You're darn tootin', I'm a delicate flower

Thank you, The Management

2011-01-23T08:17:00.002-06:00

At the Knitz household, things are getting wild. The baby wakes up, rubs her eyes, puts her index finger in the air and says, "Doggy!" Uncle Murphy wakes up more slowly, but pretty soon she's kissing his face and he's licking her belly. They chase the Oscar together. The cat teases them both by staying just out of reach. Norah is the only sensible creature. She stays close to me.

Baby is on the move, and it has reinvigorated the middle-aged dog. He previously spent most of his time lying on a dog bed and snoring, which was just about the perfect speed for me. Now, during dinner, he walks around the dinner table on his back legs and runs his nose along the edge of the table in hopes of finding a tidbit to swipe. He knows that this is not approved behavior and he does most of it on the opposite side of the table from me where I cannot see him. A friend told me this is called "table surfing." I call it "vexing." Baby thinks it is charming. Visitors cannot hide their amusement. Finally, I carry him off to his crate. We are both disgraced.

The problem is that I am The Man. This would be so much funnier if I weren't responsible for safety, cleanliness, and appropriate behavior. Instead I say "Uh-uh" to the dog and "No-no" to the baby and place them in situations where they can behave constructively. Being the protocol droid is a drag.

I really enjoy the times when all of us, dog, cats, and baby are sprawled on the floor in the living. We read, snooze, stack blocks, and snuggle. Knitting is out of the question. Any of the beloved culprits would steal the yarn if I show a moment of weakness, so we hang out and learn the intricacies of shape sorters and listen to Public Radio.

And before anyone gets a bright idea, please don't lick my food.

Thank you,

The Management

Happy New Year!

2011-01-01T12:34:00.003-06:00

2010 was all about love. I am eager to see what 2011 holds.

1) Baby -- having a baby changed my life this year. Everyone says life will change when a baby arrives, but I was completely unprepared for the overwhelming love for this little person. Discovering that family and friends wanted to share the joy makes it even more special.

2) Norah Returns -- In 2009, Uncle Murphy (a.k.a. a dog) arrived, and Norah the cat retreated to a high, dusty shelf in an unfinished portion of the basement. In 2010 she rejoined us upstairs. Uncle Murphy was overjoyed to see her. Maybe next year she will let him touch her, but I'm not holding my breath.

3) Peanut Butter and Banana Sandwiches -- Quick, easy, yummy. This is what sustained me in 2010, while I figured out how to do things like cook and clean while holding a baby.

4) Audiobooks -- I will never have to decide whether to knit or read again. Lovely.

5) Facebook -- Even though Facebook's ever-changing security settings give me the creepy-crawlies, friends and family seem much closer than ever.

6) Pushing Daisies -- current favorite cancelled tv show. Refrigerator is called a "cheesebox." Need I say more?

7) Crusty Brussels Sprouts -- makes a delicious veggie even better.

8) Real Life Heroines -- three friends fought and won battles against breast cancer this year, and they did it with grace and strength

9) Knitting -- I've discovered no less than 5 half-knitted socks while cleaning. Is it a previously undocumented side-effect of pregnancy? One pair of baby booties was also knitted although they vanished somewhere between Wichita and Milwaukee.

10) Cheese, of course.

Hobbies and Passions

2010-07-18T19:24:00.004-05:00

My aunt and uncle returned from a trip to Cuzco. My uncle was struck by the how young the Peruvian children are when they begin spinning. I was struck by how much still I wanted to go to Cuzco and visit the Center for Traditional Textiles of Cuzco.

It was a momentary pang. Right now I'm hanging out with Miss Pip and enjoying cooing conversations and baby smiles. We read The Runaway Bunny and Ten Little Fingers and Ten Little Toes. She gums my fingers and pulls off my glasses. I tickle her chin.

I'm ready for next spring when she will be a little hardier and able to wander in the backyard while I garden. My sister has already laughed at my plans, so please pretend that I will be able to return to the garden one day.

For now, I've found that Pip is quite happy to play with wooden blocks while I work at the spinning wheel. Sometimes a dishcloth gets knitted too. When I'm finished playing with string, we both love snuggling up for a nap.

More Knitting

2010-05-04T19:31:00.002-05:00

My knitting mojo has suffered lately, so I made a trip to Twist on Saturday. A survey of the shop showed people knitting yarn cozies, sweaters, lace shawls, and socks. It was all so lovely and complex, but I wanted something that I was sure to finish. I picked out green and pink dishcloth cotton for a ballband dishcloth. Or, maybe the Mason-Dixon description lured me in the same way it always does.

"Here's the classic dishcloth recipe that goes with Peaches & Creme the way champagne goes with truffles. Or a Diet Rite Cola with a Moon Pie, to be more exact."

Several hours later, I nearly have a finished dishcloth.

New Knitz Girl

2010-02-12T19:33:00.002-06:00

I'm pleased to announce a new addition to the Knitz household. Two weeks ago tomorrow, my daughter, Pip, was born. I'm completely enchanted, in love, in awe. My thoughts run strictly along the lines of mushy Hallmark cards. If there were an original way to say how much joy she brings, I would attempt it. As it is, I'll leave it to the imagination.

She took her first trip to Twist Yarn Shop earlier this week. Susan reminded me that she must have her first picture with knitting needles soon. I wonder if she is old enough to touch the Addi Turbos.

Closets and Cleaning

2010-01-04T20:42:00.003-06:00

The Wamego Wool Fest is next weekend. Part of me really wants to go. Last year was the first year, and attendance was high. I bought some of the softest alpaca roving I've ever touched. (My sister got the yarn for Christmas.) Plus driving through the Flint Hills on a fleecy adventure is elating.

This year, I'm opting for comfort. I plan to stay inside and hide from the cold weather. My goal this week is to clean out the spare bedroom/office/cave, and Saturday will be a good day to finish that task.

Yesterday I began by excavating the closet. Odds and ends have been going in that closet for over five years. Some of the layers were fun to see -- birth announcements from my friends, long-lost books, a favorite set of sheets. The one treasure was several yards of a golden-tapestry fabric that can be sewn into valances for windows.

My old friend denial lingered everywhere. During the divorce, I must have tossed anything I didn't want to deal with in that closet. My wedding dress. Papers with his name on it? Closet. Ratty old t-shirts? Closet. Old photographs? Why not put them in the closet? Ten years of his family pictures were in there and so was old advertising material from a previous employer of his. It was like getting divorced again only the emotions were faded and distant. I had some forgiveness and understanding. Besides, he's visiting next weekend to help me move some furniture. It doesn't feel lonely like it did at first. I like to think we're both happier.

The most remarkable part of the closest was the volume it held. Since I wanted to wipe down the walls of the closet and vacuum, I started by tossing everything out in the middle of the room. (This violates one of Fly Lady's most practical bits of advice: "Don't pull out more than you can put back in an hour." My experience only underscores that she's right.) The debris that came out of the closet took up residence in the living room, dining room, and basement. I've been putting things where they belong, tossing trash, and taking bags of old things to the Salvation Army. One closet filled the entire house, which surely violates the laws of physics.

My goal is to have the closet contents dealt with by Saturday. The entryway closet is next on the list, but it may have to wait several months until I forget what it took to empty this one.

Happy New Year

2010-01-02T17:46:00.003-06:00

Happy New Year, everyone! I hope it brings happiness and good health.

The New Year began with the Elizabeth Zimmerman Baby Surprise Jacket. This is my first EZ project, and I'm excited about it. It is cast on, and I'm knitting. It seems straight-forward in design, and I've seen several expert knitters create one quickly. However, this pattern is requiring a good amount of faith on my part. I'm mired the decreases and feeling uncertain about whether I'm knitting it properly.

The weather is very cold here and staying inside to knit is a wonderful luxury. Both cats and the dog piled on the recliner to doze with me this afternoon. I hope the truce lasts longer than the cold weather.

Garden catalogs are filling my mailbox too. Looking a pictures of peonies, iris, and foxglove give me hope for spring when fresh parsley and lettuce will be available in the backyard. Or, when I can knit lace shawls on the deck with the sun on my skin.

Until then, I feel very lucky to a have cozy home with such warm, little heat mooches for snuggling.

Turkey Talk

2009-11-28T20:27:00.007-06:00

I hope everyone had a lovely Thanksgiving. There is so much to be thankful for this year. Friends, family, and beloved pets made it all worthwhile. I'm grateful to have a job that allows me to do good. I'm looking forward to holiday celebrations for the first time in more than a decade. I might even get a tree this year.

My sister and brother-in-law hosted a delicious dinner their home near Milwaukee, WI. We watched football and then A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving. I got to snuggle with the nephews, learn more about Thomas the Train, and read books about farts.

Exploring my sister's garden was a treat. The lettuces and Swiss chard are still intact as are most of the herbs. The trees seem so much taller and more numerous in the north. The nearby lake is amazing. The light shocked me the most. By 4:45 in the afternoon, it is as dark as midnight. Most of all, I got to spend time talking to my sister and helping in the kitchen. She's such a good friend, and having her at such distance is a real sadness for me.

Just when I thought it might be okay to go back to Wal-Mart, I heard another sickening story about Wal-Mart pricing practices that are making it difficult for their suppliers to stay in business. So my opinion that Wal-Mart creates poverty was reinforced for the millionth time. If I do buy a tree, it won't be from there.

In unrelated news, my darling kitties were well-cared for by a friend and her daughter. I suspect they were even spoiled. Murphy the Beagle stayed at Mom and Dad's house. Mom laid out some strict rules at the beginning: no dogs on the furniture or bed. Dad reports that by the end of the week, Murphy was not only sleeping on the bed, but his head was on the pillow between Mom and Dad. He sat on the couch with them while they watched movies. Even though they were in good hands, I missed the fuzzy ones something fierce and was happy to see them again. They even let me hug them more than usual when I got back.

No more holes in the wall!

2009-11-14T08:53:00.003-06:00

Nearly a year ago, I set about the systematic destruction of my home. Destruction wasn't my goal. The idea was to remove a little wallpaper and put up paint. However, the removal of wallpaper revealed problems that had never been addressed. Some of those issues dated back to the 1930s.

I did enjoy the trip through the layers of wallpaper. Some homeowners preferred paisley and others liked cabbage roses. It was an introduction to them. Most preferred pinks and greens with an occasional touch of silver or gold. The large hole in the wall and the hidden, closet-like room were definitely a surprise.

The sheet rock contractor is an old friend of Dad's. Dad was acting as project manager for questions while I was at work. Murphy the Wonder Beagle stayed with my parents during the renovations. Murphy has been known to zip out the door at the slightest opportunity. I just didn't trust him to behave for strangers. Dad was happy with the situation too since he has wanted a dog for years. He and Murphy went to the hobby shop together, built model airplanes, took naps together and surfed the internet.

A phone call from the contractors to inquire whether I had a black and white dog was quite a surprise. Upon hearing the answer, "No," they said, "Okay, we'll put him outside."

When the contractors arrived to put up sheet rock this week, I came home from work each night to a house that looked progressively more normal. As of today, the walls are ready for paint. The ceilings have sheet rock of the same thickness throughout the house. It even smells new. Not only did they do a great job, but I have the same number of pets at the end as at the beginning of the project.

Knitting and naught

2009-10-25T17:58:00.003-05:00

Undoing work goes against my personal credos: 1) it is possible to overthink something; and, 2) just keep knitting. The ruana I'm knitting is officially back to the beginning. This project isn't difficult; however, I haven't knitted much lately and it is a gift. Last week, some of the rows looked odd, and I ripped back several inches. Yesterday, some stitches were off near the beginning. I happened to be a Twist and used the ball winder to frog back to the beginning. It was so much more tidy than winding the ball myself -- almost magical. Today finds the garter stitch border back in place, and the stitches looking quite well-behaved. Deadline: Christmas.

The lack of productivity today was so blissful. Norah, the cat who hid in the basement to avoid the dog all spring and summer, keeps spending more time out in the open. After lunch she climbed in my lap and fell asleep. This hasn't happened since April, and I've really missed it. First I was enjoying it, and then I awakened two hours later with an additional cat and a dog snoring with us. Perhaps moments like this bring me so much pleasure because I prefer to think of myself as a big mammal rather than a human.

The pansies are finally planted with assistance from Murphy the Beagle. Plants look much happier in the ground. I'm not sure what the scientific measure of a happy plant might be, but they perk up, look more erect and sturdy. If the first freeze comes tonight or the big rains, the garden will be ready.

Plans for this evening are leftovers: baked potato, meatloaf, and broccoli. They will be eaten while watching the second half of a documentary about Derrida, called, Derrida. When I stopped watching yesterday, he'd just managed to wriggle out of a question about why philosophers have always pondered love -- he said there was nothing to original to say. The interviewer allowed a graceful change of subject by asking about Plato's interpretation of love. I'd like to think there is something new to say about love, but I haven't managed to disprove this brilliant French man.

Further Observations on Poop

2009-09-30T20:53:00.002-05:00

Murphy and I headed back to obedience training this week. Last week I stayed home because my nose was throwing its annual snot fiesta and couldn't be bothered to stop for matters such as dog training. Much like previous weeks, we learned that I am not dominant and the dog doesn't listen. Plus we didn't practice at all because I was in bed due to the aforementioned snot festivities. Scatology was the least of my worries because my nose was out of commission.

At training class, the other owners are so diligent with their dogs. They practice and the dogs listen to them. I've tried chatting with the other owners, but they like to keep their distance. Really, I want to pet the dogs. I'm enchanted with a Cairn terrier who is bright and perky. Another dog looks just like Lady from Lady and the Tramp. I'm not quite on the same wave length as everyone else. They aren't rude -- just very distant. Maybe they're afraid their dogs will act like mine if we fraternize, or maybe they don't find me as amusing as I find myself.

Meanwhile, Murphy's learning how to "park it" on his bed. It was excruciating. The other dog owners were able to have their dogs stay while they walked out of sight. Murphy wouldn't even stay while I was standing next to him. About 15 minutes later, I was flushed, frustrated, and flustered. Someone else's dog pooped, and it was a relief that the instructor was distracted from the distinct lack of obedience I was experiencing. My dog might be out playing Calvin ball for the entire class, but at least he didn't poop in the middle of Pet Smart.

After quietly congratulating myself on not being The Worst, I turned around and the stubborn Beagle had his front paws and his back paws together so he could squat. It was suspiciously like pooping but I dragged him outside before anything happened. I bumped into the other offender and his owner outside the store on a strip of grass. "Stimulating class, huh?" I said. She looked over her shoulder and hurried her dog into the store.

Comfort Food

2009-09-29T19:47:00.003-05:00

With the cooler weather, my interest in cooking has increased. This weekend found me digging through cookbooks and hand-written recipes for old favorites that my mother and grandmother cooked: shrimp-rice casserole; sausage, beans, and greens soup; meatloaf. The food tastes wonderful with the crisp temperatures.

The recipes fuel my nostalgia and imagination. Recipe cards in my grandmother's handwriting often have the note "from Mama" at the top. I never met my great-grandmother, but I've heard some stories. She was a spicy, opinionated woman with a good education, but above all, she was practical. She would have found my kitchen ridiculous with the electric stove, the microwave, and the refrigerator. She kept her ice box until the last ice-delivery service stopped in the 1960s and was never fully convinced that a refrigerator and freezer could be trusted to keep the food from spoiling. I like to imagine that I know her a little because of her recipes.

All about the eggs

2009-09-28T19:34:00.003-05:00

The autumnal sinus joy has descended along with snot and coughing. People pull out hand sanitizer when they see me coming. I try to keep a respectful distance.

Really this is to explain why Murphy and I were walking down an alley. He needed a walk badly and showed signs of becoming a wild animal without more exercise. I made it a block and a half before I broke into a cold sweat. For a shortcut, we turned down an alley, which all dogs love. It must be some kind of super highway for cats, squirrels, possums, and other dog delicacies. Murphy snorted, sniffled, and made grunting pig-like noises of joy at all of the scents. The yards were surprisingly dog-free, and our little trek was quiet until near the end.

I was startled by a large black dog that jumped up and down behind a fence. In the yard with the dog were six chickens. Six, lovely, free-range hens that all live within a block of my house. I wonder if they would like to share some eggs?

Poop

2009-09-27T20:08:00.003-05:00

Sometimes a day has a secret word -- kind of like at Pee Wee's playhouse. Saturday's word was poop. The dog smelled like poop that morning, which made giving him a bath essential. My parents visited later that morning to scoop the kitty litter.

It was good to see Mom and Dad. Dad even helped me rehabilitate a futon that wouldn't fold into sitting position because a toy mouse was jammed into the folding mechanism. One special pair of pliers and a clothes hanger later, he had extracted two toy mice and one pair of nail clippers. Some poor cat lost some stash. I was glad to see the nail clippers again.

Back to the poop. In the afternoon, it was time for a regularly scheduled cut and color. My hairdresser has been cutting my hair for over ten years. She's good at haircuts and good at conversation. I look forward to seeing her.

During the drive to the salon, I simply couldn't shake the smell of poop and finally looked at the soles of my shoes. Bingo! I'd stepped in something intense with both feet. It refused to be scraped off as well, so I parked the shoes outside the salon door. It is very humbling to be barefoot for 3 hours while fashionable and well-shod people are near. The hairdresser enjoyed every minute of it.

Homegrown tomatoes

2009-09-13T20:29:00.004-05:00

The Ex and I met for coffee today. A year ago, I wouldn't have believed it possible, but we're friends. I enjoy that. We've got over a decade of shared history and talking to each other doesn't require the long story or any footnotes. Plus we're both happier now -- partly because we don't have any expectations from each other. I'm amazed at how important that is to me.

