My maternal grandfather was an instigator, when I was younger. My grandmother would finally have the five of us, (cousins and sibs) lined up, sitting quietly and behaved on the church pew, when he'd poke one of us with a finger in the ribs, eliciting a squealing giggle, a wriggle, and then the whole bench would dissolve in wiggling kids.
Or we'd be watching TV and The Claw would make a sneak attack, causing the kids to shout with glee and tumble over him in retaliatory attacks, drowning out the show my grandmother was trying to watch. I occasionally use The Claw on my own kids, to similar effect.
At the beach he'd beckon us into the water, hold out his laced hands, and when we put a foot in he'd fling us backwards into the deeper water to our shouts of delight, ignoring the admonishing calls from my grandmother.
It wasn't just us kids he teased. My great aunt was a target as well, but she gave as good as she got. Often my three cousins and my sister and I would sit and watch the flurry of good-natured insults and verbal pokes fly back and forth across the room with the speed of a Wimbledon tennis match, a few causing us to roll on the floor laughing. Their eyes were always sparkling as they put on the show for us, both of them superb in front of an audience.
My grandfather was a natural entertainer, and his grandkids were his willing audience, although really, he'd perform for almost anyone. As much as he teased and tickled, he was also curious about the world, reading science magazines and history books, and informing us every now and then of some important fact he'd learned. He never went to college, instead getting a job at Worcester Pressed Steel and working hard through the war until he retired from the factory. He couldn't be a soldier; he was rejected because he had epilepsy. But he could still work for the war effort, and he bore the scars of a couple fingertips lost to the presses to prove it.
He shook the hands of both John F. Kennedy and Robert Kennedy, when they visited Worcester Pressed Steel. And he swore he would never shake the hands of any other politicians that visited there, as they always seemed to be shot after meeting him. As much as he liked to joke, I don't think he was joking about that.
My grandfather had a pure and true sweet tooth, and could lay out a spread of desserts and snacks like no one else I knew. My cousins and I once watched him put five teaspoons of sugar in a six ounce cup of coffee. "Gee, would you like some coffee with your sugar, Grampa?" we'd laugh. "Whaddya mean? It's good this way," he'd say with a wink. One night when I was staying over I was sitting watching TV when he walked in with a couple snack trays, one for me, one for him. On each one, EACH one, was: a mug of rootbeer, frosted of course, a large bowl of freshly popped buttered popcorn (real butter melted on the stove, not the fakey stuff they put in the microwave packages now), a half a large milk chocolate bar, Hershey's Symphony I believe, and a full bowl of ice cream, with chocolate sauce. And then he asks me if that was enough for me. If I was a family of four, maybe. I ate all of it.
I am an instigator, a poker and tickler, a joker, and a pure sweet tooth as well, and I know I get some of these from him.
Lately he's having a bit of trouble waking up, though he smiles and seems to recognize most of us. Sometimes he will say a word or two. At ninety-four, his was a life longer and healthier than most, even if he did break a leg by being stubborn and wanting to pick up his own paper, and crash the car coming to pick up his stranded granddaughter in a snowstorm (no one else knew that except he and I, and now you). He's had a couple of close calls recently, but he always rallied, because he liked to put on a show for the nurses. Not even the nurses are getting a show from him now.
You've left me with a lot of fun and loving memories, Grampa. I only hope I can do the same for my family. The Claw with the sweet tooth will live on.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Monday, May 30, 2011
Things That Go Bump In the Night
Now that my internet is behaving again (at least for the moment), I can catch up on weekend happenings. Just as I was about to post on Friday evening my internet crashed. Boo! And it wasn't even raining. I swear Comcast does it on purpose just to keep you guessing.
Friday was a bit of relaxation day because I had caught up on my required five job contacts for the week. I always leave it last minute because I hate it and it depresses me. The internet job boards are idiotic and show you things either way out of your knowledge or lump you in Sales. As has been stated here before, vehemently, I hate sales. At least, sales for things I am not passionate about. If it was handmade soap or yarn, I'm sure I could sell ice to an Eskimo.
Saturday we planned to visit the local cemetery with my son's cub scout pack and plant American flags on the graves of veterans. This went off without a hitch although it was windy and cool and the ground was hard as a rock in some places. I said hi and thanks to everyone whose grave I gave a flag to, even if their ground was stubborn. But I expect vets to be tough.
It was earlier than my normal rising time, but the sun was bright and the day was clear. My fingers were getting blisters by the end of it, but it was a small price to pay. I was working on even less sleep because that morning at 5:30AM I was woken out of a dead sleep by the feeling of little legs crawling on my LIPS. Yes, on my lips. I was dead asleep, dreaming even, and in two seconds I was wide awake flailing around in my bed, barely keeping from yelling. I never get up that fast, ever. But for bugs crawling on me, I am awake before I know I am awake.
It was a moth, medium-sized grayish brown. I see these all the time in the summer and they usually get in and beat themselves senseless against the skylights at night, keeping me awake. This was the first time I ever had one crawl across my face before. It was the grossest thing ever. It flew onto a window ledge but rather than pursue it I rolled over and covered my head with a sheet, muttering curses on it and its ancestors and descendants, if any. In the morning it was gone.
