinking about this or that, when I notice some car just starting to come into my lane. Sometimes they signal, sometimes they don’t, but they never seem to see me. I’ll have to slow down, sometimes braking hard. I’ve even had to swerve. And they go on like nothing happened.

It will happen when I’m talking to a friend. Sometimes it seems they are so absorbed in what they are thinking or doing or feeling, that I’ll say something and it’s like I didn’t even speak. They skip right over whatever I said, as if I never said it. No comment, no notice to it. It happened twice today already.

It will happen at work. Sometimes I find myself patting my legs or arms to see if I’m really here.

It’s not like I’m quiet. I speak loudly enough, I try to make my presence known without being overbearing. I’ll repeat myself sometimes, and still.. nothing. As if The Universe has decided that what I am saying right then or what I am doing isn’t worthy of attention and Censors me out. No one cares, says The Universe. That isn’t important. You aren’t important.

But somehow this never works in my favor. I guess when it’s you vs. The Universe, you never can win.

Baby booties

Petal bib

Baby hat

Laid out, these look like a creepy alien

Much better with a model. Can’t wait to take pics of Naomi!

Instead of a gift bag, I knit a purse. I’m working on finishing the handle and attaching it.

I’ve also updated my current projects; Andrew’s Christmas Scarf and my Vegan Farrow Rib Scarf.

So.. last night I went in search of new blogs to read and I found several. One was somewhat new so I read back through all the posts this year (very entertaining dating stories). One I shared with a friend. One I saved for later to go back and read, because, well, to be honest – her story is my story, and I wanted to see what happened to her. Her about me page said it was all behind her now, a year later. It said that now this blog was about just her and her life, but the old posts were there. The past that mirrors mine.

I went back to her first post and read it. And seriously, it’s insane how much it felt like me. I could have written it. I certainly felt it. I have never written out what happened, or how I felt entirely, because at the time I didn’t want to believe it was real, I kept thinking things would go back. I was also maintaining the “privacy” since there are people who know those involved but don’t know the story.

She talked about his “calm” and his “zero feeling.” As I read her post, my heart just hurt, all over again. I remember that sound. The cold way he kept saying, “Let it go. Move on.” I think that’s what hurt the most. The emotional ice cube he became. And even while I cried, he didn’t show a single emotion. It was like he turned it off. He didn’t care. I could sob and he just stood there, almost like it annoyed him.

I’m sorry but after the ‘I love you’s’ and the ‘we’ll be together’s’ I think a girl is allowed to cry when you walk away.

Her second post mentioned that he became a person she didn’t know. Again, that’s me. How can you one day stand in front of me, proclaiming love and devotion, and the next be hard as a stone? Uncaring. Unfeeling.

When I got to her third post, I had to stop. I realized I was just pulling back things I had already moved on from. I’m ok, now. I still have my moments. I still think of him sometimes and miss him. That ache returns faster than I would like to admit. But I’m ok. I’m better off, I tell myself. I really am. He’s not who I was in love with. Not anymore. Maybe not ever, maybe it was always just a game to him.

Maybe someday I’ll write out more of the story. The way he stood in front of me, me on the 2nd stair, hands on his shoulders, begging for some explaination. I never got it. I never will.

Maybe I’ll tell all about the summer nights I’d take him dinner at work. We’d sit at the picnic table outside and eat and talk about life, our future, our dreams.

Looking back now, it’s like they say.. hindsight is 20/20. The things he chose to miss, the way he would start to distance himself, and then come back. My therapist told me I shouldn’t say, “I should have known” because, well how should I? And what good does it do to say that? The past is the past. What happened happened.

I guess the question is “now what?” Where do I go from here? How do I make sure to keep moving forward, and when do I stop looking back?

So.. I was going to stop watching, I really was. The intention was there, and I even missed one episode (though, honestly, it was because my tv wasn’t working). But last night, oh, last night. I watched and I’m glad I did.

Because everyone’s favorite Bachelor, Jake “the pilot” came on with his ex-fiance Vienna and we all learned who the d-bag in the relationship really is.

Ok. I watched Jake when he was on Jillian’s season of “The Bachelorette” and I watched him on his own season of “The Bachelor.” And yes, I’m a little bit ashamed I watch these. I’m trying to quit. I am. But anyway, on Jillian’s season everyone liked him, he seemed sweet and attractive and left you wondering how does a 30+ year-old man stay single when he’s a pilot! and that smile! and he’s nice!

But Jillian didn’t pick him and so he became The Bachelor and had 25 women falling all over him. And then came the Tenley vs Vienna fiasco. Why didn’t he pick Tenley, I don’t know. But I bet a dollar she’s jumping up and down thanking heaven and earth for that one. (I bet Jillian is thanking her lucky stars, too.) Anyway, poor Vienna “won” and last night we saw exactly what a prize she got.

And we saw why an attractive pilot (“actually, I flew last weekend”) in his 30s is still single.