Saying that a person has changed seems silly to me. The Ex is very much who he always was, but he's grown personally. He's paving the way to really accomplish what he wants in his life, and I'm tickled to see how well it suits him. He's just as talented at gabbing as I am, so after two hours of catching up, he sent me home with a bag of homegrown tomatoes. Yum! I warmed them up with some sauteed onions and served it over lentils and rice.

In knitting news, the ruana I'm making for my sister will obviously be a Christmas present. The Addi Turbo needles and the nice wool make for good knitting, but that's quite a few yards of knitting in one week.

Ideas to Inspire Fear

2009-09-10T21:16:00.003-05:00

These are dangerous times for me. I'm off my game, and the predictable patterns are changing. I pay someone to mow the lawn, which is crazy because I love to mow the lawn -- it just hasn't worked out to be a possibility this summer. I spent yesterday evening hanging out with a bunch of dogs instead of listening to the President's speech on health care. But worst of all, my knitting mojo packed up and left town sometime in the summer.

I've been half-heartedly knitting one pink, white, and green sock. The pattern is the I-made-it-up-variety. Sadly it also belongs to the undocumented category, so it will never have a mate. Recreating it isn't a possibility. The fact that the sad little sock has been in my purse for months and gets knitted about 20 minutes a week borders on Kafkaesque. Right now I'm trying to decide whether I should finish it or if I should put it out of its misery sooner.

Meanwhile inspiration struck. Inspiration with a deadline. (Danger! Deadline!) My sister's birthday arrives in less than a week, and Ravelry has a lovely pattern for "The One Piece Backwards Ruana". The perfect teal, worsted weight Lamb's Pride wool is in my stash. Do I cast on? What if it is post marked on her birthday? She lives out of state so that adds several days in the mail. On paper the timing looks like an ill-fated plan. My fingers are itching. I thought about the project while I was a work. Even if I can finish in a timely fashion by, perhaps, Monday, I'm liable to be incapacitated by knitter's claw. Awww, who am I kidding? It's a terrific plan. I'll cast on.

More about eggs and a doggy update

2009-09-09T20:58:00.004-05:00

I may be a little obsessed with those fresh eggs. They taste really good. A coworker said she knows someone who works in our building that sells her eggs. I've got a fresh egg dealer for when the Farmers' Market closes.

Murphy the Wonder Beagle headed back to school this evening for intermediate obedience training. As a 5+ year old dog, he reminded me of myself when I went back to college for computer training in my late 20s. I couldn't abide by chatter in the back of the class room and tedious questions were just annoying. For his part, Murphy will touch noses with the pups but if they wiggle or get excited, he is very sharp with them.

Perhaps he was just focusing on the teacher. He did everything she asked very well. He completely ignored me and wouldn't even look at me. I was starting to get offended until the teacher pointed out that he just didn't like my treats. Apparently the beef liver treats that were all the rage in June are passe in September. The new trend is chicken something or other. And because he's an older dog, he fell asleep in the car on the way home. The dog whisperer is right. A tired dog is a good dog.

Farmer's Market

2009-09-08T20:39:00.003-05:00

Each Saturday in the summer the Farmers' Market at 21st and Ridge is open. They have mountains of tomatoes and zucchini this time of year. One person was even selling kohl rabi, which I found very exciting. Without a clear idea of how to cook it, I left it to a more sophisticated cook.

Mostly I enjoy looking and seeing other people who are also enjoying a Saturday morning outside. Rows and rows of fresh herbs and produce combined with home-grown bouquets of zinnias, sunflowers, and Queen Anne's lace are so beautiful.

I haven't purchased any meat yet, but it is tempting. They have local grass-fed, grass-finished beef which has completely eluded me at local groceries and health food stores. No offense to Argentina, but that's a long way from here. Kansas has good beef too. When I make to South America, I'll be delighted to eat the Argentinian beef. The emu doesn't hold any attraction for me, but the bison and lamb are tempting.

The real attraction has been the eggs. The eggs from free-range, cage-free hens that have been scratching around in the pasture all summer are delicious. They have the bright orange-yellow yolks of summer time eggs. Hard-boiled, served with a slice of buttered toast and slices of tomato, they make a very satisfying breakfast. I'm already feeling sad that the Farmer's Market will close at the end of October. I'm not quite ready to start raising chickens myself.

Eating Decisions

2009-07-10T09:01:00.002-05:00

A couple of books about consumption have me thinking about how buying patterns influence the way we eat and the dietary importance of fresh fruits and vegetables. Also the fruit flies from the last forgotten banana last week have me thinking about intentional patterns of consumption and whether they offer improvements. Some of the things I like most about these lifestyles is that they provide some order and remove some of the chaos. Other times I wonder whether is even worth the hassle. Maybe these systems are too rigid for me to sustain.

Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver started me thinking about seasonal patterns of eating. She talks about eating food that comes from within a 50 mile radius and she grows a great deal of her own food. The logic is that our carbon footprint is greatly reduced by not requiring shipping and refrigeration of items. It also addresses concerns about the state of the food supply and our health. Eating lettuce in Kansas in December is a biological astonishment, but all of our out-of-state and out-of-country suppliers certainly make it seem very reasonable. While this is the abundant season of corn, cantaloupes, and fresh tomatoes, December should be more oriented toward root vegetables and items with a long shelf-life.

Meanwhile, a book review of America's Cheapest Family Gets You Right on the Money came to my attention yesterday. The authors suggest that because 6 out of 10 consumers in the grocery store make impulse purchases, meal planning and one monthly trip to the grocery store are the ideal solution. They too must make allowances for perishables. Bananas, lettuce, and other easily spoiled items are eaten in the first week. Carrots and apples are eaten during the last week of the month. They are able to feed a family of seven for less than $400 a month.

Impromptu Summer Evening

2009-06-22T19:25:00.002-05:00

The tomatoes were planted late. So while I've been waiting and waiting for a blossom and hope of fruit, I made an impromptu veggie scrambled.

Sautee garlic, asparagus, and bell pepper. Pour scrambled eggs over the mixture and sprinkle with shredded pepper jack cheese.

It isn't quite the same as warm tomatoes from the garden that are sliced over cold cottage cheese, but it was a very nice substitute.

Typical Summer

2009-06-21T15:17:00.002-05:00

The weather has gotten scorching hot and very humid. The plants don't seem to mind at all thanks to copious amounts of rain last week. The animals and I have hunkered down in the basement where the coldest air settles and where the tv is located.

This is a good time for knitting. Right now I'm working on a baby cocoon for a friend who is expecting. The yarn is Berroco Love It, and it just flies off the needles.

I expect to crawl out of the basement again in September when it gets cooler. Until then, keep the iced tea coming.

Dog Grooming

2009-06-01T19:33:00.003-05:00

The other night, I kept smelling something horrible. First I thought it was the neighbor kid's weed was wafting into the house. If someone smokes a bunch, I've been able to smell it across the street. Then I thought that maybe some laundry had mildewed before it made it to the dryer. Then I thought Murphy the dog had unbelievably bad farts. That was the closest guess.

Murphy likes to find stinky things in the yard and roll in them. Apparently yesterday, he rolled in some aged poop which appears to have a more sophisticate scent than the fresh stuff. It was on his collar and stuck to the fur underneath. Cleaning the collar and a giving Murphy a sponge bath didn't help. He did like the sponge bath.

I put Murphy in the kitchen sink and lathered him up and hosed him down. He was very wiggling and uncooperative. Oscar the cat, who is never allowed on the counter, hopped up and sat just as close as he possibly could without getting wet -- in Murphy's direct sight. I couldn't let go of Murphy or a soapy dog would be dashing through the house, so Mr. Kitty got away with it. Murphy was even more agitated. Oscar just kept watching as if it were a great show. I'm sure if he had any popcorn he would have been eating it too.

After the bath, Murphy smelled almost normal. The collar, even after being scrubbed and soaped vigorously, still smelled horrible. I was so tired and completely out of patience. To review: stinky, poop, dog bath, kitty insubordination, ruined dog collar. I debated whether the dog should be allowed to go outside to go to the bathroom. I decided that even a repeat of the bath was worth risking when compared to an accident in the house.

The next morning I went to PetSmart for a new collar and took the dog to try it on. His toenails were long, so I thought, "I could trim those but it would another doggy wrestling match." The salon said they'd trim it for him. It rang up at the cash register as a "Pawdicure." The light bulb flashed above my head: I got the dog a fucking pedicure. While he was getting his pedicure, I found a lovely collar for him and a matching leash. I got a good look at him in the collar after we got home. Although the color is good, it is pretty flowery even for a neutered male beagle. He is very metro-sexual now after having his pedicure and his "sensitive man" collar.

So yeah, I'm questioning my sanity.

A loss in the community

2009-05-31T13:59:00.004-05:00

Living in Wichita, KS, the abortion debate can get intense. People talked about the Civil War dividing families, but families here have been estranged over the issue and never recovered from their differences. The abortion protests of the early 1990s left some scars too. Businesses and major roads were shut down. Local government structures were overwhelmed by protesters.

I guess I got used to the tension. I am pro-choice and volunteered for clinic defense. The bombs and the shooting seemed frightening but a fact of life. Later on, I didn't even like to discuss this belief in public. It was too much of a liability and too divisive. Most people could guess my opinion on the matter and I theirs. We danced around it.

Not everyone practiced avoidance. The worst of it happened today. A local physician, Dr. George Tiller, who performs late-term abortions, was shot in the lobby of his church this morning. Dr. Tiller knew so many people in this community, and he continued to do what he believed despite threats to his well-being.

The sad news has spread quickly. I was knitting at Watermark with Jill, and the news deflated us. She called her mom. I went to see my parents. At my parents house, we huddled around a computer to look at the news reports. I started to realize that he was probably shot in front of his family and people who loved him. It seems terribly unfair.

Perhaps this was predictable. I didn't see it coming. After surviving clinic bombings and being shot, Dr. Tiller seemed invincible to me. In the end, he was just a brave man who did what he believed. I respect that. Our town will not be the same without this doctor.

A Garden Report

2009-05-19T21:30:00.003-05:00

The strawberries are ripening now. As with most things, it hasn't been what I anticipated. My vision included me gathering strawberries and doing something with them once a week. Reality looks like this: six or seven strawberries ripen each day. They are not good the next day, and they are not good after being refrigerated. The solution is that I go out to the garden each day and pluck the berries and eat them right there. I put the leaves in the compost heap on my way back inside.

The weeds are doing well too, but when I sit on the back porch, I close my eyes and I can smell the iris, the honeysuckle and the peonies. This is a fragrant season -- maybe a little sneezy--and definitely sweet-smelling.

The knitting isn't completely forgotten. Each week, I knit a repeat or two of Knitty's Branching Out scarf. The yarn is a soft, heathered blue. Alpaca. I like to knit slowly and stretch out the finished knitting to marvel at how a person could imagine a pattern, write it down and have it emerge from another person's needles. Maybe I'm just sentimental and mellow from spending time in the garden and the sun.

Atticus the Cat

2009-05-18T19:55:00.006-05:00

When I was 23, I decided I needed cats. This was based on two things: 1) I'd pestered my parents for a cat since I was a teenager, and 2) my accommodations at the time had no fenced yard for my beloved dog. (The dog also didn't let my boyfriend--later my ex-husband--in bed with me.)

My ex went with me to a pet store. Where two rescued males kittens were in a wire cage. They were both black and disreputable looking creatures, but I didn't know much about cats. One was gregarious and friendly. The other sat at the back of the cage and looked as unfriendly as possible. The friendly one played with me, and then he went to the back of the cage and licked his brother's ears.

My ex looked at me and said, "Do you know what you're doing?"

I said, "Of course." This was a lie. I only knew one other cat who would permit me to pet her. She was old and blind, and she still barely tolerated my presence after knowing me for over 15 years.

What I did know was that my sister had recently moved to another state, and I was miserable being so far away from her. I couldn't bear to separate the friendly cat from his brother when they seemed so fond of each other.

"I'll take them both," I said to the pet store employees. I was holding the purring kitten, and he was climbing over the top of my head. The ex was simply shaking his head.

"What?" I asked.

"Oh nothing," he said.

The pet store employees had a fight over who had to extract the remaining kitten from the back of the cage. That should have been a warning sign, but I persevered and took the grumpy black ball of fluff home with me and named him Atticus. His brother was Trouser. Trouser was delighted to have a home and was very sociable.

Atticus got out of the cardboard box when he first arrived home and that was the last I saw of him for the next six months unless I extracted him from one of his many hiding places: under the stove, under the bed, on a high shelf in the closet. Then he would glare at me and struggle for his freedom. He especially despised things that I thought were necessary to the

care and feeding of a cat. Kissing was most hideous of all. Often he would press all four paws to my lips in an attempt to escape.

After I'd gone to bed for the night, Trouser would make a trilling sound. Atticus would answer. I heard them romping through the house, sliding on the linoleum, and crashing into the stove with a bang.

Gradually Atticus acclimated to sharing a house with humans. He made friends with the ex first. The ex was in graduate school, and he spent long hours studing. The ex would brew an extremely strong cup of coffee, sit on the couch and sip it while he studied and listened to music. I'd come home from work to find the ex, Trouser, and Atticus sprawled on our $25 garage-sale sofa with books of post-modern literary criticism and listening to Miles Davis. Perhaps that was when Atticus first developed his affinity for books. He adored sitting on a good book, and he detested having a good book removed for the trivial purposes of "reading."

Atticus began to make up for his first, silent year. He talked incessantly. He followed me from room to room and meowed in a cranky, rasp meow. He needed to be petted. He wanted to be followed around the room on hands and knees and be petted. (That hadn't been a possibility until my sister catered to him once when she visited.) He and his brother both had sleek, glossy coats by then and looked fierce. He had high expectations and high standards. I always felt that I was a better person when he decided to sit on my lap or when he butted his head against my hands. And underneath the cranky, he could be downright sweet. We worked out a deal where he would let me hug him if I scratched his chin in the proper fashion. After his brother died, he did let me hold him and cry. He didn't even bother trying to get away.

When the ex left, Atticus was just unhappy. He was at loose ends. He hated Norah. He never stopped fussing. So he went to live with the ex, and he had always preferred the ex. They liked the serious same reading: Kirkegaard, Camus, Derrida. Admittedly, the ex and his girlfriend have some pretty nice digs. They had a second story, so Atticus could spend his days dropping his toys down two flights of stairs instead of just one. He could sleep in front of the sliding glass door and watch bunnies in the backyard. When I went to visit, he seemed perfectly happy although he did make all of his usual indications that I should crawl around on my hands and knees and pet him. I did.

Atticus hadn't been feeling well for sometime. He'd always been pretty cranky, and when I visited him most recently, he didn't have the energy to come to meet me. So I went to him. We sat in a sunbeam and I scratched him. He purred. He looked quite ruffled again and not quite as glossy. Last week, the ex called to tell me that Atticus had passed away. He was in kitty pi, which he seemed to prefer when he felt sick, and my ex had been scratching his chin just the right way. The world feels emptier without that cranky old feline.

Dirt and Dogs

2009-05-04T20:49:00.004-05:00

Spring lured me outside this evening after a particularly draining day at work. The pinnacle of the day was a three-hour meeting. The meeting was valuable, and the information was pertinent. No one wasted time (thank goodness). My butt and I still want a medal. Sitting that long is a challenge. By the time I arrived home, I was certain that I would wind up on the couch immediately.

Murphy is still here, and he was ready for a walk. He looked so eager and excited that I decided to go for a little walk, which put some life back in my body. Then it was time to mow the lawn and plant a few marigolds. Murphy and I lounged on the deck and surveyed our scrap of dirt. The picture above is a hosta division from my sister called "Guacamole." I hope to make many more divisions of it future years. It would do well as an edging for the shady part of the garden.

Back to the dog, I'm getting attached to that sweet canine. Even Oscar played with him this evening. Murphy's people need to show up soon or it will be a sad farewell for me. Only two people have called about the ad, and he wasn't a match for the first person. The other person wanted to know if I'd lost my "found" Beagle. Apparently, she also found a neutered Beagle with a red collar in the Delano District. We should form a support group for people who couldn't say, "No" to sad, Snoopy eyes.

House Guest

2009-04-27T20:54:00.004-05:00

On Tuesday, Shelly tweeted about a small, stray Beagle who needed a place to stay for a few days. He'd wandered across Douglas and ended up at Twist. I'm a sucker for fury, sweet creatures and took him home. He's a real gentleman and not just because he's neutered. He is clearly used to spending his days on the sofa and his nights at the foot of the bed.

He's got a red collar sans tags. A vet scanned him for a microchip, but nothing showed up. I'm sure his owners are frantic, but posts on websites and calls to shelters haven't yielded any results.

So, he's hanging out at my house until his home is located. I've learned quite a bit about reuniting animals with their owners. The biggest thing I've learned is that it is not easy or quick. The shelters weren't willing to take my name and number, but they did

direct me to three websites where I posted his information. By Saturday I started to call him "Murphy" because "hey dog" seemed rude.

Most days he sprawls on the floor and chases the cats. (Although Oscar has been known to haul off and whomp him on the nose.) He's also terrified of thunderstorms and insists on being held during them.

I'm enjoying his company while I work in the garden, but I'm also looking forward to when he is reunited with his owners.

Easter Rabbit

2009-04-15T19:44:00.002-05:00

A knitted bunny for my grandmother.