We've caught and squished three so far this weekend. They kind of blend with our carpet. But only once did they dare to trek across my face. Little monsters.
Sunday was preparation and shopping for my elder son's birthday. He is now twelve. I remember twelve. Now I feel old. My son begged me to make his cake for him, and since that suits a one-income household better (and generally tastes better too) I obliged with a simple chocolate two-layer covered in candy sprinkles. I even wrote happy birthday and his name without making it a cake wreck either (misspellings, running out of room, etc.).
I am very proud to say that the majority of my son's gifts were books. He reads voraciously, staying up late with a light under the covers, losing track of time, books scattered around his room, all of it. Just like I used to.
On Saturday evening my husband and I put Stephen King's The Stand on Netflix and watched the first episode. We saw it when the miniseries first played on TV back in the early 90's. I can remember liking the whole thing, except for the increasingly cheesy portrayal of the Walking Man. I suppose in that decade there was only so much they could do with special effects, but he was much scarier in the book. I still like to watch the stories of the other characters though.
The first episode has already inspired me to reread the book itself, a 900+ page tome which I finished in five days on my first reading of it, when I was fifteen, I think. My father was an avid collector of Stephen King novels, and I would read them as he got them, reading them off his shelf during the summer. I had to read quite a few to catch up to my father, he was always getting a new one. But King had a style I found impossible to be distracted from for long. 'Salem's Lot was the first Stephen King novel I ever read, and that was so scary to me I wore a cross around my neck for a year after that. I believe I was thirteen or fourteen. The 'Salem's Lot vampires will always be the "true" vampires to me. No sparkly romantic nonsense in King's monsters. These were demons, they were out for souls, and the vampire hunter was the true hero.
Then I tried The Shining. Even scarier. Isolation, madness, and psychic powers? Plus a hotel that's trying to kill you? Awesome. By then I was well hooked.
Imagine my excitement when I found out that the Stanley Hotel in Estes Park, about an hour or so drive from our house here in Colorado, was the hotel that inspired King to write The Shining. My first impulse was to rent a room and stay the night. Is this the right thing to do for a person who awakens out of a dead sleep at the merest tickle of bug legs? Because the Stanley is genuinely haunted. The Ghost Hunters have it recorded (whatever you think of them, I don't think they fudged that one, they had no need to. There was too much going on, haha). Not to mention the people who work there and see things nearly every day. The thought excites me.
If I were a character in a horror novel or movie I'd be the one going to look for what made the noise, or going hunting for the monster. I probably wouldn't live long, but it'd sure be exciting, hunting the bump in the night.
Friday was a bit of relaxation day because I had caught up on my required five job contacts for the week. I always leave it last minute because I hate it and it depresses me. The internet job boards are idiotic and show you things either way out of your knowledge or lump you in Sales. As has been stated here before, vehemently, I hate sales. At least, sales for things I am not passionate about. If it was handmade soap or yarn, I'm sure I could sell ice to an Eskimo.
Saturday we planned to visit the local cemetery with my son's cub scout pack and plant American flags on the graves of veterans. This went off without a hitch although it was windy and cool and the ground was hard as a rock in some places. I said hi and thanks to everyone whose grave I gave a flag to, even if their ground was stubborn. But I expect vets to be tough.
It was earlier than my normal rising time, but the sun was bright and the day was clear. My fingers were getting blisters by the end of it, but it was a small price to pay. I was working on even less sleep because that morning at 5:30AM I was woken out of a dead sleep by the feeling of little legs crawling on my LIPS. Yes, on my lips. I was dead asleep, dreaming even, and in two seconds I was wide awake flailing around in my bed, barely keeping from yelling. I never get up that fast, ever. But for bugs crawling on me, I am awake before I know I am awake.
It was a moth, medium-sized grayish brown. I see these all the time in the summer and they usually get in and beat themselves senseless against the skylights at night, keeping me awake. This was the first time I ever had one crawl across my face before. It was the grossest thing ever. It flew onto a window ledge but rather than pursue it I rolled over and covered my head with a sheet, muttering curses on it and its ancestors and descendants, if any. In the morning it was gone.
We've caught and squished three so far this weekend. They kind of blend with our carpet. But only once did they dare to trek across my face. Little monsters.
Sunday was preparation and shopping for my elder son's birthday. He is now twelve. I remember twelve. Now I feel old. My son begged me to make his cake for him, and since that suits a one-income household better (and generally tastes better too) I obliged with a simple chocolate two-layer covered in candy sprinkles. I even wrote happy birthday and his name without making it a cake wreck either (misspellings, running out of room, etc.).
I am very proud to say that the majority of my son's gifts were books. He reads voraciously, staying up late with a light under the covers, losing track of time, books scattered around his room, all of it. Just like I used to.
On Saturday evening my husband and I put Stephen King's The Stand on Netflix and watched the first episode. We saw it when the miniseries first played on TV back in the early 90's. I can remember liking the whole thing, except for the increasingly cheesy portrayal of the Walking Man. I suppose in that decade there was only so much they could do with special effects, but he was much scarier in the book. I still like to watch the stories of the other characters though.
The first episode has already inspired me to reread the book itself, a 900+ page tome which I finished in five days on my first reading of it, when I was fifteen, I think. My father was an avid collector of Stephen King novels, and I would read them as he got them, reading them off his shelf during the summer. I had to read quite a few to catch up to my father, he was always getting a new one. But King had a style I found impossible to be distracted from for long. 'Salem's Lot was the first Stephen King novel I ever read, and that was so scary to me I wore a cross around my neck for a year after that. I believe I was thirteen or fourteen. The 'Salem's Lot vampires will always be the "true" vampires to me. No sparkly romantic nonsense in King's monsters. These were demons, they were out for souls, and the vampire hunter was the true hero.
Then I tried The Shining. Even scarier. Isolation, madness, and psychic powers? Plus a hotel that's trying to kill you? Awesome. By then I was well hooked.
Imagine my excitement when I found out that the Stanley Hotel in Estes Park, about an hour or so drive from our house here in Colorado, was the hotel that inspired King to write The Shining. My first impulse was to rent a room and stay the night. Is this the right thing to do for a person who awakens out of a dead sleep at the merest tickle of bug legs? Because the Stanley is genuinely haunted. The Ghost Hunters have it recorded (whatever you think of them, I don't think they fudged that one, they had no need to. There was too much going on, haha). Not to mention the people who work there and see things nearly every day. The thought excites me.
If I were a character in a horror novel or movie I'd be the one going to look for what made the noise, or going hunting for the monster. I probably wouldn't live long, but it'd sure be exciting, hunting the bump in the night.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
How Does Your Garden Grow?
The dish planter out in front of our house, which sat empty all last season (at times upside down in the shrubs if wind happened to catch it) now holds a bright red geranium, three plants with tiny violet flowers, and a sweet potato vine. I was somewhat undecided in picking out the plants initially, but they do look good together and once they fill in they'll look like they came that way from the store. And all for about the same money as the pre-planted pots at the garden store, except I chose the plants I wanted. Hooray for overcoming indecisiveness and making use of what you have. I'm proud of myself.
My interest in gardening and digging in the dirt goes straight back to my mother and father. My mother kept houseplants and regularly transplanted them. I remember sitting at the table as she spread out newspapers, put gravel in the bottom of a new, larger pot, and carefully lifted the plant from the old pot. The smell of the potting soil was rich and pungent, and I observed my mother's hands, dusted with loamy dirt, carefully separating pot-bound roots and setting the plant in its new home, firming the new soil around it. She regularly watered and fed her plants, and they flourished, except for the christmas cactus which refused to flower again after the first year. But those plants are notoriously fussy. Our houseplants ranged from cacti to mother-in-law's tongue to jade tree plants, with others making appearances now and then as interest waxed and waned. I remember the windows on the sunny side of our house being almost unreachable due to the plants set near the window on stools or on sills to catch the light. Every Saturday was watering day. Our house was green inside, and that seemed normal. Other people who had few plants or none seemed unusual to me.
My father also grew indoor plants, but his true forte is as an outdoor gardener. He grew up on his grandfather's farm, a true working farm with cattle and crops; they made their own wine. My father's first love is the tomato. Wherever he's lived, if it had a yard big enough and sunny enough he'd grow tomato plants. And not just one or two. Ten or twelve of them at least, each one with soil carefully mounded at the base in a hill to hold water, and a stake set into the soil beside them as they grew, for the vines to climb up. Carefully and lovingly tended, the tomato plants could easily grow over our heads, and the rich green smell of the vines with fruit ripening on them is still one of my favorite scents.
One day when I was nineteen or twenty my stepmother came running down the stairs frantic; my two year old brother was nowhere to be found. It was summer and the front and back doors were open, the screen doors easy for a child to push open. He could have been anywhere. My father ran out the front while I went out the back. Two steps out the back door and something prompted me to turn my head, towards the tomato garden. There was my brother, in nothing but a diaper, holding two huge red tomatoes as he walked towards the house. It made me laugh, which startled my brother into dropping the tomatoes, but we grinned at each other. We both loved Dad's tomato garden.
My father still has a garden, and tomatoes still dominate it, though he adds cucumbers and eggplants as well as peppers, and sometimes lettuces and radishes. I try to emulate him with my small garden of three or four plants, with varying success over the years.
My aunt and uncle had the ultimate garden, at least to a kid. It was huge, probably an acre if not more, with everything from sunflowers to peas, broccoli, lettuces, beans and carrots. There were tomatoes, cucumbers, herbs, eggplants, cauliflower, corn...and probably much more that I simply missed. My favorite memory is of pulling up carrots, washing them at the outside spigot, and eating them immediately. The garden was a source of fresh, good food, which I did not realize at the time. It just seemed normal to me.
Woodchucks had nothing on my uncle. I remember he shot two in one week that decided to raid the broccoli plants. I did not at all feel sorry for the woodchucks. They trespassed and were eating food planted by my uncle and meant for us. Any other invading animals met a similar fate; my uncle was not intending to share with the wildlife.
My father had a similar mindset, but he was not a gun owner. One year, after planting a tomato garden at my grandmother's house, his ripening tomatoes kept mysteriously disappearing overnight. Fearing a raccoon, my father took a baseball bat and sat out, hidden in the plants, waiting for the critter. The culprit proved herself to be my great-grandmother, who lived downstairs from my grandmother. She loved fresh tomatoes too, and had been sneaking out at night to filch them. I wasn't there for the confrontation, but I always wished I was. It would have made a great addition to the comic reel running in my head.