Snow Day

2009-04-02T19:19:00.019-05:00

Last weekend, a big winter storm hit town -- snow, ice, blowing winds, and crazy drivers. The weathermen seemed to enjoy making extreme predictions and warning everyone not to leave the house. It reminded me of the Little House on the Prairie books, and how the blizzards descended on that little family. They didn't even have weather forecasts or snow predictions. They just stayed in their little log cabin and kept the fire going.

I wonder how they stayed in such a small place without knowing what would happen next. I wonder how they managed to be somewhat civil to each other. My sister and I certainly didn't manage that when we were sharing a bedroom. We probably would have turned up our noses at venison and salt pork too.

For my storm preparations, I ran around outside and quickly picked daffodils to save them from the unexpected cold. They had formed buds, but none of the buds were open. Inside, on the kitchen counter, they opened quickly and smelled fragrant. It seemed so decadent. Without the extreme weather, I would have left them in the garden where they would have lasted longer. Instead, I got a burst of beauty this weekend. Some buds weren't plucked from the plants in my haste to get out of the sleet. A few days later, after the big melt, the ones that were left behind are blooming despite having survived cold conditions. The lettuce is even more vigorous for having braved the weather, but lettuce is always a miracle plant.

While the garden held up admirably, my pioneer spirit fled. (This is doubly shocking because I spent most of grade school wishing I were Laura Ingalls Wilder. Shut up. She had a bonnet.) Knitting, reading, napping, and eating could only sustain me so long. I was thinking of a venti white chocolate mocha from the nearby Starbucks. My green tea seemed like gruel by comparison. Everyone took another nap under the down comforter.

And then, because I was trapped inside with my camera, flowers, cats and cat toys, and because I was starting to get stir crazy after having been inside my house for at least 18 consecutive hours, I took pictures of my cats to share with the world. (Eighteen hours can be a very long time. Especially in Sally Knitz years. Without someone to brew my coffee.) Please forgive me.

Green inspiration

2009-03-15T18:27:00.002-05:00

I get so sentimental about the garden at this time of year. People roll their eyes, look at their toes, and say, "Um, whatever." It's hard to explain what it is I find so compelling. Sunshine is warm and comforting. Digging in the dirt and holding the crumbling soil in my hands is incredibly satisfying. It is all potential and old friends. Everything is ready to be imagined and re-imagined. The dead twigs and leaves are ready to be trimmed so the new, green leaves are exposed to the light and the rain can reach the soil below.

The plants that return are very welcome too. The peach-colored day lilies from my grandmother's garden are sending up green leaves. A fragrant white peony with frugal red flecks has been in my life since I was a toddler. A division of that plant is sending up curling, rhubarb-colored sprouts. I'm relieved to see them, which surprises me. I certainly don't lie awake at night to wonder if they will return in the spring. It is more a sense of being reassured that things are as they should be.

The garden has its drama too. Under last season's foliage, the oregano has stealthily crept through the tarragon plants. A wayward tarragon shoot cropped up on the far side of the oregano. Since the craziness is contained in a raised bed, I'm just going to watch and see what happens. Oregano is a member of the vigorous mint family, but the tarragon is no sissy either.

As of this afternoon, the brussel sprouts seeds and the mesclun mix are scratched into another raised bed. I'm eager to begin harvesting them, and I'm impatiently awaiting the arrival of strawberries. The vegetable garden is full, and this is only the start. The tomatoes and basil may mingle in the flower garden this year.

See? There is so much to hope for at the beginning of the garden season.

Woman vs. House

2009-02-23T20:13:00.004-06:00

I try not to be superstitious. A suspicious event can usually be explained as a sequence of perfectly reasonable events or even simply be a coincidence. But I'm starting to think my house has its own personality. I'm starting to think that it wants me to just sit still.

Case in point, I begin to remove wallpaper from the dinning room walls, then the bathroom tile needs to be replaced. Coincidence? Here's more evidence. I begin removing wallpaper from the living room and discover that the dry wall requires extensive repairs. Common enough, I suppose. The toilet required plunging soon after that. (Finally, a task I could accomplish by myself.) And that is probably not too big a deal. Still, I'm exhausted. I know that everything I find and fix will be better for it. I'll like my house better because of it, but my house needs to take a break too -- actually, the house needs to not break for a little bit. Even basic maintenance has the appearance of a home-repair tsunami.

But there is always a break in the clouds. A couple of weeks ago, a friend sent an email that began, "So, I ordered 9 pounds of Lincoln Locks . . ." I cannot tell you how delightful it is to be acquainted with people who would simply purchase that much wool in one bundle and then send an email about it. She wanted to divvy it up, and I had a very good home for two pounds of the silvery, lambs fleece. Lincoln Locks have a very long staple length and lots of crimp. They will be ideal for my beginning spinning.

The locks arrived on Saturday. The friend had them in a large box, which smelled very much like the horse barn on my grandmother's farm. Definitely not the milk barn, chicken coop or the hay barn. It smelled like the horse barn. A very fragrant and robust aroma wafted from the box. The other bits of wool I have purchased as locks were scoured thoroughly. These locks were fairly free of vegetable matter, and yet they had a very gamey quality. The locks were separated into plastic grocery store bags, and as I carried them to my car, I wondered about any lingering odors. I'm especially attuned to possible lingering odors in cars after the wildly expensive crock pot-chicken incident.

It was late in the evening, but the locks needed to be washed immediately because the cats were prowling. They smelled wild animals. Being the indoor house cats and fierce predators, when they sense any prey larger than a cricket, they are all over the situation. I bribed them with a healthy chunk of locks. They took it to a secret location that they will not disclose to me. This is a location where they can make anything disappear. I am afraid that one day, after many years, this location will come to my attention. Hopefully, cleaning their kitty vault will not involve the Roto Rooter man.

I turned up the water heater to its highest setting and filled the kitchen sink with scalding hot water and lavender-scented Eucalan. My friend had advised me not to mingle the dirty portions of the fleece with the cleaner portions. I had no desire to make it any messier than necessary, so being careful to put the dirty outside tips of the wool at one edge and the lanolin-coated tips at the other side, I filled a colander with the locks and carefully lowered it into the hot water to soak. The water turned the color of dark tea and smells of anything that lamb had encountered wafted through the kitchen. I lighted a vanilla scented candle and resisted the urge to stir the wool. Agitation would only felt it.

The steady dripping sound became noticeable as did the puddle growing under the sink. I mopped it up thinking I must have sloshed water from the sink. The puddle continued to grow. Further investigations showed a leaking pipe. I emptied the contents from the cabinet under the sink. After sponging the entire area down and disinfecting it, the area under the kitchen sink may be the cleanest part of the entire house. The only imperfection in the arrangement was the plastic tub that the water dripped into.

By then, I'd rinsed the wool two more times in hot water and spread it out on towels to dry on the counter. I thought about having a temper tantrum, a full-fledged meltdown, but I was too tired. I decided to go to bed. Surely my house would heal itself by morning.

The house did not heal itself, so I did the next best thing. I called my Mommy and Daddy. They came to visit me, and Dad showed me how to fix the pipes under the sink. Mom drank tea with me and acted as if it were perfectly normal to have a kitchen counter that overflowed with wool.

Then I ran away. I went to a friend's house where we feasted on delicious food and watched the Oscars. We laughed and enjoyed ourselves. I felt renewed. So, hear this, house of mine. You will be fixed, and I will enjoy it. The Lincoln Locks smell like lavender. They are silvery and fluffy and beautiful. If that miracle can be accomplished, this house can be fixed.

Pink Yarn

2009-02-11T18:17:00.003-06:00

I'm back at the spinning wheel. I even knitted a little. I missed it so much and had a very hard time putting away the yarn.

The single-ply pink yarn was spun from a batt of merino/silk. I'm beginning to think it will be years before I am pleased with my spinning, and now that I don't feel compelled to produce anything useable, spinning is more fun than ever. So I just enjoyed drafting the soft pink and watching the yellow silk nibs drift through my fingers.

What about all of that yarn that doesn't meet my standards? I'm knitting blocks of yarn for a low-fuss blanket. This blanket should be warm, comfortable and durable. Most of all, it will be a humble blanket. If grape koolaid get spilled on it (and I do despise grape koolaid), it will be no big deal. Humble blankets get stains. They get used. They are appreciated for having no pretense.

Being able to see how the yarn knits does make a difference to me. Imagining the process from fiber to yarn to stockinette is a challenge. I figure that after a certain amount of practice, I will one day be able to estimate, plan, and envision a fiber's best use. Until then, it's kind of like pulling random ingredients out of the fridge, mixing them up, and hoping for the best.

Define Normal

2009-02-08T10:53:00.004-06:00

I say this with caution. Life has been normal lately. Seriously. The wallpaper removal from the entire house is proceeding slowly, the cats are still awfully sweet for being carnivorous wild animals, and while the laundry is never finished, a "no clean clothes" crisis hasn't occurred for weeks. And on that note, when Obama is finished stimulating the economy and ending wars, I'd like for him to start a program for clean laundry. Maybe the Department of Clean Laundry (DCL). Can you imagine what our nation could do if we had clean, unwrinkled clothing every single morning? We'd smell good. We'd be unstoppable.

A good part of January went to obsessively reading The Twilight books. Fictional characters and historical people are not safe from me. I have a small crush on Edward the vampire. It isn't as strong as my feelings for John Adams or Cicero, but he has his appeal. Edward is hot in an icy cold, vampiric sort of way.

The first few books were loaned to me by friends. I am very proud of being a good steward of books. My mother is a librarian. I know how to open a book and gently crease back the cover and the pages so the spine isn't broken. Alas, the first book, a paperback owned by a Naplover's Bean, didn't fare well during the transport to my house. I turned the corner in my car too quickly and the crock pot chicken, which was sharing the front passenger seat with the book, sluiced right over the book and the seat of my car. (As a result, the passenger seat of the car spent several days at the car spa and I drove around with only one seat in the front of the car. But, hey, its better than sitting on a five gallon bucket in a completely gutted car.) My Bean and her mother were very understanding. The book was still in readable condition and Oscar enjoyed sitting on my lap and licking the pages while I read.

The next book came from Andi. Her book looked brand-new, and I knew it was my opportunity for redemption for my bookly sins. Because I couldn't be separated from my new fling, Edward, I took it with me when I drove up to Kansas City for an appointment. Bringing a book worked out well. I had time to eat lunch and linger before my meeting. The waitress was very efficient and cleared the table of all plates, napkins, and my bookmark.

I decided not to trust the book's fate to the waitress and took it to the restroom with me. It perched on the back of the toilet with my purse, and when I stood up, the entire fixture lurched and a large splash sprinkled the floor and my shoes with eu du toilet, so to speak. Fortunately, my purse was unharmed. The book, much like its predecessor, was still readable, but a public health hazard. I felt kind of sick because Andi sometimes has galley prints and books that are signed by authors. I dialed her number and said, "Is this particular book special? Because I'd really like to buy you a different copy." There was quite a bit of laughing. Maybe even some guffawing. Finally she said, "Sure. I'd love another copy. What happened?"

Knowing that I had two very gracious friends was not enough for me to tempt fate again. On my way back into town, I plunked down money for the entire series. Bean got a new book and so did Andi. The others were read only in the comfort of my recliner. I did consume tea, soda and water while reading, and the books were unharmed. My friendships survived. Oscar still prefers the first book in the series. He likes to nibble on it while he drifts off to sleep.

As I said, life is pretty normal. Just the usual deconstruction of sheet rock, wall paper, three vacuums cleaners in the living room, and me in denial in the recliner with two cats and a pile of books.

The Winter Woolfest in Wamego

2009-01-19T20:52:00.006-06:00

Last weekend, a bunch of KIPers piled into cars and drove north to the Winter Woolfest in Wamego, KS. Seeing so many people drive from Hutchinson, Wichita, Topeka and Kansas City to talk about knitting, spinning and crocheting really warmed my heart. I love to see people who are as excited about yarn and roving as I am. This is the Woolfest's first year, and I hope that this festival grows and grows. It has so much potential.

Of course I couldn't resist the alpaca roving from Rivendell Meadows Alpacas. The cream, camel, and mocha colors were evenly distributed down the length of the roving and it was incredibly soft. I like to pet it. That didn't stop me from purchasing a mossy green merino and silk batt with subtle streaks of deep red.

The wild ones in the knitting pack weren't even close to exhausted when we finished with the festival. After all of the driving, we decided to drop in at the Yarn Barn in Lawrence where we were able to test drive spinning wheels. (The Lendrum saxony rubbed up against my leg and tried to make me take it home. I resisted.) I settled for a Sacht drop spindle, some silk hankies to spin, and Priscilla Gibson-Roberts' book High Whorling: A Spinners Guide to an Old World Skill.

Finally we were exhausted and a little dizzy with all of the fiber beauty. We all piled back into our vehicles and drove home. At home while I arranged my prizes on the table for photographs, my assistants sampled the goodies. Norah has perfected the innocent look. Oscar needs practice. Innocence is implausibe with alpaca tufts stuck between one's teeth.

Chez Sleepy

2009-01-04T16:04:00.003-06:00

Since the "no knitting" until my hands recover pledge, I've settled into a pleasant routine of reading in the evening. The cats appreciate that I'm not dangling yarn in their whiskers and they often join me. Then I fall asleep. That's right. I'm asleep by 8 in the evening some days. I never realized that knitting was a stimulant, that it kept me awake and engaged. I do know that I sometimes cannot fall asleep because I'm thinking about a pattern or a yarn or what I'll knit next.

The paint color scheme for the living areas in my house has been troubling me too since I'm nearly finished with wall paper removal in the dining room. I fussed and made a half-hearted attempt to find a color-wheel so I could examine colors and see which ones would be most companionable. I got a decorating book instead, which makes basic suggestions, and has a small picture of color wheel in the introduction. I also realized that compared to getting the layers of paint and wallpaper off of the walls, having the dry wall contractor make repairs, and prepping the trim, the actual painting will be very easy and inexpensive. If I really don't like a color, I can paint it again.

The eureka moment arrived with the Pottery Barn catalog. One of the rugs has reds, blues, yellows, and greens. Those were the colors I wanted and finding the right shades was the challenge. So now, I'm going to use that rug as my palette. I probably won't buy the rug, but I am certainly happy to have picture of it.

Too much knitting?

2009-01-01T13:47:00.005-06:00

Is there such a thing as too much knitting? I'm not inclined to think so. The Brooklyn Tweed scarf in Noro Silk Garden practically knitted itself. (More pictures are over on Ravelry.) Watching the colors unfold kept me knitting and knitting to see what would happen next. The glee of watching this scarf grow out of a very simple pattern still astonishes me, and I've been unable to fully describe it. People who have knitted the scarf seem to understand, and those who haven't humor me. I'm fortunate to have lots of people who humor me -- scarf or otherwise.

One of the things this scarf taught me is that I need to do things that don't involve my hands as much. My tendinitis flares up periodically. My wrists and hands hurt and swell. The typical solution is to take ibuprofen until I break down and go to the doctor. He prescribes steroids and the typical stretching exercises and lifestyle recommendations. Everything is good for a stretch, and then it comes back. It got really bad while I was knitting this scarf.

I have a lifestyle that fosters tendinitis. Here is what I like to do: knit, crochet, spin, type at the keyboard, surf the web, and garden. They all involve small movements of the hands. Most recently, all of the wallpaper scraping combined with the others has triggered the flare up. I haven't been to the doctor yet. I'm still in the whiny, ibuprofen stage.

New hobbies are on the horizon because I need to rest those easily inflamed hands and wrists. I've been brainstorming about what I will do. I'm not a huge fan of exercise, but I do like to fidget. Fidgeting and tinkering is done best with hands. Some of that nervous energy can be dealt with through actual physical movement like walking and biking and yoga. I might spend more time dreaming, thinking and contemplating this year. Maybe meditating. Maybe sitting quietly with the cats or reading. I have a terrible time watching tv without doing something else (see fidgeting above). There might not be as much tv this year.

At work, I'm going to think before I type or click. This could have some benefits. Hasty emails are prone to poor grammar and misunderstandings. I may start talking to people in person rather than typing. I may read a chapter about the best way to write a stored procedure rather than jumping straight to the code. Much like emails, planned coding is often better than the fly-by-the-seat-of-the-pants variety.

I hope that in a few weeks I will be able to ration out some precious fiber arts time. Everything in moderation, right? I still cannot get my head around the idea that there is such a thing as too much knitting. In the meantime, I'm going to admire the way the colors in the yarn change in the scarf and dream about what I will plant this spring.

An Orderly Home

2008-12-27T23:17:00.011-06:00

Once upon a time, I lived in a very normal home. The rugs needed to be vacuumed and the dishes had to be washed. Life was somewhat shabby and perhaps a little dull. I preferred to think of it as "shabby chic." And then one day, I tugged on some loose wallpaper.

For much of December, I've been peeling wallpaper from the dining room walls. It is a slow process. The wallpaper needs to be soaked with water to soften the paste, gently scraped with a putty knife, the walls washed and patched. The house was built in the late 30s and appears to have all of the wallpaper and paint that accumulated over the intervening years. The picture is one of the layers of wallpaper. I wish I knew more about the people who lived here. What did they like to do? What did they think about the house? Were they happy?

I enjoy this place, and I feel more confident as I make it mine. An astute person pointed out that redecorating a house after a big life event is an apt metaphor for remaking one's life. I hadn't thought about it that deeply. I just went with my instincts and dug in. I think they were right. The organic process and the adventures unfold along the way to completion. I wish it were just a little more orderly or even predictable. I'm trying to laugh at the surprises.