Last year I bought plants for my sons, one each, to plant themselves. My younger son also brought seeds home from school for the summer that exploded all over the garden with wild abandon. I fully intend to pass on this love of digging in the dirt and watching green things grow. There's always been something more than satisfying about eating food you grew yourself.
And even if your tomatoes don't turn out quite the way you hoped, you can always have a rotten tomato war in your own back yard.
My interest in gardening and digging in the dirt goes straight back to my mother and father. My mother kept houseplants and regularly transplanted them. I remember sitting at the table as she spread out newspapers, put gravel in the bottom of a new, larger pot, and carefully lifted the plant from the old pot. The smell of the potting soil was rich and pungent, and I observed my mother's hands, dusted with loamy dirt, carefully separating pot-bound roots and setting the plant in its new home, firming the new soil around it. She regularly watered and fed her plants, and they flourished, except for the christmas cactus which refused to flower again after the first year. But those plants are notoriously fussy. Our houseplants ranged from cacti to mother-in-law's tongue to jade tree plants, with others making appearances now and then as interest waxed and waned. I remember the windows on the sunny side of our house being almost unreachable due to the plants set near the window on stools or on sills to catch the light. Every Saturday was watering day. Our house was green inside, and that seemed normal. Other people who had few plants or none seemed unusual to me.
My father also grew indoor plants, but his true forte is as an outdoor gardener. He grew up on his grandfather's farm, a true working farm with cattle and crops; they made their own wine. My father's first love is the tomato. Wherever he's lived, if it had a yard big enough and sunny enough he'd grow tomato plants. And not just one or two. Ten or twelve of them at least, each one with soil carefully mounded at the base in a hill to hold water, and a stake set into the soil beside them as they grew, for the vines to climb up. Carefully and lovingly tended, the tomato plants could easily grow over our heads, and the rich green smell of the vines with fruit ripening on them is still one of my favorite scents.
One day when I was nineteen or twenty my stepmother came running down the stairs frantic; my two year old brother was nowhere to be found. It was summer and the front and back doors were open, the screen doors easy for a child to push open. He could have been anywhere. My father ran out the front while I went out the back. Two steps out the back door and something prompted me to turn my head, towards the tomato garden. There was my brother, in nothing but a diaper, holding two huge red tomatoes as he walked towards the house. It made me laugh, which startled my brother into dropping the tomatoes, but we grinned at each other. We both loved Dad's tomato garden.
My father still has a garden, and tomatoes still dominate it, though he adds cucumbers and eggplants as well as peppers, and sometimes lettuces and radishes. I try to emulate him with my small garden of three or four plants, with varying success over the years.
My aunt and uncle had the ultimate garden, at least to a kid. It was huge, probably an acre if not more, with everything from sunflowers to peas, broccoli, lettuces, beans and carrots. There were tomatoes, cucumbers, herbs, eggplants, cauliflower, corn...and probably much more that I simply missed. My favorite memory is of pulling up carrots, washing them at the outside spigot, and eating them immediately. The garden was a source of fresh, good food, which I did not realize at the time. It just seemed normal to me.
Woodchucks had nothing on my uncle. I remember he shot two in one week that decided to raid the broccoli plants. I did not at all feel sorry for the woodchucks. They trespassed and were eating food planted by my uncle and meant for us. Any other invading animals met a similar fate; my uncle was not intending to share with the wildlife.
My father had a similar mindset, but he was not a gun owner. One year, after planting a tomato garden at my grandmother's house, his ripening tomatoes kept mysteriously disappearing overnight. Fearing a raccoon, my father took a baseball bat and sat out, hidden in the plants, waiting for the critter. The culprit proved herself to be my great-grandmother, who lived downstairs from my grandmother. She loved fresh tomatoes too, and had been sneaking out at night to filch them. I wasn't there for the confrontation, but I always wished I was. It would have made a great addition to the comic reel running in my head.
Last year I bought plants for my sons, one each, to plant themselves. My younger son also brought seeds home from school for the summer that exploded all over the garden with wild abandon. I fully intend to pass on this love of digging in the dirt and watching green things grow. There's always been something more than satisfying about eating food you grew yourself.
And even if your tomatoes don't turn out quite the way you hoped, you can always have a rotten tomato war in your own back yard.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
One Who Patiently Endures
Some time ago one of our favorite priests gave a sermon about "patiently enduring" the trials and tribulations of life. This priest is one of our favorite priests because he is a self-admitted geek and thus he uses references from the Lord of the Rings to Star Trek to Star Wars and everything in between. He really connects with us as we are also self-admitted geeks and we love it when he is running the Mass.
During this sermon, he mentioned that the true meaning of the word "ninja" can be translated as "one who patiently endures". I thought this was kind of neat; a priest who is fascinated by and has studied ninja, being just as geeky over them as I could be. I'm definitely not a Ninja vs. Pirate person...I'm more of a Why not both Ninja and Pirates? Together? Battling enemies while sailing aboard a steam-driven airship over a post-apocalyptic zombie-ridden alter-earth?
Okay my inner geek got away from me there, but you have to admit (if you're a geek too) that it's a cool scenario.
We quite recently found out this priest is leaving us, and going to a church in an adjacent town where his ability to connect so well will definitely be huge asset. The congregation will be college students and young families, and they I'm sure will quickly see his merits and come to love him as we have. It still sucks though. Every time we get a cool priest he's moved somewhere else on us, or at least it feels that way to me.
A vague idea I had after listening to his ninja sermon solidified when my husband leaned over and told me I had to complete the idea before he left in June. And so I did. He was surprisingly easy. The difficult bit was the throwing star made of embroidery floss. That gave me fits until I just set my teeth and did it come hell or high water. A small hook and extremely thin threads do not a happy person make me. ("Ninja" from Christen Haden's Creepy Cute Crochet)
I am a crochet ninja. Fear my steel hook.
During this sermon, he mentioned that the true meaning of the word "ninja" can be translated as "one who patiently endures". I thought this was kind of neat; a priest who is fascinated by and has studied ninja, being just as geeky over them as I could be. I'm definitely not a Ninja vs. Pirate person...I'm more of a Why not both Ninja and Pirates? Together? Battling enemies while sailing aboard a steam-driven airship over a post-apocalyptic zombie-ridden alter-earth?
Okay my inner geek got away from me there, but you have to admit (if you're a geek too) that it's a cool scenario.
We quite recently found out this priest is leaving us, and going to a church in an adjacent town where his ability to connect so well will definitely be huge asset. The congregation will be college students and young families, and they I'm sure will quickly see his merits and come to love him as we have. It still sucks though. Every time we get a cool priest he's moved somewhere else on us, or at least it feels that way to me.
A vague idea I had after listening to his ninja sermon solidified when my husband leaned over and told me I had to complete the idea before he left in June. And so I did. He was surprisingly easy. The difficult bit was the throwing star made of embroidery floss. That gave me fits until I just set my teeth and did it come hell or high water. A small hook and extremely thin threads do not a happy person make me. ("Ninja" from Christen Haden's Creepy Cute Crochet)
I am a crochet ninja. Fear my steel hook.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
A Flood Only a Mother Can Clean
Oh, it's raining again. Yippee?
Well, at least the grass is thick and lush and green. Rain has to be good for something, right? At this rate the lawn will have grown well past my knees before it can be mowed again. The impending snowmelt, which has been delayed because of unseasonably cool temperatures, has people worried here in Colorado. Our snowpack is already well above a hundred percent of normal, and every time it rains in the foothills it's snowed in the mountains. We do have normal seasonal temperatures approaching rapidly though (yay!), and that snowmelt will shortly be in area rivers and creeks, likely making them top their banks a bit. I doubt it will be close to the flooding along the Mississippi, but some areas that saw wildfires are going to be a concern because they'll have nothing to stop soil erosion and mudslides if there is even a minor flood.
At home I have a slight concern of my own; I heard water dripping somewhere up near the swamp cooler in the roof. It might have been tapping on an air vent, but I couldn't be sure. I couldn't find any damp spots in the plaster on the ceiling, but there's an old stain there from a previous problem, which is ominous. For those of you who don't live in a dry climate; a swamp cooler is an air conditioner for the desert, of which Colorado is considered high desert/plains. You run a water line up to your roof, which is connected to a machine that looks like an external air conditioning unit. The water drips from the line into the machine, which drips the water onto pads, then uses a fan to circulate the water-cooled and now-moist air down into the house. I was a skeptic when I first moved here, but it works really well and even better than a conventional air conditioner by putting some moisture into the air. Unfortunately it now might be the case that some flashing around the base has been damaged or pulled up by storms and is now allowing rain to leak into the roof. Priority number three, I guess.
The youngest spent the day at home with Dad and I, mostly watching cartoons and playing his DS. He insisted he wanted to go to school, but he threw up last night at bed time and the school rule is twenty four hours. After he finished yacking up his day's intake of toast and water (all we would let him have), he expressed surprise I cleaned out his bucket so quickly. Yes, a bucket next to his bed saved the day and the carpet. Even his Dad expressed surprise at how fast I cleaned it out. No surprise to this Mom. I have had plenty of practice.
Our youngest is unfortunately a yack-machine. He's thrown up more times than I can count or remember; I just know it's unusually often. I can't decide if he's got a weak stomach or is extremely sensitive to nausea. Most of the time the rest of us are unaffected. We eat the same foods he does, he washes his hands well and is clean, I am very aware of expiration dates and we eat nothing that's even mildly suspect. Yet he keeps out-vomiting us by a ratio of three to one. We suspected it might be his medication; the doctor torpedoed that today by saying it was more likely taking it would make him sick than not taking it, like the last two times he was sick.
I think I've narrowed it to possibly hot dogs, raisins, or an overload of heavily flavored chips, all things he had before he got sick. But, understandably, I am hesitant to test my theories. I think what I'll need to do is throw out all the "bad" foods and restart with some gluten-free, nitrate-free, sugar-free foods. All of which will be very traumatic to a kid who loves Chicken McNuggets, Toaster Strudels, and Gummy Bears.