This evening, a friend offered to help remove a fixture that I couldn't unscrew from

the wall. While I was fetching a screw driver from the kitchen, I heard laughing. Apparently, he just used his hands. Most of the wall also came off with the fixture. He looked really proud of himself although he tried to look sheepish for the photograph. I've heard that cats are big fans of visible damage. I think the same may apply to men. Being both male and kitten, Oscar was awestruck. Norah had the good sense to hide.

The good news is that he discovered a nook between the kitchen and the living room that is the size of a closet. Perfect, perhaps, for a built-in bookcase. When I think of built-in bookcases, I get weak in the knees and swoon. Over the past year, I've become acquainted with tilers, plumbers, electricians, handy women and dry wall installers. Why not meet a good carpenter for bookcase building?

Oh yes, I do look forward to a time when I have an orderly and boring home. I will knit and read and surf the internet. The colors and fabrics and style of my house will become outdated. I will be unfazed. I will garden and go on vacation and host parties. I will understand that inner peace does not come from redecorating however wonderful the metaphor might be.

Unknitting

2008-12-03T21:17:00.002-06:00

Crocheting is starting to get fun. Somewhere along the way, the needle wasn't as awkward to hold and the stitches began to form themselves. I'm not claiming any kind of brilliance or sophistication -- only a familiarity with the single crochet, half-double crochet, triple, and chaining.

In the back of my mind, the Oblique sweater is starting to come to life. I got the yarn early last spring. Then I got busy with life, and yesterday I pulled out the project on the needles. The ribbing on the back is finished. Two inches of ribbing. I think it is time to frog that project and start over. I cannot decide whether to work on the Oblique or Mr Green Jeans or some other cardigan. I like the possibility of a sweater almost as much as the sweater itself.

My house is slowly unknitting itself. The wallpaper is off the walls in the dining room. The bathroom tiles appear to need work, which came to my attention in a dramatic way this morning. Fortunately Naplover's dad recommend someone who does a good job. Someone he trusts. I love good recommendations. It makes the whole unknown aspect of home repairs seem so much more palatable.

And in other good news of home repair, someone replaced the light bulb in the lamp in my front yard. Last night when I went to sleep, the light was burned out. This morning, there was light. It makes me feel like there is good in the world. The little good things that have been happening lately give me hope, and it has inspired me to practice generosity.

Holiday Weekends

2008-11-30T19:25:00.002-06:00

This holiday weekend has been especially lovely. Not only did Andi and her husband host a delicious Thanksgiving dinner with two kinds of stuffing and cranberry sauce with crystallized ginger and other undisclosed special ingredients, but I got to hang out with friends on turkey day and knit. Being invited and included meant a great deal to me.

I had planned to take Rum Balls. I planned ahead for the ingredients and shopped in advance -- except for one crucial ingredient. Many years ago, I bought a giant bottle of rum and kept it in a kitchen cupboard next to my recipe box. (This doesn't qualify as a family tradition -- more of a family habit -- but if I were looking for rum at my parents' house, grandparents' house, or sister's house, the rum would be in a lower kitchen cupboard next to the recipe box.) In any case, when I moved out of my parents house, I bought a bottle of rum to use when I made things like rum balls. Since then, the bottle has always been there and always produced when called upon. The holiday cookies, the occasional rum and coke in the summer, the special ice cream sauce. . . until this Thanksgiving. The never-ending bottle of rum produced only a quarter cup of rum before the bottle was empty. I was shocked, but managed to recover and scrounge around for a different offering. Andi didn't blink at a substitution and happily accepted a bottle of wine instead.

The rest of the weekend has been filled with crocheting and knitting and spinning. Since the green stuff roving is all gone, a replacement was in order. The crimson combed top from Christopher and Nancy Mercer's The Naked Pines was impossible to resist. I tried very hard. From the moment Mimi carried it out of the backroom at Twist, I wanted it. The reasoning about having several pounds of BFL at home that were waiting to be dyed or the several pounds of Border Leicester didn't make any difference. This needed to come home with me, and I'm glad it did. It is spinning up beautifully in subtle shades of a dark red. Mmmm. Just what I need to fuel the holiday spirit.

Mom even came to Twist to knit with me and Jill. She's working on a Christmas stocking for a grandchild. These stockings have a long tradition in our family, and she said this is her twenty-first stocking. It is the traditional bright green, red, and white intarsia stocking with a little bit of blue as an accent. She was having a hard time focusing on the stocking since she was sitting right next a bulky Rowan wool and some lovely worsted alpaca. She was also intrigued with a striped scarf that Jill was knitting with Noro. I think she might be interested in some non-seasonal knitting.

Bye-bye Green

2008-11-24T20:20:00.002-06:00

The green paint from the dining room is almost entirely gone. There are only a few little bits along the baseboards and the windows that need to be removed. It was surprisingly easy to pull the old wall paper and paint off of the walls. My father recommended that I fill up a sprayer with warm water, find a good tv show, and mist the walls on every commercial break for an hour before starting to remove the wall paper. It worked so well. I should listen to Dad more often.

The wall preparation and removing the texture from the ceiling will keep the me very busy for awhile. Looking at the brown of ancient sheet rock that is offset by the creamy-colored joint compound raised the question of what color the room should be. The late 90s hunter green doesn't seem right anymore, but I liked the way it was the complementary color of the red entry way. Between the entry way and the dining room is are very neutral beige living room walls. The couch is slate blue and probably the only upholstered item that I'm committed to keeping unchanged. I see my future. It is me surrounded by paint chips and muttering about color combinations. It frightens me.

The green roving that I've been spinning for a very long time is finished. To my way of thinking, everything is practice. This project has amounted to only practice. Projects that are practice and end up being useful or liked are the best scenario. These finished products aren't things that I like, but I know so much more about dying roving and spinning yarn that I did at the outset. The names for the colorway varied from Kermit in a Blender to OMG, You Didn't or, on a particularly vexing day, Holy Fuck It Is Green.

I knitted a really rough looking scarf and still had about half of the yarn left. Then I gave the scarf to Mom, who was extremely polite about it, but it was a cool day and she was glad to have it. She was really surprised by how warm it was. Ugly can still be warm. Finally I told her my plans for the scarf had been the trash can. She looked so relieved. As for the yarn, I'm not sure what will happen with it. Maybe it will be good for tying tomato plants to stakes next summer.

In the meantime, I'm trying to decide what color the next batch of BFL superwash will be. Purples, blues, reds? Brown, blue, pink? Whatever it is, one pound is way too much for one Sally to spin in the same color. Four ounces sounds like a very manageable amount. Maybe I'll try out the painting color schemes with the roving.

Technology

2008-11-17T19:09:00.002-06:00

The iPhone and the G1 are terribly appealing. They have applications that can identify music and price items in the store. What I really want is a phone that can tell me more about yarn: ply, weight, fiber, colorway, dye lot. That's what I need in a phone. Maybe it could double as a drop spindle too.

Winter Popcorn

2008-11-10T17:51:00.004-06:00

It is cold and dreary and darker than usual today. To cheer myself up, I stopped by the Indian Hills Ace Hardware store and purchased an Atom Pop popcorn popper. One of my favorite meals is a bowl of popcorn and a glass of milk. The Atom Pop is my Dad's favorite popcorn maker. I have to agree. It has more flavor than the microwave popcorn, more grease than an air popper and the steaming pan warms the air in the kitchen.

The real reason for my trip to the hardware store was for a spray bottle. The years and years of wallpaper and paint on my dining room walls had begun to come lose. I've been walking past the same barely attached piece of wallpaper for five years and resisting the urge to pull on it. Last night, I had to do it. I tugged and the piece came free. The paper surrounding it stayed tight to the wall. I can tell that the future holds much spritzing and scraping before I will be able to repaint. Further examination reveals that there aren't clear stopping points between the living room, dining room, hallway and entry way. Those rooms have arches between them, but no trim work that would be an obvious place to stop wallpaper removal.

Last but not least, an interesting group moved into a small shopping center near my house. They call themselves the Kalpa Bhadra Kadampa Buddhist Center, and they offer meditation classes. I'm intrigued. I'm also feeling shy. One of these days though, I'm going to wander down there and meditate with them. It's been years since I sat with the Zen group, but I'm feeling the tug toward quietness.

Fiber-licious

2008-11-09T11:42:00.002-06:00

A year ago, I started took a spinning class, and yarn has never been the same. Yarn has short fibers, long fibers, blends. It has varying degrees of processing before it arrives at the doorstep. I've briefly considered owning bunnies (too much work) or sheep (too big to hide) in order to have fleecy goodness in the backyard. The idea of meeting the sheep whose fleece I was knitting became possibility.

The four November Saturday mornings that I spent with the more seasoned spinners were magical in their own right. I grabbed some coffee and drove to the south part of town to an apartment complex community building. It must have been a very glamorous early 1980s setting with mustard yellow vinyl seats with coasters, a bar, and a wrought-iron fire place. Now it feels very comfortable and unassuming. The amenities are still very enjoyable but don't inspire the grasping feeling that brand-new, highly fashionable items foster. The huge windows cover two walls and overlook trees by the lake. Geese lurch by the window. The sun feels warm through the windows. The spinning wheels would whir soothingly and we talked. We talked and talked and talked.

It was just four of us. Dawn, our teacher, Rhonda, and Connie. The group was quiet and boisterous by turns. We petted fleece and carded and looked through fiber magazines like teenage girls deciding what dreaming about what make up to wear.

I was very tense and fragile then. The spinning wheel wasn't coordinated with what I wanted to do. Yarn barf seemed to be the best that I could produce and I desperately wanted to be able to spin beautiful yarn. I still haven't relaxed enough to learn how to spin beautifully, but I can now make ropey awkward yarn. The wheel spins with a regular speed, and I enjoy seeing the bobbin taking up the yarn.

My life was tense and fragile too. My Ex and I were skirting the issue of our deteriorating relationship. The denial was huge and the truth threatened to be exposed at every turn. It took so much work to pretend that things were okay. Or, if it were a day when I was willing to admit that things needed work, pretending counseling could help was hurdle.

Those Saturday mornings allowed me to be a beginner -- a very slow-learning beginner. Everything was a possibility and the other spinners were so encouraging and happy for me. It was a very safe place. I'm still a beginner but it is less tenuous and halting.

So yesterday morning Jill, Andie, and I met for breakfast. Then Jill and I took off for this oasis that I hadn't seen for a year. It felt so different. I'd started the day with people who I loved and cared about without the complications of conflict and expectations. I didn't have a husband (still a sad point), and I had my own spinning wheel.

Frankly, I was worried. What if it weren't the same? Sometimes memories are better. Rhonda wasn't able to attend, and we'd brought friends. What if they didn't like it? As I began to pull my wheel out of the car, Becca arrived in her little yellow car and took out her Victoria. My heart began to lift. Dawn was making tea and cutting pies. Jill heated her soup in a crockpot. Laura and her daughter brought their wheels and rainbow roving. Connie eventually arrived with her usual enthusiasm.

We spun and spun and spun. Jill knitted. We talked and ate. It felt so right and I had a quiet, contented feeling.

Vote your conscience

2008-11-04T11:50:00.002-06:00

It's a beautiful day to vote here in Kansas. The air is warm, and the trees are starting to shed their autumnal colors in big, crunchy, showy drifts. People are smiling and voting.

Tonight I'm going to Mom and Dad's house to eat dinner and watch election returns. Dad will show me his flat screen tv, and I'll show him the Slate feed on twitter.com. Mom and I will knit.

Autumn

2008-11-02T19:27:00.003-06:00

I'm a little behind on seasonal obligations, but I'm ready to for fall to start now! The picture is my kitchen sink full of basil. The night of the first hard freeze found me scurrying around the garden and clipping delicate herbs. Then I made and froze pesto until I ran out of olive oil. Six bags should be enough to last all winter, right?

This might appear to be an unrelated topic, but my knitting was on the kitchen counter right next to the basil mess. A clapotis from the Hand Maiden Sea Silk. I was enchanted with the pattern and the yarn. So enchanted that I neglected to correctly calculate the yardage. Alas, it has been frogged, which is probably just as well. This project had many false starts and do-overs. I even changed needles and upgraded to Lantern Moon in the hopes that more expensive needles would make the project go better.

Such thinking is pure foolishness, but those Lantern Moon needles are lovely. I haven't given up on the yarn or the pattern. They just aren't right for each other. The needles are perfect for me.

Last but not least, friends have been coming to visit me. At my house. This is a big deal. When things started to be tense with the Ex, I stopped inviting people. I didn't feel welcome at home, so how could I have other people visit me? Now, it is really nice to feel like this is my house and to have company visit and laugh. To my delight Oscar loves it too and really hams it up for visitors. I think it is just his way of luring them into complacency so he can taste their wine when the are distracted by him.

Sleeping it off

2008-10-12T08:22:00.002-05:00

This week, I got my first virus of the season. Following last winter's flu fiasco where I was sick alternate weeks from January through March, I'm having serious thoughts about what I can do to prevent a replay. The first thing I have to do is get well by Monday so I can take the flu shot my employer provides. Mostly, this week has been devoted to sleeping and cold medicine. That may sound boring, but it is about all I could manage.

In between naps, I read The Kite Runner. The images and haunting stories keep running through my mind. Despite reviewing the horrifying circumstances in Afghanistan and human weakness and corruption, it offered a tiny glimpse of hope. It wasn't the hope for perfect redemption or a fairy tale ending, but it had hope for small change and betterment for some individuals. I needed that hope to keep it all from seeming too overwhelming. Frankly, compared to the fate of an entire war-torn country, the possibility of a good future for one person is still dismal. I think I'm probably the last literate person who hadn't read this book, but if you haven't read it, I highly recommend it.

So why not cheer myself up on the iternet? I love every one's blogs. Once I finished reading those, I went looking for new things. The loveliest thing about the internet is the way to find new and delightful things through the old familiar paths of friends' blogs. Through a few links from voluntary simplicity sites, the smallnotebook.org hooked me. I particularly enjoyed reading about No Spend Month and trading down to a smaller home.

On the home front, Oscar a.k.a. the Furminator has A Bad Habit. I mistakenly thought that his eagerness to sit on the toilet seat and watch me fix my hair and put on make up was sweet. I'd rub his head and he'd purr. Then, I'd dash out the door to work. Being home, I had to go back in the bathroom for Kleenexes and other essentials. Oscar was licking my just-used toothbrush. Eep! He was just using me for my tooth-paste dregs. I'm not even going to think about other places he might have used his raspy little tongue. Operation toothbrush-relocation commenced immediately.

And last but not least, after sleeping all day yesterday, I had enough energy to go to Andie's fiftieth birthday party at Oeno. Andie is smart, vibrant, and interested in life. I admire her taste in people and hope that I make fifty look as young and effortless as she does. Everyone there was funny and intelligent. We even behaved reasonably well.

Ramblings brought to you by Ginger Tea

2008-10-05T20:23:00.007-05:00

Although a few notable things have happened in the last few weeks, my life revolves around finding clean underwear, wondering if I sleep too much, debating whether learning to knit continental style would make me a faster knitter, and why I suddenly have no desire to exercise.

Last week brought a brief business trip to Denver and a lovely visit to the Lambe Shoppe. A group of women were seated at a marble-table and finishing clapotis'. (What is the plural of clapotis?) Each wrap was beautiful and showed off the yarns so well. The mohair looks very different from the linen, and they were both equally gorgeous. When the women finished the wraps, they pulled socks and sweaters out of their bags and knitted those items too. Knitters come prepared!

I bought some Misti Alpaca Hand Paint Lace which was so scrumptious that Oscar yanked it out of the suitcase, nuzzled the yarn and nipped at it. I rescued the hank before he turned into the Furminator, destroyer of all that is yarn.

Somewhere in the last few weeks, stress management has become more important to me. My ears are stuck at my shoulders and the eye tick is just too much. Besides, sanity has those beguiling ways and is a mysterious and seductive force. I know it isn't popular, but I'm considering the pursuit. (Sanity is a hobby, right?) After reading some articles about health on the internet, I've decided that more yoga and contemplative practices are in my future. Don't ask about the implementation plan. Just reaching a conclusion is a big deal for me.

Also, all of those yoga articles linked to health articles. One of those articles suggested that thin slices of ginger, steeped in hot water and sweetened with honey, are good for health and well-being. I'm currently drinking a cup of this, and it is very tasty. It will require further testing to tell you more about health and well-being.

The laundry can be ignored, but I've decided it has close links with sanity. Stick with me here. The laundry is out of control. I have so many clothes and none to wear. If they are clean, they are a wrinkled mess. Or maybe they have surprise holes or stains that will only be discovered while I am making a presentation. Getting dressed for work or even to go out with friends is like the lottery. The odds of winning the jackpot are very low, but you might win a buck or two. Maybe matching socks are in the drawers or maybe they will be if you play again soon! Working out an orderly scheme for clean clothes and presentable garments is part of my sanity plan.

In summary, my life will be better because of new yarn, yoga, ginger-honey tea, and clean laundry. Enlightenment or sanity may never be mine, but at least I'll have hobbies.

Blue skies at last

2008-09-14T20:42:00.002-05:00

This last week has been very rainy and humid and just dreary. The grass didn't stop growing one bit, and if I venture out to mow, it will leave big ruts in the yard. But it isn't all bad. All of that raining meant lots of time inside knitting, reading and internet surfing -- altogether happy stuff. This doesn't even include movies and lunch with friends.

The rain cleared up part way through the day yesterday and the sky is the brilliant blue of autumn. I can't remember fall beginning this early in previous years, but I'm ready to start nesting and cleaning and baking.