But I think I've reached my limit for speed-cleaning the puke bucket now.
Well, at least the grass is thick and lush and green. Rain has to be good for something, right? At this rate the lawn will have grown well past my knees before it can be mowed again. The impending snowmelt, which has been delayed because of unseasonably cool temperatures, has people worried here in Colorado. Our snowpack is already well above a hundred percent of normal, and every time it rains in the foothills it's snowed in the mountains. We do have normal seasonal temperatures approaching rapidly though (yay!), and that snowmelt will shortly be in area rivers and creeks, likely making them top their banks a bit. I doubt it will be close to the flooding along the Mississippi, but some areas that saw wildfires are going to be a concern because they'll have nothing to stop soil erosion and mudslides if there is even a minor flood.
At home I have a slight concern of my own; I heard water dripping somewhere up near the swamp cooler in the roof. It might have been tapping on an air vent, but I couldn't be sure. I couldn't find any damp spots in the plaster on the ceiling, but there's an old stain there from a previous problem, which is ominous. For those of you who don't live in a dry climate; a swamp cooler is an air conditioner for the desert, of which Colorado is considered high desert/plains. You run a water line up to your roof, which is connected to a machine that looks like an external air conditioning unit. The water drips from the line into the machine, which drips the water onto pads, then uses a fan to circulate the water-cooled and now-moist air down into the house. I was a skeptic when I first moved here, but it works really well and even better than a conventional air conditioner by putting some moisture into the air. Unfortunately it now might be the case that some flashing around the base has been damaged or pulled up by storms and is now allowing rain to leak into the roof. Priority number three, I guess.
The youngest spent the day at home with Dad and I, mostly watching cartoons and playing his DS. He insisted he wanted to go to school, but he threw up last night at bed time and the school rule is twenty four hours. After he finished yacking up his day's intake of toast and water (all we would let him have), he expressed surprise I cleaned out his bucket so quickly. Yes, a bucket next to his bed saved the day and the carpet. Even his Dad expressed surprise at how fast I cleaned it out. No surprise to this Mom. I have had plenty of practice.
Our youngest is unfortunately a yack-machine. He's thrown up more times than I can count or remember; I just know it's unusually often. I can't decide if he's got a weak stomach or is extremely sensitive to nausea. Most of the time the rest of us are unaffected. We eat the same foods he does, he washes his hands well and is clean, I am very aware of expiration dates and we eat nothing that's even mildly suspect. Yet he keeps out-vomiting us by a ratio of three to one. We suspected it might be his medication; the doctor torpedoed that today by saying it was more likely taking it would make him sick than not taking it, like the last two times he was sick.
I think I've narrowed it to possibly hot dogs, raisins, or an overload of heavily flavored chips, all things he had before he got sick. But, understandably, I am hesitant to test my theories. I think what I'll need to do is throw out all the "bad" foods and restart with some gluten-free, nitrate-free, sugar-free foods. All of which will be very traumatic to a kid who loves Chicken McNuggets, Toaster Strudels, and Gummy Bears.
But I think I've reached my limit for speed-cleaning the puke bucket now.
Monday, May 23, 2011
They Don't Make 'Em Like They Used To
Today was a busy day, what with dentist appointments for the elder child and I, the younger child developing a stomach bug and getting sick in the two equally lovely ways you can get sick with that condition, and the husband going to see his doctor.
The younger child being sick caused somewhat of a logistical snag until Dad volunteered to take him with. Well, he didn't really volunteer; I pointed out how, since I was going to be in a dentist's chair with air and water hoses and electric toothbrushes jammed in my mouth, I would not be able to stop any "antics" like yelling in the waiting room or running up and down the halls. Dad was going in for a consult basically and could put the muscle on if needed, though that was doubtful since he'd have eyes to watch every move the younger son made. A reasonable solution, which might have worked better if younger son hadn't gotten sick on the ride over. Luckily it wasn't too messy and father was seen without further incident. I had a pukey towel waiting in the washer for me as a souvenir of this little trip.
Meanwhile, elder son and I went to have our teeth cleaned and our gums poked mercilessly. They kindly removed a loose tooth my son had simply by plucking it out. My son was all grins after that. They even gave him a tiny plastic box to put it in, which was so cute I was jealous of it for a little bit.
I am not a person who is afraid of the dentist. I have been to good dentists and bad, and had everything from fillings to braces to root canals done, even some (shallow) fillings without anesthesia. Nothing has fazed me. Even the throbbing pain after a scraping with the metal instruments doesn't bother me. The reason I'm not bothered by this mild discomfort and occasional ache is because afterward, my tooth surfaces feel like glass under my tongue. I absolutely love that. That tells me my teeth are squeaky clean, polished, and ready to blind.
I'm not completely crazy; I'd rather avoid another root canal than have to lie there for two hours with my jaw cranked open, watching the dentist use a blow torch to heat a wire cherry red then stick it in my mouth (!!! no one told me to expect that, it was seriously interesting). I think he was fusing something or other, I wasn't really listening to his quiet explanation so much as watching where that red hot wire was going, or trying to. But I do admit I like my bi-annual cleanings and look forward to them, and I love the ever-changing technology that makes it easier and quicker than ever. Sonic toothbrushes? Heck yes, please. Gimme the new advances, I'll even try them out first.
Which all makes me wonder why, if we have such rapidly evolving technology, that cars seem to be made crappier and crappier. After the dentist I had to go pick up quarts of motor oil for my car, which was sounding like it had a dry throat, again, less than a month after I put oil in it. There is no spot in my driveway, the car is not burning oil, yet it's sucking the stuff down like free drinks in a Vegas casino.
I complained about this on Facebook, to which I got a slew of replies along the lines of, "Your car is broken, take it to be fixed." Which I did know, but was avoiding because I still don't have a job, and getting my 30-year old cracked and dissolving fillings replaced (before they poison me with something in them that seemed like awesome new technology thirty years ago but is now considered highly toxic) has become the new priority.
I can remember several cars my family had over the years that never gave me the trouble this one has for the past four years. We owned a VW hatchback wagon, bright orange, and had it seemingly forever. The body rusted out long before the engine went; my sister and I used to get yelled at for poking in the rust patches in fascination. My father owned a Honda that was passed to my sister, and it literally had to be driven til it died, at the ripe age of fifteen. The body of the Honda rusted out long before the engine quit as well.
My family takes care of its cars with regular maintenance, and most of them, barring a few that were totalled in minor crashes (protecting their occupants superbly), lasted over ten years. It's been a struggle to keep this car on the road and running, even with regular maintenance. Its age? Nine years this March.
I love it because I know how it handles, and it has my aftermarket radio that I love in it, and because it was my first-ever car I bought new. But when it acts up it breaks my heart. I want this car to last me another six years, but at the rate it's going I'll be lucky to get two. It's a Saturn wagon, with those bouncy door panels that were so innovative and kind of neat, back in 2002. Awesome new technology! The factory where they made my car with pride is long closed and forgotten. A few years after that, Saturn itself was gone. My car, an instant if not-so-long-lasting classic. I need to put in a couple more quarts of oil tomorrow. At least the fiberglass door panels will never rust out.
They definitely don't make 'em like they used to.
The younger child being sick caused somewhat of a logistical snag until Dad volunteered to take him with. Well, he didn't really volunteer; I pointed out how, since I was going to be in a dentist's chair with air and water hoses and electric toothbrushes jammed in my mouth, I would not be able to stop any "antics" like yelling in the waiting room or running up and down the halls. Dad was going in for a consult basically and could put the muscle on if needed, though that was doubtful since he'd have eyes to watch every move the younger son made. A reasonable solution, which might have worked better if younger son hadn't gotten sick on the ride over. Luckily it wasn't too messy and father was seen without further incident. I had a pukey towel waiting in the washer for me as a souvenir of this little trip.
Meanwhile, elder son and I went to have our teeth cleaned and our gums poked mercilessly. They kindly removed a loose tooth my son had simply by plucking it out. My son was all grins after that. They even gave him a tiny plastic box to put it in, which was so cute I was jealous of it for a little bit.
I am not a person who is afraid of the dentist. I have been to good dentists and bad, and had everything from fillings to braces to root canals done, even some (shallow) fillings without anesthesia. Nothing has fazed me. Even the throbbing pain after a scraping with the metal instruments doesn't bother me. The reason I'm not bothered by this mild discomfort and occasional ache is because afterward, my tooth surfaces feel like glass under my tongue. I absolutely love that. That tells me my teeth are squeaky clean, polished, and ready to blind.
I'm not completely crazy; I'd rather avoid another root canal than have to lie there for two hours with my jaw cranked open, watching the dentist use a blow torch to heat a wire cherry red then stick it in my mouth (!!! no one told me to expect that, it was seriously interesting). I think he was fusing something or other, I wasn't really listening to his quiet explanation so much as watching where that red hot wire was going, or trying to. But I do admit I like my bi-annual cleanings and look forward to them, and I love the ever-changing technology that makes it easier and quicker than ever. Sonic toothbrushes? Heck yes, please. Gimme the new advances, I'll even try them out first.
Which all makes me wonder why, if we have such rapidly evolving technology, that cars seem to be made crappier and crappier. After the dentist I had to go pick up quarts of motor oil for my car, which was sounding like it had a dry throat, again, less than a month after I put oil in it. There is no spot in my driveway, the car is not burning oil, yet it's sucking the stuff down like free drinks in a Vegas casino.
I complained about this on Facebook, to which I got a slew of replies along the lines of, "Your car is broken, take it to be fixed." Which I did know, but was avoiding because I still don't have a job, and getting my 30-year old cracked and dissolving fillings replaced (before they poison me with something in them that seemed like awesome new technology thirty years ago but is now considered highly toxic) has become the new priority.
I can remember several cars my family had over the years that never gave me the trouble this one has for the past four years. We owned a VW hatchback wagon, bright orange, and had it seemingly forever. The body rusted out long before the engine went; my sister and I used to get yelled at for poking in the rust patches in fascination. My father owned a Honda that was passed to my sister, and it literally had to be driven til it died, at the ripe age of fifteen. The body of the Honda rusted out long before the engine quit as well.