Finally, here's the requested pesto recipe:

½ c. olive oil
¼ c. water
¾ c. fresh Parmesan, grated
½ c. pine nuts
3 cloves garlic
1 c. packed basil leaves
½ t. salt

Blend ingredients.

Sometimes I substitute walnuts for pine nuts and parsley for basil.

Sock of Hope

2008-09-08T19:42:00.004-05:00

So there is some hope that one day things will feel normal again. As evidence, I submit the Sock of Hope a.k.a the Spring Forward Sock from Knitty.

I had been rendered unable to knit anything more complicated than a dishcloth. (Stress is all about humility. Seriously.) Technically it was possible to knit from patterns. I had before. But now, my brain refused to count, to think, to follow a pattern. I gave up and knitted dish clothes. Then I tricked my brain and knitted Kitty Pi, which requires a small amount of counting and pattern following. Last week, I blatantly knitted a sock. The toes still need to be stitched up and the other sock made, but this is progress. One day I might be able to knit a sweater!

The weather here turned decidedly cooler. I chopped up beef stew ingredients and tossed them in the crock pot. Tomorrow morning I'll turn it on before I leave for work. I'm looking forward to the cooler-weather cooking. I'm also looking forward to coming home to a home-cooked meal tomorrow. It will be the perfect evening for planning what to plant in the garden this fall and to freeze a couple of batches of pesto.

Back in Town

2008-09-07T20:09:00.003-05:00

I just returned from a lovely week in Madison, WI, which I spent with my sister, her husband and their two boys. The boys are adorable and as well-behaved as is possible at ages one and two. I cannot say the same for the adults, and it was a delight. As with all good vacations, the time was relaxed and unstructured with lots of long chats, naps, and giggling.

We ventured off to several yarn stores. Lakeside Fibers is closest to her house, has a huge selection of yarns, and they offer all kinds of classes. In the back of the building is another shop -- a coffee shop with a view of the lake. I believe it was then that I realized my life's calling is to drink coffee and knit in yarn shops. This is similar to the dream of drinking coffee in bookstores. I haven't figured out how that will generate income for me, but one day inspiration may strike.

The Sow's Ear in Verona also had a terrific selection of yarns and an extremely friendly staff. They were amused by my one-year-old nephew's delight at seeing yarn when most people would have been stricken with terror. When they learned I was from Kansas, they wanted to know all about the Yarn Barn: "They have big advertisements in every magazine!" Sadly, I haven't been to the Yarn Barn and couldn't tell them about it. Perhaps that will be the next place (besides Twist) where I drink coffee and knit. I wonder if coffee is allowed there.

Usually at the end of a vacation I'm tired and ready to come home. This time, I just wanted it to go on and on. I knew the cats were getting good care and attention from Jill. My parents minded the garden. There were no worries. I was having fun with my sister and enjoying an idyllic college town, dammit. Through some amazing act of will power, I still managed to make it home. As a reward for actually returning, the house was cleaner than I remembered and the cats were sweet. The garden looked good and I had a lunch date with two friends on Saturday. Things are actually pretty good here in do-dah, and I'm glad I came back.

Reality Show

2008-09-03T18:45:00.003-05:00

I'm tuning in tonight for my new favorite reality show: Sarah Palin. Each time I think I've heard the most astonishing thing about her or the McCain campaign, a new most astonishing thing pops up. Save a seat in front of the tv for me. I can hardly wait to hear her speech.

My sister is in the kitchen making an apple crisp. I made a taco casserole. We've got our Woodchuck cider and our knitting. I've made it to the foot of the Spring sock and my sister is knitting a table runner from Rowan tweed. This is a good way to spend an evening.

Lazy Days

2008-09-01T11:47:00.001-05:00

This is a lovely weekend. Lots of time sipping coffee, knitting, sitting around with my feet up, and chatting. Sometimes I knit or read, but when that gets too intense, I take a nap. I could get used to this.

Acceptance Speech

2008-08-28T22:06:00.001-05:00

Obama outdid himself.

Politics & Donkey Talk

2008-08-28T18:12:00.008-05:00

I've been glued to the tv and watching the DNC this week. Lily Ledbetter's story blew me away. As one blogger said, "Hillary Clinton shone like a new penny." Hillary sure has pluck. Our very own governor, Kathleen Sebelius, did well too. I'm not ignoring the guys -- Ted Kennedy and Bill Clinton are awesome -- I was inspired to see these strong articulate women on the anniversary of the 19th amendment. I'm pleased that women now have a place in the senate, as governors, and as leaders. 1920 was only 88 years ago.

A woman in Michigan (we work together -- albeit remotely) got to talking about donkeys with me. I have a stuffed donkey on my desk, and it has nothing to do with my political preferences. I like to take pictures of it and send it to people as the mood strikes. Sometimes they get a picture of the face, and sometimes they get a picture of the other end. It all depends on the message that needs to be sent.

The Michigan woman heard about my stuffed donkey and said she has her own, real live donkey named Luke. He's a miniature, which means he is about waist high. He likes to break branches off of a dead tree and romp around the pasture with them. Sometimes he nips at the horses or trips them. He's real ornery, and she sent a picture. He picture looks so sweet and he's got all of that mischief bottled up. Looking at his picture just makes me happy.

But back to politics, Obama speaks tonight. I can hardly wait to hear it. The last time he spoke at the DNC, he inspired so much hope that I wanted him to be president right that moment. Since then, I developed a deep respect for Hillary Clinton. I'm still wistful about not having her as a candidate, but I know that Obama will be an extraordinary leader too.

Sassy Cow

2008-08-24T19:52:00.007-05:00

The negative thinking is worse than I knew. I've started to openly expect things to go wrong. I'm a firm believer that many situations are neutral and the person brings their own perspective and energy to the party. Responsibility for making those situations pleasant belongs to the bearer of the attitude.

Yesterday's mail brought an envelope from my sister. Even though I was excited, I didn't open it right away because I was mowing the lawn; I set it inside and thought about it while I mowed. The more I thought about it, the more I was certain it was something bad. Maybe I'd made her angry? Maybe something was wrong? I hadn't sent her a gift or letter recently. Surely it had to be something bad.

When I opened the envelope, it had a 3" x 2" tag with a picture of a black and white spotted cow. The camera is zoomed in so the cow's nose is disproportionately large. Her head is slightly lowered, and she also appears to be looking demurely through her eyelashes. The caption says, "Sally. Her extra long whiskers make her the envy of the herd." I had to sit down and laugh. Sis likely plucked this off of her bottle of milk. She likes to shop locally, and the emblem on the tag says, "Sassy Cow Creamery." So let that be a lesson. Good things are just a likely around the corner as bad things. This lesson has been brought to you by Sally the Sassy Cow.

Meanwhile, back at the yarn ranch, Tamara taught us how to read patterns and crochet in circles. The crocheted circle appears to be the next step to crocheted flowers, and if I told you how giddy the prospect of crocheted flowers makes me, you all would doubt my sanity. So, I'll settle for saying that crocheted flowers sound very nice. The circle posted here is worked using pink dish cloth cotton, which has striking similarities to the picture of annual vinca if you squint your eyes. Flowers!

Little things

2008-08-23T09:21:00.006-05:00

This has been a wet and rainy which is good for thinking about the garden. The picture on the left is a snapshot of purple fountain grass. At a distance, it really does look purple. Looking at all of the colors in the photo surprises me. That grass is just as cream-colored and green as it is purple.

Speaking of odd colors, Oscar the Furminator is looking as much the wild man on the outside as he is on the inside. As a kitten, he's basically a seal-point mutt. My sister adopted a cat that was half Maine Coon, and the woman who gave her the cat said, "The mother was a Maine Coon, and the father came in through the basement window." Oscar's coloring shows a similar up-town meets wrong-side-of-the-tracks mashup. The kitten fur is turning into cat fur, and the seal points are turning into tabby points. (Yes, I made up the term "tabby point" right this minute.) Where his face was a dark brown, it is turning into dark brown stripes. The cream on his body has a barely discernible, reddish tabby pattern to it as if someone painted a henna tattoo on him and it faded. His tail is showing white spots through the brown. He's gonna be one crazy looking cat, and I can hardly wait to see the results of this transformation.

I'm pretending it is fall. Baking gingerbread, knitting sweaters, and reading under a down duvet are starting to sound appealing. Of course the low temperatures are only in the 60s, so all I've done is throw open the windows to enjoy the cool the inside of the house. Stove top cooking is back on the agenda too. Reheating a homemade soup for lunch or dinner. Going to an apple orchard or picking pumpkins also sound like good ideas.

Andie, Bean and Jill came over for a potluck dinner on Thursday night. We had a great time talking too much, eating home-cooked food, and going for a walk. Jill arrived with a lovely blue bag that had gifts! She knitted beautiful cream colored wash clothes. One has a heart-shaped design on the front and the other is moss stitch. She also put in a bar of acai and pomegranate soap. She noticed that I've been feeling down and wanted to cheer me up. It never fails to surprise me that people have so much love and caring to share, and I was delighted to get such a thoughtful gift.

Today's the day for Crocheting 102 at Twist. I'm so excited. This is where I will learn enough to move onto the Crochet Embellishment class that Tamara is teaching in September. I know that I talked Shelly's ear off about learning how to do this. It all happened because Tamara started to show me what she made the last time I bumped into her at the shop, and I started hopping around singing a tuneless song: "Me monkey! Monkey see, monkey do! Monkey, monkey, monkey!"

Tamara is a very savvy shopper and her story sounded much like this. "One day I was walking down the street and a fairy godmother was selling the a boring, but perfectly good sweater, for one cent. I bought that sweater and snipped off some pieces, crocheted beautiful things, put them on the sweater. Now I have this. I think it is okay." The thing about Tamara is she says this just as if this sequence of events and talent could happen to any ordinary person. At this point, she's holding a lovely sweater that is tastefully trimmed in lace and has several flowers and leaves on it. Anthropologie would sell that sweater for a pirate's treasure chest of gold. (Love ya, Anthropologie, but you don't fit my budget). By this time, the fantasy I had in high school where I am Andie Walsh (Molly Ringwald) from Pretty in Pink and I make my incredible prom dress cotton candy and fireflies has come back to life. Now, I have to practice my crochet, find the fairy godmother with the perfect sweater for the right price, and take Tamara's class. I can hardly wait.

Peaceful Evening

2008-08-18T20:09:00.004-05:00

This evening is so calming. The cicadas are chirping. In Charlotte's Web, they would sing, "Summer's over, summer's over." It's a good night for reading. Mom loaned me The Guynd by Belinda Rathbone, which is about an American writer who marries a Scotsman. He has a large estate that has been in his family for centuries. The money to maintain the estate ran out sometime around WWII, but the duty to maintain it continues. She has the fortitude to see it as a place she would like to be. I really enjoy the author's strength and her ability to give herself over to the dream.

Thank you for all of your supportive comments about the situation. Sunday are the worst days for self-pity. I should just turn off the computer on Sundays and do something for people who are truly needy. The Lord's Diner always needs help. Or I should remember that the Ex has divulged information about the Hot Water Closet that would horrify her. It is about human nature. He's probably unhappy and struggling too although he looks pretty damn cheery these days. I'll give him the benefit of the doubt.

The intermediate crochet class is Saturday afternoon. I'm looking forward to it. I've been practicing the single stitch. Then I realized I don't remember the double or the half-double. I may have to spend the rest of the week preparing for class. I just love that I can spend all week with a hook and yarn and saying I'm studying -- as if it is virtuous. That yarn is such torture.

Gooseberry Pie

2008-08-17T11:12:00.013-05:00

I remember picking gooseberries with my cousins. My aunt and uncle lived near a creek that was lined with gooseberries. Five of us could pick the gooseberries for what seemed to be infinity, but in reality was probably an hour. It was well-suited for our favorite make-believe game of Little House on the Prairie. Then we'd go back to my aunt's kitchen, wash the berries (which usually amounted to two cups), and make gooseberry pie. The pie is pretty tart, and the standard 1/2 cup of sugar that I add to fruit pies isn't nearly enough to cut the tartness of the gooseberry. It takes at least 2 cups of sugar. The pie should definitely be served with a scoop of vanilla ice cream -- just in case it is still too tart.

On the subject of pies, Kitty Pi is finished! The Pi dough is loose and stretchy. My assistant tested it by biting it, kicking it, and pouncing on it. He indicated his approval by crossing his paws. I cooked it in hot water for 45 minutes and stretched it over a plate to dry.

Oscar and Norah have both slept in it. Norah hops out when she sees me. She must be too cool to be seen snuggling with something woolly.

The divorce is really bothering me this week. At first, I kept going because of shock and anxiety. I've seen other women go through this, and (please forgive me) I wondered how could it take months and months to realize this person to whom you are committed and whom you still trust is not considering your best interests at all. Of course, he's not going to tell you that. Of course, it hurts him to see you hurt. But you aren't a team anymore. He doesn't have your back.

When I went to visit Atticus last week, I pulled up in front of the Hot Water Closet's (HWC) house. Her yard has never been particularly tidy, but I noticed that it had been trimmed and edged. That was the Ex's job at our house. Inside, her carpets were vacuumed and the tile freshly mopped -- another thing he did at our house. HWC never seemed to care about that before. The divorce seemed so real at that moment. I almost left because I was starting to cry.

Atticus was happy to see me. He meowed, let me hold him and pet him. The Ex wanted me to take the kitty downstairs. HWC wasn't supposed to be home for this visit, but the first floor looked suspiciously as if she had abandoned her drink and tv watching in a hurry. I took the kitty downstairs. He freaked out and howled, which makes sense. These days, whenever someone picks him up, they put him in a cat carrier and he ends up in a new house. Then I sat on the couch, put him on my lap, and he squatted and peed on my lap. He's only peed on me one other time -- the day his brother died. I felt so bad for Atticus. He wants normal as much as I do, and normal will never be the way it was even though the Ex and HWC obviously treat him like the spoiled, princely cat he is. Cat toys are strewn throughout the house.

I really cried then. Everything is so different. I'm tired of coping and I'm tired of handling it. I know I will get a second wind. I know my friends will cheer me up and work will distract me. That evening was just too much. I left.

The Ex sent an email to apologize for the cat having peed on me. The funny thing is, that incident didn't bother me. The cat was stressed out. I got his point. I belong to him. He wanted me to stay, but I didn't belong there.

The apology really stuck in my craw. He apologies for all of the inconsequential stuff. I would like some apologies for real things. While I realize it will be a cold day in hell before I get any apologies, the beginning of my suggested apology list:

1. I'm sorry I ended an eleven year marriage with a note and without discussing it

2. I'm sorry I lied to you for all of these years

3. I'm sorry I ruined your trust

4. I'm sorry I didn't stick up for you with my family

5. I'm sorry I made you wait eleven years for a child and then left (see #1)

I'm not so different from those women who continue to trust their Ex. I thought he still had loyalty to me and to what we had shared for all of those years. Imagine my surprise to have a very personal, very intimate detail about myself mentioned in casual conversation to me by a friend. Thank goodness it was Jill because I almost crawled under the table from embarrassment as in I-liked-to-died kind of moment. She understood my horror when I explained to her that to my way of thinking only two people had known that: the Ex and me. Clearly that is not the case. I thought about calling him and telling him to just shut up, but that would be silly. It would probably hurt his feelings, and he'd tell more people in the process of working through his feelings.

There are still so many wonderful things in my life that delight me, and I'm so lucky. Right after Jill's revelation woke me from my stupor, we went down to Twist. Becca, Sugar Bunny and I had decided that Saturdays were good days for spinning. Fortunately Shelly agrees. My wheel started to take up yarn again, magically. Becca's proximity does really good things for my wheel. It always works better in her presence. (She won't take any credit for it either. She's sitting so modestly in this picture; but, she's always modest.) She brought the elegant Victoria.

The lovely Jackie took time to spin. She wears the cutest clothes. They look like they'd be comfortable to wear, don't inhibit activity, and they are fetching. If we were the same size, I'd be truly jealous of her closet. She brought Sage, the cheerful spinning elf. Sage doesn't mind kneeling on the floor to work the treadle on bit. She even looked happy about it. Who needs an electric wheel when you can have an assistant like that?

All in all, it was a lovely Saturday spent with friends. Just the sort of thing a girl needs to snap her out of the doldrums.

Last Five Rounds

2008-08-13T19:55:00.003-05:00

Kitty Pi has five more rounds before felting begins. The Furminator attacks it every time I blink or look the other way. Felting is very forgiving, thank goodness. He has got to learn that yarn is for me and cat toys are for him. He refuses to cede the point. No matter, because I will soon have a critter that has eluded me for months, a finished object.

You all are so sweet. I've gotten the most supportive comments, emails, tweets, and even a few hugs. I feel whiny and mopey sometimes. I try to keep things on the blog happy and perky. The last few weeks have slipped away from me, and I've had a pity party. They're really pretty gloomy and I don't recommend them. I feel so fortunate to know or meet all of the positive folks who are sympathetic and cheery. It keeps me moving in the right direction.

What is the right direction? I'm not absolutely certain. I think it involves keeping my house tidier and cooking diner at home. Seriously, cooking for one is a drag. Food is such a social activity for me. I've always got friends who will go out to eat or a drive-thru nearby. It's brainstorming time. I've got a bunch of ideas about how to make it worth my while to cook:

1) Get together with 3-5 friends and each one cooks a dinner. The night someone cooks is the night that person hosts dinner. Home cooked dinner 3-5 nights and cleanup once a week sounds good to me.

2) Blog it all. That would be hard on y'all and it would be one heck of a lot of work for me. Why not eat meals that don't have to be photographed. Ugly food often tastes great. Whoever said presentation is everything obviously never tasted burnt marshmallow s'mores.

3) Another item for friends. Grab 3 - 5 friends and have them buy matching Tupperware. Everyone cooks a main dish and divides it into appropriate serving sizes and freezes it. Swap once a week for a week's worth of entrees.

4) Rotate a potluck once a week among friends.

5) Declare a certain night to be picnic night in the park and meet the gang on the green.

Fortunately one of my friends has decided that she's my momma. She invited me over for dinner on Monday and tonight I reheated some Taco Soup. It was delicious and I have a new recipe. I've still got a persistent, self-sufficiency dream. One day I could cook my own food. It is so turn of the century.

The good stuff

2008-08-12T17:33:00.005-05:00

The weather today was unseasonably welcoming: mild temperatures, sunny, blue skies, barely breezy. It was the perfect day to get out of the office at lunch. Several co-workers joined me on the excursion. We bopped into the Palette to pick up lunch. Then we strolled over to Twist in the next block, chatted and ate.

I knitted a couple of rounds on the Spring Forward sock. The yarn is Sox Appeal, which is a soft blend of colors and fibers. Leave it to Shelly to find something softer and silkier to tempt me. Baskets of Panda Silk are dotted around the store in strategic spots. Still, I have vowed to finish at least one project before I buy more yarn or cast on again. Kitty Pi is only ten more rounds away from the bind off and felting. It won't be a long wait until I cast on with the Panda Silk.

The only thing that would have made the afternoon more perfect would have been to hangout in Riverside Park with friends. Or hang out in Riverside Park with friends and a latte and yarn. Eh, employment has its merits too.

Where I have been is where I am

2008-08-10T20:35:00.006-05:00

Being a grown-up about getting dumped isn't working for me. Moral superiority, sobriety, and being respectable (whatever that means) suck. Maturity is still a goal. I haven't abandoned it entirely. Each little twist and turn brings me more humility and less pride. The supply of resilience is pretty dog-gone low.

I live very close to where I grew up -- within three blocks. My house is nearly the same floor plan as the house where I grew up. Sometimes I wonder if I never grew up. Maybe that's why I married the man who always said, "No." No adventure, no fun, no spending. Feeling guilty and working was very important. (See Nathaniel Hawthorne for more details.) If he said, "No" to everything, it remained a dream, and I remained the same. Sometimes I wonder why I let his veto stop me.

Last night it poured buckets of rain and this morning was very damp and misty, but I was stir crazy . Since I'm here, in the same place I never left, and I went exploring by my old high school.
The bridge has Indian and buffalo motifs to match the high school, and the work crews have spent a considerable amount of effort repairing it. Construction probably won't be finished when school begins, but it should be closer. The art work looks so different from a few feet away than it does from a car moving at 30 mph. These old relics are historical landmarks, and they are made from local materials that are specific to Wichita.

The Ex was part of the reason I was anxious and wanting to roam around the neighborhood. He visited this afternoon. The visit had been arranged one week in advance. He had some books to bring me, and he preferred to meet in public. That isn't so unusual except that we don't usually meet in public. We meet at my house. We first arranged the visit via instant messenger. He wrote this : "I have some of your notebooks." I responded: "You have my journals?" He must have sensed that I was highly aggravated by this because the display said, "The Ex is typing" for a very long time. When he finally responded, the message said, "It is school notebooks. I closed them as soon as I saw your handwriting." My confidence that he will tell me the truth is dropping.

My Ex moved into his parent's basement. I know that cannot be pleasant because his mother has superior guilt-trip skills. I also know what she thinks about his behavior because she wrote me a letter to say she hoped we would get together and save our marriage. She liked having me for a daughter. Also, she is concerned for his soul. I knew there would be no peace for him in his childhood home. I was okay with that.

When deciding where things began to go badly in my marriage has been difficult. It is like unravelling a sweater. It never really stops until the entire garment is gone. Ex has been involved with another woman although he denies it. This other woman and I have the same employer. I can go months without seeing her, but she walked by my desk last week and had an hour-long meeting at a table near my desk. It was excruciating. Thank goodness my iPod was in my purse to drown our her voice. Make believe can be a good place to go at times like this. A very understanding co-worker named her: Home Wrecking Cunt. He recommends calling her HWC for short or Hot Water Closet.

Here's how the marriage unravels:

11 years ago we were married
10 years ago he met her in grad school
8ish years ago they started an online publication together
6 years ago my mother and grandmother thought I should be concerned about the way she looked at him
2 years ago I expressed my concern and was told that I should feel more secure about myself
1 year ago Ex's best friend started saying that I would get a divorce because Ex and Hot Water Closet were having an affair
5 months ago Ex moved out
4 months ago he said they weren't dating -- they were just hanging out a lot
2 months ago we got divorced

Today he came by to bring the books and told me that he'd moved into her basement. They are roommates. Only roommates. Whatever. I feel so bitter and stupid and used. My bullshit meter is off the charts. For an added bonus, he told me that Atticus, the cat, really likes her house and really likes her. I just hate this wondering if we were ever in love, if anything was ever good about our marriage, and if I imagined it all in my head. At least he told me in person. It would have been much worse to hear it from someone else.

Thank goodness Ms. Naplover knew about the errand and knew that I had really bad vibes about why Ex was visiting. She told me to come visit after he left. I got TLC, knitting, and talking and calmed down. Her daughter is cheery and happy and excited about starting school this week. It's hard not to feel blessed with friends like that. It will get better. I believe it will get better. It's already so much better than I feared it would be.

Summer Heat

2008-08-03T17:13:00.006-05:00

It's hot outside. The only thing in the garden that isn't wilted are the french white marigolds. Marigolds are sturdy cheerful little plants. I'm in awe of them.

Mom and I went to the Eaton Hotel Steakhouse for lunch, which is in the lobby of the Old Eaton Hotel. Allen Ginsberg lived there briefly and even wrote a poem called "The Wichita Vortex Sutra." Carrie Nation smashed the mirror behind the bar in her quest for prohibition. Lots of things have happened in that old building. This morning was very tame. Eggs Benedict, cloth napkins, soft lighting, Gerber daisies and ice water. (It's really hot, remember?) I took pictures and Mom wasn't even embarrassed.

Sedgwick County has a primary election on Tuesday. Candidates on the ballot are for the US Senate, US House of Representatives, KS Senate, KS House of Representatives, KS Board of Education, County Clerk, District Attorney, Sheriff, judges, and all manner of things. If you die a little inside when your out-of-state relatives ask you about Sam Brownback's latest goofy scheme, you should definitely go vote. If you like Brownback, you should go cancel my vote or stay home and watch tv. If your deepest wish is to never see the words "Kansas" and "Evolution" in the same newspaper headline, you should go vote. If you care about the next D.A., the Sheriff, or family court, you should go vote. If you aren't registered, it's too late for this round. Get registered anyway. There's a presidential election this fall, and voting is the thing to do.

I wonder if Carrie Nation had an opportunity to walk down this staircase before she commenced to busting liquor bottles and scaring the men in town. Oh, and all of you knitting women, women have the vote now, so we don't need to use our axes. Just our ballots.

Slips and confessions

2008-08-02T12:36:00.003-05:00

Slips abounded this week. Sadly, they aren't as amusing as Mrs. Slipslop's unfortunate slip that ruined her virtue. (Yes, I've been sorting through books trying to decide what to keep. Since Joseph Andrews is available at the library, it will probably go. Operation Books Live on Bookshelves is a ruthless effort.)

The plucky, sassy, determined Ms. Lemon-Says took a spill from her attic to the floor below. Although I've never met her, we've swapped comments online since 2003. She crocheted beautiful clothes and dyed her own yarn before I ever considered using knitting needles and yarn. I look forward to seeing pictures of her children and hearing how her husband is doing. She's now undergoing a series of surgeries to repair a shatter pelvis and a broken elbow. She's resilient, has a wonderful support group, and has the promise of a full recovery. I want to send her all of the good wishes and hope that can be offered. She has a special place in my heart.

The yarn that needed to be plied slipped off of the bobbin with the help of my kitchen shears. It began innocently enough. When I started to ply the yarn, it stuck, snagged and was very resistant to my efforts. Edward Scissor Paws and his mentor, Miss Tangles with Paws, twirled between the bobbins and the wheel and dragged several yards of yarn across the room. Distracting with toys has worked in the past, but toys with feathers couldn't compete with wool from a real sheep (and probably the faint scent of genuine sheep poo). For the first time in their furry lives, I squirted them with water from a spray bottle and they acted as if they'd been burned by acid.

Next, the drive band on the wheel snapped, and I dissembled whole wheel apart before determining that the drive band would not go onto the wheel as a continuous loop. I snipped it, tied it and reassembled the wheel. A person with good sense and this level of frustration would not continue to spin at this point, but I did. Shortly thereafter I concluded that spinning was more about process than product and bid the Kool-Aid Border Leicester adieu. In the cold light of day, I can sincerely say that I do not miss it. Finishing every project is over-rated.

Slips abound. I'm off the caffeine wagon. At this very moment, I'm drinking an iced, white chocolate mocha from Starbucks. It is nearly impossible to feel penitent while sipping this concoction. The regret will not begin until I crash from the coffee high later this afternoon. Eric Clapton's Cocaine may or may not have been playing on the radio as I took my first sip. I know what I'm doing. Really.

Not even half-way through my year off from men, I'm struggling with that decision. It's hard. However, everyone from pop psychologists to Mom to good friends have recommended it. I have enough relationship judgement left to know that my perspective in the dating area is skewed after being dumped by my husband with a note that said he was leaving because he loved me. Sometimes the bitterness is all I can feel, and then other times the relief and forgiveness washes over me. A year would help me get perspective on Men and Relationships or even men and relationships. All of this leads to my confession: I've been watching Swingtown. Someone mentioned that the dialogue wasn't very good, and I was thinking, "What dialogue?" The beautiful people, seventies music, vintage clothes, and, um, cheap thrills are plentiful.

2008-07-31T19:47:00.007-05:00

For once, I'm not jealous of Kate Middleton -- or maybe a little less jealous. Right now, I don't need prince because I've got a kitten. This kitten also loves my cat and it is reciprocated. (Pictorial evidence below). Enter jealousy. They don't seem to love me as much as they love each other. That might be natural and understandable, but I am merely a cat accessory now, a thing they can show off to their cat friends.

The Furminator also goes by Oscar these days because it is easier to say several times fast. (Go ahead, try it. Here Furminator, Furminator, Furminator . . .see?) He likes to sneak up on Norah all the time and goad her into playing with him. It usually works. Sometimes Norah turns the tables.

Several folks have inquired about my spinning. The green-blue pound of BFL is still on the wheel. The roving came from wool2dye4.com and the dye was from Knit Picks. I have several bobbins of it that need to be plied. Then I'll get started spinning again. I hate to mention how much of a beginner I am, but starting the bobbin and getting the yarn to wind on properly takes quite a bit of concentration for me. Once that is in order, the whole spinning and plying process goes smoothly. Late one night about two weeks ago, I'd been spinning for an hour and I realized that I must ply with the last bobbin or else! Getting everything running smoothly was surprisingly difficult and frustrating, so I gave up and went to bed. The gumption to fix it is simply lacking. Sometimes I am very persistent and sometimes I just don't care. I wish I knew myself well enough to anticipate what degree of motivation was lurking around the corner.

So with motivation like that, what's a girl to do? Maybe that's why when I bumped into Connie at the Stitch n' Bitch at Twist, and she sang the praise of the Schacht Ladybug I knew that I needed one. It's so adorable. I want to dress it up and hug it and love it . . . . As much as I would love to start a huge collection of spinning wheels, I've decided to spend more time with the lovely Mazurka before I commit to another wheel. Then again, if I keep buying more bobbins and more wheels, I may never have to ply the BFL.

Loopy Lunches

2008-07-30T18:43:00.002-05:00

I've discovered a new pleasure: knitting lunches at Twist on Wednesdays. No body else seems to be eating, but I grab a bite from Subway and munch away. Then, I finish up by knitting. The conversation is good; the knitting is relaxing. Shelly was a blur. She doesn't sit still. Not for one minute, no sirree. She wound a million skeins, checked out several customers, and was gracious and welcoming the whole time. I don't know how she does it. It is amazing.

Today Kay accompanied me. She's a former knitter, and I knew she'd appreciate the yarny goodness of the store. She hasn't been tempted by the knitting bug again, but I'm certain she will be with enough exposure to yarn. She was, however, smitten with the pottery display and might even sign up for a class. If she hasn't found her way to salvation yet, at least she will have a delightful craft.

For my part, I signed up for the crocheting class on August 7 with Tamara. I've wanted to learn how to crochet, and Tamara fills Twist with the most appealing creations. Rumor has it that crochet is just as addictive as knitting. Be still, my OCD.

Maxine and Carol were there knitting away. I'm still astonished by how these accomplished knitters will say they know nothing about knitting. They say it so quickly too. These women have been knitting for years and their knitting is beautiful. Carol was knitting a lacy, drapey shawl in a deep green color. Maxine was making the Fiddlehead mittens that are all the craze on Ravelry. I'm jealous of the gorgeous yarn and patterns, but I've got two different pairs of socks on the needles, Kitty Pi, and two sweaters on the needles. I am ready to see a finished project. Maybe the cats will help?

pi = 3.14159265

2008-07-28T18:31:00.002-05:00

Kitty Pi is on the needles and I'm clicking away. The yarn is Patons SWS and it has a wonderful sheen to it. Self-striping yarn never ceases to amaze me. I could go on and on about it. Then I'd start babbling about self-patterning yarn which is mind-blowingly magical, but there's no call for that sort of chatter.

Thunderstorms

2008-07-26T09:15:00.010-05:00

Last night a thunderstorm rolled in from the north and brought rain, lightening and a cool breeze. All week it has been oppressively hot, and I've been tense about work. So I sat on the front porch, enjoyed the pounding rain and growling thunder. It washed away all of the tension of the work week.

Then I went inside to play with the cats, of course. Norah is an incredibily patient cat. I admired how she simply held down The Furminator with her paws after he flung himself at her face for the eleventy-billionth time. (The devil eyes are the fault of the photographer.) She seems to like the little fellow and has been sheparding him around the house, playing chase with him, and coaching him about how to catch the feather on the stick.

The Furminator

2008-07-20T20:42:00.006-05:00

The vet had a recommendation when I mentioned Norah needed a companion. She had an 8-week-old kitten who had been rescued. Someone found him in an empty house, locked inside the bathroom without food or water. He's one lucky fellow. He still needs a name, but the vet has been calling him "The Furminator" in reference to his constant activity.

He came home with me on Saturday morning and has been running and jumping and pouncing ever since then. It has taken nearly two days to catch him sitting still. And even though the photo makes him look like a half-demon kitten, his eyes are both a clear, bright blue. He might make me coo, but I'm not tellin'.

On Saturday evening, a friend took me to Faye Farms in Udall, KS, so we could see a farm that had free-range and free-roaming chickens. By golly, they had all kinds of chickens strutting around the place. They had pigs and cows and a kitten too! A bunch of little piglets were trotting around in a bunch, and then they'd circle back to see their mamas. I never guessed a bunch of pigs would be so busy.

Outside

2008-07-17T18:24:00.005-05:00

Sometimes I like to wander around the backyard and pretend I'm a photographer.

Happy weekends

2008-07-14T20:54:00.003-05:00

This weekend was full of time spent with friends, good food, movies, and knitting. Sugar Bunny showed me how to use a drop spindle. She's got a gift for teaching because all of the videos and books I've used over the last few months haven't helped me make it work. She did it in 15 minutes. It's magic. Magic, I tell you.

Then, intoxicated by all of the laughing and fibery fun, I went home and dyed a big batch of superwash merino. It was meant to be a solid green, but I like variations in color. Here's a picture of it drying on the deck.

Fourth of July

2008-07-07T18:49:00.003-05:00

A friend invited me to spend the Fourth of July at her mother's house. Her mother lives on a farm south of Mulvane and enjoyed (!) hosting a large group of her children, grandchildren, and friends. Did I mention her mother is saint and lovely woman?

The place is lovely with lots of trees and fields. Since it was a warm day, I was particularly fond of the trees. Based on the previous evening outdoors, I doused myself liberally with insect repellent in hopes of keeping the number of bug-induced welts on my body from increasing. My friends were also going through bottles of the stuff.

The first order of business was to bundle the friend's children and husband into a pickup truck and drive across a field and through the trees until we reached a clearing spot along the Arkansas River. That was the campsite. I didn't stay overnight, but I did help clear out sand burs and entertain the little ones while the parents pitched the tent. Another couple followed in a different pickup truck. They wisely decided to forgo camping in the sandy stretch near the river in favor of a wildflower meadow.

My friends were pulling stickers out so that they wouldn't be pricked through the floor of the tent. I helped for awhile, but I was wearing flip-flops, the stickers hurt, and frankly, I wasn't going to be sleeping there. The husband leaned on a patch of stickers and yelped, "Fuck." His wife said, "Language, Daddy." Then she knelt on a patch of stickers and shouted, "Oh holy mother of fuck!" And he said, "Language, Mommy." I liked to die laughing. I remember when these two called each other by their given names and didn't police language one bit. The husband wound up getting gloves and needle-nosed pliers for the sticker work.

It was sweaty, sticky work, but we were very pleased with ourselves. The dirt was also starting to stick to us and our insect-repellent covered selves. The insects seemed enamoured again so we all sprayed ourselves with the stinky stuff again. At this point, I stopped worrying about whether someone would notice I forgot my deodorant.

Then we all bundled into cars, caravaned back to town and bought fireworks. What I mean when I say "bought fireworks" is filled our cars with so many explosives it is a wonder the ATF wasn't concerned about the sweaty, dirt-streaked people who reeked of anti-bug chemicals. No one noticed a thing, and the fireworks folks happily took our money. We went off to roast hot dogs, make smores and begin to celebrate. Just for good measure, we dumped a bunch of bug repellent on ourselves. After a while it starts to smell pretty good.

My friend convinced me to try my hand at shooting a gun. It wasn't like the rifle my uncle used to teach me how to shoot clay pigeons when I was twelve. That thing hurt my shoulder when it fired. This was a little handgun, which felt almost to light and gentle to even be a gun. We shot at soda cans. I got very close to hitting a can or two, but no cans, people or animals were harmed.

Then we settled in to watch fireworks. Correction: I settled in to watch fireworks. Everyone else ran around with punks and fired the noisy things. They were beautiful, colorful, and squealed. I enjoyed the show a great deal. My favorite seven-year-old (featured in the photo above) got tired and sat next to me. I was pleasantly surprised when she climbed up in my lap and fell asleep. I used to hold her when she was little, and I thought those days were long past. It was a terrific day.

Wine, music and friends

2008-07-06T09:50:00.004-05:00

Last week, I commented to a friend that I'd like to see a Chamber Music at the Barn concert someday. Two days later, Andi called to invite Jill, Michelle and me to go to a concert with her. She didn't even know that I wanted to go. Wish granted! I love it when life gets magical and starts delivering beautiful surprises.

Cathie Ryan, a Celtic singer, was performing. Andie, being her usual amazing self, got us an introduction to Ms. Ryan. Not only does she have a lovely stage presence, but she is a generous and down-to-earth person. And she talked about our choice of wine.

Several people stopped to ask about our choice of wine since Andie and I arrived together and toted our picnic back to the garden with us. Andie brought wine for the picnic. She carried one bottle and I carried the other. (Before any rumor starts about us and our bottles, we shared with Jill and Michelle. It was four of us and two bottles. Shush.) You'd think no one had ever seen wine before with all of the comments and snickering. Ms. Ryan was very polite about it. She admired the white Chilean but thought the red Australian would be better. She also thought that white should be the first drink in the twilight and the darker wine should be imbibed after the sunset. By the time we arrived at our table, I was convinced that others wouldn't be drinking at all. I was wrong. The wine, the beer and other beverages appeared out of picnic baskets and purses and backpacks. Our only misstep was not disguising it when we walked through the entrance. Note to self: a felted wine sleeve would be a fun, fast knit. I wonder if I could bear to felt Noro?

Michelle thoughtfully brought fresh organic carrots and celery which went well with my newly acquired, Weight Watchers habits. Jill concocted a fabulous chicken salad sandwich with grapes and walnuts. It was a sandwich and desert all in one. We sat around a table in the garden happily munching, chatting and listening to Celtic music. The fireflies twinkled. We sipped wine. Jill and I knitted. Life seemed so peaceful and quiet and right. I was filled with a tremendous sense of gratitude and at peace with my life.

Cool Front

2008-07-02T20:35:00.003-05:00

A cool front moved through town late this afternoon. The rain poured from the sky, blew horizontally, and even a few, small bits of hail fell. The whole production was over in about forty-five minutes, but it was very dramatic. Now the outside temperature is cooler and the humidity is similar to a steamy locker room. I love air conditioning.

The sales at the department stores are very good these days, and I took advantage of the opportunity to find clothes-that-fit as opposed to the ones in my closet. The most coveted item of my search still eludes me: knit, black gauchos. If I find two more pairs of pants, I'll have one pair of pants for each day of the work week. Then I will achieve laundry nirvana. Sadly, nirvana is a not permanent state, but I plan to enjoy it while I can.

Between all of the storm watching and shopping, I'm tuckered out. It's time to curl up with a good book before bed.

Small Towns and Smaller Towns

2008-06-30T18:17:00.003-05:00

This was a very pleasant weekend. On Saturday, I ate lunch with the Ex, and we signed all of the papers to separate our bank accounts and close the safety deposit box that we held together. Talking to him was really good. We laughed and had fun the way we did before things got unhappy. When you know someone for that long, just stopping and not seeing that person again is very hard.

My parents met when they were in a small-town grade school. They graduated from the same high school class and remember talking to each other, but they never dated. When they took my sister and me to see a movie at the old movie theater, Mom pointed at the balcony and said, "That's where people sat when they made out. I never went up there. Your dad was always up there." Dad looked embarrassed and said, "Yeah, that's probably right." Eventually though, they met again and got married.

Now when they tell stories, Mom remembers some parts and Dad remembers some parts. Dad can usually fill in the part that Mom wouldn't know. Mom was pretty sheltered, but no one kept too many tabs on Dad so he knows the exciting part of the story. On the other hand, Mom could tell us more about what actually happened in school. She says that it is a good thing she has Dad around because it takes the two of them to tell a complete story.

I do get some small town perks and opportunities to catch up with old friends. Wichita is the biggest small town ever. Seriously. Final Friday is a big event. On the last Friday of the month the art galleries in town open their doors, and people stroll from art gallery to art gallery. The trolley shuttles folks back and forth. All kinds of people are chatting and mingling and enjoying themselves. I see my parents' friends, old college friends, acquaintances, neighbors. Pretty much anyone could show up on Final Friday. This week was no exception and I enjoyed seeing the array of people who were out on a summer evening.

Changes

2008-06-24T18:44:00.002-05:00

Things at the casa are looking better. The roof hasn't leaked since Dad talked to the roofer (although we haven't had substantial rain since then either). The dehumidifier is doing amazing things for the basement.

The Ex sent email updates about Atticus. The emails help me tremendously. I can tell he's being taken care of properly. When the Ex says, Atticus talks, it is appropriate to think of several minutes of loud, insistent meowing, which is normal for that cat. I'm sure the former in-laws thought they were getting a quiet cat to live in the basement with their son.

Update 1: "We're still wanting to hide, but we'll talk. Well, he'll talk to me, at least. So far, wet food hasn't been much of an incentive, but it's more interesting than the dry, at least, that's what he says. Dad says he'll stop hiding when he's ready, but I'm getting a little antsy to have him out and about."

Update 2: "He's been alternately hiding and insisting that I walk around and scritch him as he explores. Got him to eat a little lunch--the dry food--and spent about 45 minutes hunched over petting him as he cruised around the basement sniffing stuff. He went back into one of his hiding places after I went upstairs to get a sandwich, so it's like two steps forward, one step back. "

Basically, Atticus is living with someone who caters to his every whim, as he deserves. It is certainly better than he got from me. I'd cut him off after five minutes of scratching. Norah's much happier too now that she doesn't have to worry about a cranky, old cat whomping her on the head when he felt like it.

Last night I went out to dinner with the women. I was going to write "girls," but frankly, we're grown, we're adults, we've got opinions, and we've got careers. When I was a girl, I lived with my parents, had a curfew, thought everything would be okay if we were all nice to each other. Experiences change things.

We're grown ups. We're women. And let me tell you, that group of women can talk. And laugh. And eat. And carry on even more. It was a delicious dinner from the salad to the soup and lovely, right down to the last bite of white chocolate, raspberry cheesecake. Maybe that's why my stomach hurt too much to go to work today, but my heart was singing. I'm so fortunate to have all of these wonderful friends in my life.

Lovely Weekend

2008-06-22T19:07:00.002-05:00

This really was a wonderful weekend. It had the right balance of normal chores and relaxing. The last load of laundry is in the washing machine now and the kitchen is cleaned and stocked for another week. I've got things in order for whatever crazy stuff might happen this week. The roof might cave in (please don't let it happen), but by gum, I'll have clean underwear and matching socks. Maybe the vacuuming and mopping haven't happened yet, but some fun things did.

*Yoga on Saturday morning
*Knitting
*Walking with team Twist this morning and brunch at Sugar Sisters with the lovely Becca
*Sunday afternoon nap

This evening, I'm going to watch the gymnastics Olympic trials and paint my toenails. I am a delicate flower, after all.

Yup, more cat stuff

2008-06-19T20:07:00.003-05:00

Nearly twelve years ago, I decided that I needed a cat. Immediately. It was the day before Thanksgiving and the shelters were closed. One pet store had rescued kittens -- the only cost was for the vaccinations. I immediately fell in love with a gregarious black kitten. He was pretty scraggly but he had charm and charisma. He purred all the time. I really wanted that cat. He kept moving between me and a reticent black kitten at the back of the cage. He'd get rubbed by me, and then he'd groom the kitten and return for more love.

My father constantly reminds cautions against anthropomorphizing, and I know I'm sentimental. Plus, my little sister means the world to me. When I saw that cat looking I after his brother, I knew that both cats were coming home with me. Maybe it should have been a warning sign when the pet store folks bickered about who had to pull the shy kitten from the cage.

As soon as we got home, the shy one disappeared under the couch. For several months, I only saw him as he dashed past me trying to get to another room without human contact. His brother and I were old pals by that time. I named him Trouser. The shy kitty was named Atticus since he was inordinately cautious and prudent. I'd just finished several semesters of Latin and Roman history, and I remembered Cicero's friend Atticus urging Cicero to leave the country to save his life. That pretty much matched the cat I saw lurking under the furniture.

The next year I was married and my husband won a fellowship in creative writing. All the grad students coveted that award because it meant a year to study and write without the burden of teaching classes. Just as dreamed, my husband spent the next year sitting on the couch, reading, writing, and drinking huge quantities of coffee. That was the year that Atticus decided people might be okay. He would sneak up next to my husband and carefully place himself in the same sunbeam. By the end of the year, he was pushing the books and papers off of my husband's lap and taking bites out of notebooks. After another year, he condescended to let me pet him. He took up meowing loudly and often. It's quite a bit like being lectured by a cat.

He and Trouser were good buddies. They romped, snuggled, played and beat the snot out of any other animal that dared to enter their house. In the evening, Trouser sat on my lap and Atticus sat on my husband's lap. Atticus has seemed more fragile since Trouser passed away.

Last week came a trip to the vet. According to the tests, Atticus has kidney disease. He needs to eat special low-protein cat food -- no more regular cat food for him -- and he will probably have some good years left. The kitten is not supposed to eat the low-protein food. Being natural contrarians, they swap food every time they get fed. Atticus' kidney disease would progress more quickly and the kitten might develop problems.

Sometimes doing the right thing is just plain hard. The ex was over on Sunday afternoon and I explained the problem to him. Atticus was so happy to see him that he was practically drooling. Then he walked in figure eights so he could butt his head against me, then the ex, then me. The ex agreed to take Atticus. Tonight I packed up some of the cat toys, the special food, and scratched the kitty as much as he demanded. I cried a little. The ex (and this is why it is impossible to hate him) cried a little. I imagine the two of them will be very happy in a bachelor pad somewhere where the ex still grades lots of papers and spends lots of time reading, writing and drinking very strong coffee. I have even been invited to visit sometimes.

Home Repair

2008-06-18T19:26:00.006-05:00

A few short months ago my house was orderly. After a divorce, too much time at work, torrential rain, and a shot of bad luck, it needs some attention. The roof is leaking and water is seeping into the basement. The solution to the basement or even the source of the problem is elusive. The roof is under warranty so I've been diligently calling the company that installed it. It's a good, local company with many positive recommendations. I just cannot get them to fix my roof.

On the first visit, they trimmed the corners of a few shingles to prevent water from being diverted into my attic. After that, they stopped returning my phone calls. When I called from a local business, they answered the phone and were surprised to learn it was me--just at a different phone number. I learned something too: call from different phones. Following an amazing amount of negotiation, they set up an appointment with me. My Dad would meet them, and someone would attempt to repair the roof again.

Dad usually likes for me to be a grown up and handle these matters myself, but he said, "I'm a 5' 11' white man over 60. I'm bald and overweight. That makes people listen better." Gotta love Dad. He's really paying his Father's Day dues this year too. He actually loaned me a de-humidifier to deal with the moisture in the basement, but that's another story.

Despite my calling fifteen minutes before the appointment to confirm it, no one showed up to the appointment. Dad waited for an hour before he gave up. I called back and got profuse apologies about the miscommunication. Story du jour: the fellow who checks roofs decided to go to the doctor that morning and no one remembered to cancel his appointments. The person on the phone was pretty fuzzy about why I was able to confirm my appointment. Someone's meeting Dad tomorrow morning to look at the roof. Please let this be a real person, on time, and with the knowledge to fix a roof. Oh please, oh please.

In the meantime, Dad and I have had some extended phone conversations about how to deal with this. I'm starting to document interactions with the roofers: the conversations and dates and outcomes. It's pretty boring. I prefer to have things happen happily and without need for pressing the issue. However, I remember the price tag on that new roof, and spending another $11k is not an option. So documentation it is with some letters to the Better Business Bureau and the roofing company and anyone else who might listen. I'm not desperate enough to take it to the local news. Yet.

Dad thought I should increase my knowledge of the roofing industry, and he had some ideas about how to do it. He recommends calling up some roofers and offering to meet them at a bar and buy them a few beers. I'm assuming he forgot I'm a girl and this might give the wrong impression. About that time my mother started shrieking in the background about bad ideas and how she should talk to me on the phone at all times and never talk to my father. I said that he should tell her I was going to invite them over to my house for a barbeque.

My adulthood remains a secret from my mother. I thought that I had earned her respect by earning my own way, but now that I'm single, she's had a number of rules for me. In the past few weeks, she's laid down the law. No climbing ladders. (When Dad told her that I was cleaning gutters, she drove to my house to tell me to get off the ladder.) Don't ride bicycles in the street. Don't open the door for strangers. She comes by it honestly. Her own mother at age 92 still calls to tell my mother how to drive.

I'm not above teasing Mom. Apparently Dad isn't either because he mentioned that I should buy at least three or four beers for each person. He mentioned it several times. Mom started to sound really distressed so he said, "Your mother wants to talk to you. She wants to tell you what kind of beer to buy." Mom thinks that I should never even talk to roofers -- not even at my house. She thinks Dad should do it all for me. I plan to be more involved than that.

I'll probably look up roofing on the internet. It's hard to go wrong with the internet. After all, any medical diagnoses I find on the internet tell me I'll die. Taking that to its logical conclusion, my roof will fall in and the basement will flood, but it can all be fixed with antibiotics and steroids and rest and watching tv. I really like to watch tv. It helps me forget about bad things.

Trotting

2008-06-08T14:32:00.002-05:00

Once again, the lovely, yarny ladies from Knit in Public and Twist had a great idea. They're training for the Turkey Trot, a 5k on November 22. They've even inspired me to start training. I'm planning to stroll.

This is turning out to be lots of fun. Jackie, Shelly, Miss A, and Andie met at 8 am this morning to walk. After our walk, we adjourned to Sugar Sisters and sampled the goodies. The cheesy grits with jalapenos were very good.

Starting Over

2008-06-01T07:43:00.005-05:00

I haven't been posting too much lately. Work has been very hectic. Hopefully this won't jinx anything -- I think that the busy times will be over by the end of this week. Fortunately, my manager is wonderful, and he understood when I needed an afternoon off to do laundry. He even thought it was funny when I said I didn't want to have to call in to work because I was naked. (Yeah, I'm still kicking myself for saying that one outloud. Some day, I'm going master the art of self-censoring.)

As of Thursday, I'm officially single. I brought in Saturday's mail and read the decree again while I ate my cereal. I'm sad, but I'm sad for had been in years past and what might have been in the future. I'm not sad for ending the marriage that we had. The guy actually left, and after remembering our relationship over the last year, I realize he'd been gone long before he packed his things and left. As one of my friends reminds me, "Marriage is a choice you make everyday. He quit making that choice." I'm left with an empty feeling and lots of missing trust. Thank goodness for friends. I've got wonderful friends in abundance, and I'm very grateful for them.

I made my first major purchase as a single woman yesterday: an Electra Townie. I plan to ride it everywhere within a five-mile radius of home. Why five miles? Because I know I'll be able to make it back home. I hope that I'll be able to go further than that by the end of the summer. In the meantime, I'm looking for the right kind of bags to attach to the rack in the rear and a basket for the front. If this is my transportation, I'll need to be able to haul things.

New Color

2008-05-04T14:25:00.005-05:00

I finally painted the bedroom blue and got new curtains. It only took five years after moving in to paint that room. It is very satisfying to have it finished. I'm trying to restrain myself from painting every surface in the rest of the house immediately. Must. pace. myself.

Yesterday was a glorious day of eating, knitting, eating more, and watching movies. Although Patrick Dempsey is a beautiful, beautiful man, the character he played in Made of Honor turned my stomach. It was a classic case of man who gets too much credit for sharing an emotion after ten years. No, I'm not bitter. Why do you ask?

As far as knitting goes, Shelly has a lovely sock of the month which combines the lovely silk Noro and a Cookie A. pattern. It is so lovely that it almost makes me forget that wool makes me itch. I wonder if anyone has ever framed a sock and hung it on the wall?

Last but not least, the man in my life, who just wants me to respect his need for beauty rest. Poor guy. He's too cute to ignore.

Veni, vidi, vici!

2008-04-30T07:43:00.001-05:00

Mom and Dad gave me their old television set about two weeks ago. It's bigger and newer than the old one. The only problem? The remote control doesn't work. Last night, I finally discovered the problem. No batteries. With batteries in the remote, it is now the perfect tv for me.

Weekend Sunshine

2008-04-08T19:11:00.006-05:00

The weather this weekend was lovely. I went shopping for plants and brought home four strawberry plants. The experts would have me pinch off any buds and fruit so the plant can put its energy into producing roots and nutrients. This is my favorite time to break a few rules.

The daffodils took their sweet time this spring. The backyard is so sheltered that tough annuals can survive winters like the last one. (Weather complaint: a coworker told me this is the longest, coldest winter he has experienced since Berlin. See, it was yucky.) For some reason though, the plants are slow to get started. This is the first daffodil that is showing any signs of blooming. We're in zone six, and daffy thinks it is zone four.

Twist, the local yarn store, is developing an enthusiastic group of spinners. So many people are getting wheels and making yarn. RKYarns was the most recent person to get a wheel. It is gorgeous, and she uses it well. Her first skein didn't look anything like the yarn boogers I produced, but she's got such a pleasant personality, I cannot hold this obvious talent against her.

Since the man moved out, his possessions have lingered. At my request he picked up more things. He said he didn't have space, but I insisted that he "make it go away." I don't really want his grandfather's dresser. It is beautiful, but I don't want to think about him every time I see it. The emotions that bubble to the surface continue to surprise me. The relief of the first week turned into indignance at being abandoned and this week it is a mellow sadness. So those leftover items had to go. They cause too much pain.

My mother has an amazing basement. My sister swears it is self-replenishing. Whatever magic is at work, she has extra things in it. Extra things like pictures, chairs, plates, and household goods. She hates to throw things away. When I arrived at her house one Sunday morning asking for coasters, a lamp and a tv stand, she had it in her basement. She even added a tv to the assortment. Of course, it has been too long since there was a picture of the cats. Here they are lounging on the bed in front of the new lamp.

The next mission is to redecorate the bedroom in something colorful, cheerful, and feminine. Enough of these neutral colors.

Essence of Hippies

2008-03-30T18:17:00.004-05:00

Bohemia offers an excellent massage, and this weekend, I learned that they offer soy candles in recycled tin containers with artfully designed labels. The nag champa scent evokes powerful, positive emotions for me, and much to my delight, Bohemia offers it in a candle. I've only found it in incense, and since a couple of nasty bouts with bronchitis, incense is a painful breathing experience. The smell has so many pleasant memories. It reminds me of a favorite new age store where I like to take yoga classes. The whole smell is tied up in the experience of stretching, relaxing, and becoming more quiet. None of this is very helpful, to those who haven't smelled it. While I believe that patchouli is the essence of hippies, nag champa is the essence of yogis. Mmmmm. Bliss.

And speaking of hippies, the long-haired hubby returned again to pick up more things. He's living with his parents, and today he mentioned a handful of interesting things. 1) His bedroom is gone since his parents are remodelling the basement. 2) His parents are driving him nuts. 3) The guest room has been converted to a sewing room. 4) He is sleeping on the couch. Despite my best intentions of having an amicable divorce and taking the high road, refraining from schadenfreude is impossible. We signed our divorce papers at the lawyer's office on Thursday night. It will be official in late May -- just about a week after our eleventh anniversary.

Seeing him today was so difficult. Not being involved in the decision to separate really hurt. I don't know why I expected to be consulted, but I did. And I'm angry. I don't want to be bitter or sad, but I am. So there I was with all of this turmoil and protective anger, and he brought me a hot chocolate from Starbucks. We used to have Starbucks on the deck every Saturday morning. It was the highlight of our week. It was so sweet and so sad. It undid me. I retreated to the den and cried. Then I knitted the Oblique and pulled myself back together. Tonight, I'm looking forward to a lovely evening soy candles, a good book, and an early bedtime.

Also a shout out to the funny and amusing Mel, who finally joined the blogging world at http://gotanychocolate.blogspot.com/.

First Blossom

2008-03-24T19:37:00.002-05:00

Today was a sunny day -- ideal for rooting around in the garden. The crocus are blooming and the other plants are emerging from dormancy. Inside has its own charms too. The Oblique sweater is on the needles and a new Spinoff magazine arrived in the mail.

Friends and family

2008-03-19T12:18:00.003-05:00

This week I learned so much about friends and family. The support has been terrific. Thank you all for long visits, emails, hugs, and being generally wonderful.

The constant question: how am I? I've cried plenty, felt angry, happy and relieved all at once. Mostly, I'm just fine. On Monday, I was frightened by how good I felt. Husband's depression has been so bad for so long that I didn't realize all of the pressure I felt. I try to communicate and he tries not to communicate. Now that he's gone, things are easier. I also expect to feel lots of different things and experience feelings I don't anticipate. This was quite a shock, and it will take some time to recover. I cry unexpectedly when I tell people the news, and the next person I tell receives a calm, cool account. It gets better everyday, and I am going to be just fine.

On to the knitting. I unravelled the man sock I was knitting in black panda cotton. It was difficult to see the stitches in the dark color, and it required plenty of tinking. Tonight? Casting on Eco Wool for Knitty's Oblique.

Is it spring yet?

2008-03-16T15:05:00.002-05:00

Life always seems better when it is spring. I've been eagerly awaiting spring as if it will, indeed, make things better. It is a random, general hope for good times ahead.

Winter had an assortment of irritations and dramas. The one I thought I had under control was that my husband and I weren't getting along very well at all. He had become distant, unavailable and very depressed. He was getting counselling and assured me he was working on it although he didn't share many details. Not sharing the details should have been a red flag as should his not wanting me to accompany him to a standing engagement we've had with friends on Thursday nights. We speak of "Thursday night" and it means dinner with group of old friends. The friends had become more and more his anyway. Plus, I had the lovely stitch and bitch at the local yarn store. It wasn't that big a deal. He said he needed space.

After pushing him about his intentions this week and whether he thought our marriage was worth working on, he said he loved me and didn't mean to hurt me. He just had a lot of issues to work through.

It had been a long week at work. Stress is running high there too. We're all working very hard and the work is piling up much faster than the workers can do it. On a good day, it feels like I am needed and can make a difference, but my good day account has been plundered by deficit spending. I came home expecting to find a husband who was ready to go out for dinner with me on our regular date night. Instead, he left a note saying that he was moving into his parents' house. Leaving a note was so awful. It was typed. We've been married almost eleven years. I wish that we could have ended it with a discussion or an argument or something. Not a note.

I called Jill who came over and listened to me cry and babble. She really helped me get myself put back together and know that I had done all I could do. She even helped me laugh. I really do think I will be okay. It's a bit of pity party these days, and I'm very grateful for all of the supportive friends and family I have. They have helped so much.

And spring? I'm really ready for spring.

Dream Vacations

2008-03-04T21:33:00.002-06:00

The dyeing experiment went well. Since the fleece isn't completely dry, I'm just imagining how fun it will be to card and spin and knit. I haven't gotten to the point where I know what I'd like to knit, but the internets have offered up a solution to this little problem: SOAR 2008. That looks like fun.

Colors!

2008-03-03T20:23:00.002-06:00

Maybe it is the black panda cotton socks (Charade) that I am knitting, but suddenly I needed color. That's when Knitty dying inspiration struck, and I mixed up a big pot of Tropical Punch Kool-Aid and dyed 4 0z of Border Leicester fleece.

Now, I've got a big pot of Kool-Aid and wet wool on the stove, and it's kind of wet and scary and looks like it could make a big mess. Going to work stained Tropical Punch red could be a little embarassing. That's why I am surfing the internet. It might clean itself if I ignore it. Or if we all wish very hard, just like when Tinkerbell was sick. So c'mon everyone, send some good vibes.

Girl Scout Cookies

2008-02-26T19:26:00.001-06:00

The only thing more
decadent than a thin mint
is two or three more

Signs of Spring

2008-02-18T11:26:00.002-06:00

I’m ready for spring, and I saw the first sign over the weekend. Little nubbins of daffodil leaves are pushing up through the soil – nearly an eighth of an inch. A friend reported that she started tomato plants, beets, greens and herbs in her green house. I may have to visit for a spring preview. Attention weather gods: we’re moving on. Snow is so last month.

Yoga is magic. After lying in bed for a week with the flu, my back was pretty creaky and sore. A couple of yoga sessions put it right back in place. Yoga has otherworldly results. I’m always amazed at how it can put a body back in working order. It’s like the knitting magic. Sometimes I cannot believe that yarn and sticks and moving and looping can make a sweater or socks. My father (a science teacher) would be horrified to hear me say those things, but it is true. No matter how I understand the physiology of the yoga or the interlooped knitted stitches, I’m sure there is some inexplicable element that makes it all work. Cat spit? Fairy dust? Faith? Who can say?

On boredom: I'm still knitting back panel of a grown up-sized sweater. It is infinite. The last pair of monkey socks are finished. Kate Middleton and Wills haven't done anything news worthy for weeks. Obviously, I need to get out of the house. Thank goodness there is a KIP event on Wednesday!

Man Socks

2008-02-12T19:39:00.001-06:00

I'm looking for a good pair of socks to knit for Mr. Husband. I have the yarn: black panda cotton. All I need is a good pattern.

Movies

2008-02-10T18:58:00.001-06:00

Little Miss Sunshine is hilarious.

The Flu

2008-02-08T12:18:00.000-06:00

Warning: excessive whining, moaning and self-pity ahead

The flu has descended on my workplace. On Wednesday I was happy and skipping. On Wednesday night, I was a pathetic, shivering lump. Thursday I couldn't get warm and wore three pairs of pjs at the same time (note: this is very sexy).

I also got bored on Thursday, which my father swears is a sign that a person is well. So I went to work this morning and promptly decided I needed to come home. Unfortunately, I used up all of my energy by actually going to work and had to sit at my desk for a few hours before having the gumption to drive back home. It is really hard to be a dork.

This afternoon, if I get bored, I'm going to knit or read or watch tv.

On the home front

2008-01-28T20:18:00.000-06:00

Sheet rock dude ain't too reliable. We agreed to meet at my house at 4:30. He called at 6:30 to say he didn't think he could make it. His girlfriend took the truck to El Dorado and he has to babysit the grandkids. He also has friends who can fix furnaces and air conditioners if I'm interested or my friends are interested. Are ya'll interested? Didn't think so.

He's going to try to meet me tomorrow. The only hope I have of finishing this is that his tools are in my garage. Otherwise, I'll have to wade into DIYville, and there are many good reasons I don't visit that place.

Since I've been home so much and hubby seems to be avoiding home lately, I've had time to do a lot of things: knit, spin, clean. I have to get out soon before I start clawing at the yellow wallpaper. Srsly.

Home Improvements

2008-01-26T19:26:00.000-06:00

Master craftsman, def: one who makes household repairs as a hobby. Identifying characteristics include valuing thrift and/or uniqueness over function and municipal code compliance.

This week I've stayed home nearly every night because the electrician was working on the house. I read or knitted or spun and went to bed on time. Hubby has been away teaching classes and running errands. Being home with just the cats and the occasional noises the electrician made was very quiet punctuated with a few troubling discoveries. Friday was the electrician's evening off and mine as well. Dinner with a good friend was a welcome treat.

Today I braced myself for the daily discovery of our master craftsman's handiwork. The master craftsman probably owned our house in the late 70s and early 80s. Home improvement projects must have occupied all of his free time. For three days, the electrician would find wires that had unexpected relationships or, more dramatic, were charred. The lighting in the backyard appears to be attached to the kitchen light fixture via the dining room light fixture. The electrician had been taking everything in stride -- he originally was going to spend 20 minutes on Monday to install a light fixture--and today he brought a friend to help.

They finally finished the wiring at 5 this evening, but not before a few more exciting discoveries and someone falling through the ceiling. Enter sheet rock dude. The sheet rock dude will be finishing sometime tomorrow.

So far, we're getting some good things out of this: 1)We finally have a fan with a light in the bathroom. Hey, when an expert is at the house, why not buy in bulk? 2) The wiring is updated -- no more charred wires. 3) While sheet rock dude is here, he is going to replace an extra wall of sheet rock for us. The old one had all of the trademarks of our master craftsman.

To my way of thinking, replacing sheet rock shouldn't involve too much discovery. Denial is firmly in place. All will go well. There will be bluebirds, rainbows, and silver sprinkles.

Electrons and neutrons and protons! Oh my!

2008-01-22T18:03:00.000-06:00

The wonderful electrician discovered more problems with our wiring that even I had feared. While he was attaching new wires for a light fixture to the wiring, a light in an entirely different room popped and went dark. We were both astonished since he'd powered off the light fixture he was using and the breaker. This problem lead deep into the attic under six inches of insulation and up there to where the extension cord attached to the garage door opener leads. (I never should have mentioned that cord in the last post; it has jinxed everything.)

Closer inspection of the light fixture that went "pop" revealed that all of the light bulbs had broken. He had to use pliers to remove the metal threads. That brave man is going to return to our house over the course of the next few days and replace the wiring over the kitchen, the dining room, and of course, the garage. I feel so lucky.

Who knows what craziness might have happened if those light bulbs broke and I was home alone? I might have gone right out and made a contract on a new home -- one that isn't broken. One that doesn't have dirty dishes. Soon though, all will be well, and I won't even need to move.

Kate Middleton is losing her charm for me. My new obsession is the proper use of i.e. and e.g.

Beans and Technology

2008-01-21T15:47:00.000-06:00

My jewelry box holds two treasures that are just waiting for spring to arrive so they can be planted. One is the bean that my husband’s family brought with them when they emigrated from Switzerland to Russia to North Dakota and, finally, to Kansas. No one knows exactly what sort of bean it is – only that the seeds are saved, treasured and planted again in the spring. The beans that are saved for food are harvested before the seeds are mature. The pods are laid out on newspapers to dry, and later in the winter, usually for a holiday meal, the beans are boiled in water with chunks of ham. The result is an earthy, rich stew.

These beans are a love-it or hate-it affair. One of my husband’s brothers detests them. He christened them “dirty sock beans” and the name stuck. He’s passed it along to our nephew, who for his fourth Christmas ever, rolled on the floor and made gagging noises when it was suggested that he actually try the dirty sock bean. Um, thanks a bunch, Uncle Jeremy.

The other beans are called Emperor Runner beans. They are black with magenta spots. My sister saved them from her plants this summer, and she reports that the flowers are orange and red. Hummingbirds find them irresistible.

In other news, the kitchen light fixture may once again produce light. Our house has interesting quirks such as a mysterious orange cord that disappears above the garage roof and appears to power the garage door opener. It works. I don’t ask questions.

The kitchen light, however, no longer produces light. Flipping the switch produces a buzzing sound, the breaker blows, and then I have to go downstairs in the dark and reset the breaker. At first I tolerated it, but a co-worker gave me a lecture on fire hazards. I’m a great big chicken about catching on fire. If I even imagine something could cause a fire, I cannot rest until it has been fixed. An electrician will arrive at any minute on a white horse and he will deliver light to the kitchen and all will be well with the world. I hope he hurries.

I know you all were worried about our girl Miss Kate Middleton. Her plans with the prince are uncertain, but she may study with a New York photographer this spring. A gal needs a career to fall back on these days.

Too Many Thoughts, Cannot Focus

2008-01-20T11:11:00.000-06:00

The Gossip Section: the Twist Tryst was wonderful. The proprietress might not have known we were coming, but she was her usual poised and welcoming self. My stomach was full of tomato bisque soup, my hands were full of yarn, and Ms. Naplover had invited lots of friends. Even KnitandFit was there although she was busy teaching a class.

Much to my relief PrincessLiaK doesn't hate us. When she left Wichita and headed off for a new adventure, I was sad and I missed her. Then, before she even reached her new home, her blog disappeared. I feared it was too much yarn, too much craziness, too many yarn-crazy Wichitans that drove her to hide all traces of her previous identity. Fortunately we didn't have to call in CSI (and I believe that the KIPers would have done exactly that) because her blog reappeared for all to enjoy. Whew.

Confession time: I've never been smitten by Mr. Greenjeans even though all of the cool knitters want to drape him around their shoulders. Yesterday everything changed. BzzLaraBzz wore her Mr. Greenjeans and now I cannot stop wanting to make my own. She should post pictures. It was wonderful.

Too much stash: However, I'm not ready to commit to Mr. Greenjeans because I have several dates with sweaters (a.k.a yarn is purchased and waiting). The Everyday Cardigan from the Classic Elite Yarns Celebrated Classics is on my needles in Berroco Comfort -- love machine washable. Next will be the Oblique in Cascade Yarns Eco Wool. Last on the list is Tailored Scallops from Lace Style in Brown Sheep Lamb's Pride.

For someone who has commitment issues, putting this list of projects out for all to see is quite a risk. Meanwhile, other projects appear and grow . . . for instance the Monkey Sock in my purse in a creamy colored Panda Wool seems to have added several inches to the foot since I turned the heel. I do not remember knitting this. It could be magic. Stranger things have happened in my purse.

Big World: I would like to concern myself with serious things. The election for instance. I'd really like to see Edwards win a race. If each of the top three for the Democrats and the Republicans won a couple of primaries each, the political theater would be extraordinary. The pundits would talk themselves hoarse. I'd tune in. I almost got extra-cable channels just to watch Jon Stewart.

Since Benazir Bhutto was killed (and, no, I do not believe she died from hitting her head on the sunroof), I haven't been able to muster any interest in the Pakistan election. She was by no means a model of perfection, but I admired how calm and brave she seemed when she walked through crowds of angry people. She really believed in what she did.

These days though? I really want to know whether Prince William will propose to Kate Middleton.

Joy

2008-01-18T19:57:00.000-06:00

Oh joy! It is the weekend. Tomorrow I'm meeting a friend for lunch at a place that serves the best tomato bisque ev-ar. Then we will lounge and knit and knit and lounge at the LYS.

This is the meaning of life.