My family takes care of its cars with regular maintenance, and most of them, barring a few that were totalled in minor crashes (protecting their occupants superbly), lasted over ten years. It's been a struggle to keep this car on the road and running, even with regular maintenance. Its age? Nine years this March.
I love it because I know how it handles, and it has my aftermarket radio that I love in it, and because it was my first-ever car I bought new. But when it acts up it breaks my heart. I want this car to last me another six years, but at the rate it's going I'll be lucky to get two. It's a Saturn wagon, with those bouncy door panels that were so innovative and kind of neat, back in 2002. Awesome new technology! The factory where they made my car with pride is long closed and forgotten. A few years after that, Saturn itself was gone. My car, an instant if not-so-long-lasting classic. I need to put in a couple more quarts of oil tomorrow. At least the fiberglass door panels will never rust out.
They definitely don't make 'em like they used to.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Here Comes the Sun Part II
So this morning the grass was still squishing, but at least....yes....the SUN came out! I felt like going out into the middle of the cul de sac and dancing a sun dance with pagan abandon, but I settled for enjoying it while driving the kids to school instead. I'm sure the neighbors appreciated that.
Of course my youngest was thrilled because today was his school field day, and the school had brought in inflatable bouncy houses and slides. I don't remember those at my school's field days! The best I could hope for was not to throw up while doing the forehead-to-the-bat-handle and spin around it twenty times (Did you ever do that? It's funny as heck to watch everyone else do it and fall over dizzy, until it's your turn.), or break an arm doing the wheelbarrow races. Field days have gone carnival apparently. The bouncy structures were going to be available until five in the evening, but at about four a roll of thunder and some dark clouds appeared, causing them to shut it down early. Since we weren't able to get back to the school until then (had to pick up eldest from his school), my youngest was sorely disappointed, especially since the weather didn't even then have the courtesy to oblige with a thunderstorm after that warning growl.
The dog was absolutely loopy all day, racing from one end of the yard to the other when he was let out, and he begged to be let out often. I didn't blame him one bit. You have to grab these sunny days when you can, lately.
I pulled up my bootstraps and went out and checked my seedlings; crushed, as I had envisioned. I don't even know if the cuke and squash seeds are still in their dirt mounds, or if the pounding hail and rain obliterated them too. Oh well, I guess this weekend I go fight the hordes for more. Only this time I go out early. Haha, I say that now. We shall see.
More wild animal weirdness; I saw three little gray squirrels when I came back from dropping my kids at school. They were playing on and around the fence separating our yard from our neighbor's, doing typical crazy squirrel stuff and scampering around jumping at each other. Then one breaks off to run across our yard, right up to my car door. Where it sits, looking around and looking cute, not realizing I'm less than a foot away staring down at it. I watched it for a few minutes, then had to break the spell by opening the car door. I had a brief vision of the little thing running in and going whack-bonk on me, running all over the car chittering, jumping in my hair, me screaming, like a Lucille Ball comedy, but it ran under the car instead. That's my inner life; one long comedy reel. People wonder why I might sometimes grin or laugh for no apparent reason? It's that reel playing. Smile, you might be the current star.
I'll leave you with a song that's been one of my favorites since I was two years old. Probably my first favorite, if we count such things. Thanks Dad.
Of course my youngest was thrilled because today was his school field day, and the school had brought in inflatable bouncy houses and slides. I don't remember those at my school's field days! The best I could hope for was not to throw up while doing the forehead-to-the-bat-handle and spin around it twenty times (Did you ever do that? It's funny as heck to watch everyone else do it and fall over dizzy, until it's your turn.), or break an arm doing the wheelbarrow races. Field days have gone carnival apparently. The bouncy structures were going to be available until five in the evening, but at about four a roll of thunder and some dark clouds appeared, causing them to shut it down early. Since we weren't able to get back to the school until then (had to pick up eldest from his school), my youngest was sorely disappointed, especially since the weather didn't even then have the courtesy to oblige with a thunderstorm after that warning growl.
The dog was absolutely loopy all day, racing from one end of the yard to the other when he was let out, and he begged to be let out often. I didn't blame him one bit. You have to grab these sunny days when you can, lately.
I pulled up my bootstraps and went out and checked my seedlings; crushed, as I had envisioned. I don't even know if the cuke and squash seeds are still in their dirt mounds, or if the pounding hail and rain obliterated them too. Oh well, I guess this weekend I go fight the hordes for more. Only this time I go out early. Haha, I say that now. We shall see.
More wild animal weirdness; I saw three little gray squirrels when I came back from dropping my kids at school. They were playing on and around the fence separating our yard from our neighbor's, doing typical crazy squirrel stuff and scampering around jumping at each other. Then one breaks off to run across our yard, right up to my car door. Where it sits, looking around and looking cute, not realizing I'm less than a foot away staring down at it. I watched it for a few minutes, then had to break the spell by opening the car door. I had a brief vision of the little thing running in and going whack-bonk on me, running all over the car chittering, jumping in my hair, me screaming, like a Lucille Ball comedy, but it ran under the car instead. That's my inner life; one long comedy reel. People wonder why I might sometimes grin or laugh for no apparent reason? It's that reel playing. Smile, you might be the current star.
I'll leave you with a song that's been one of my favorites since I was two years old. Probably my first favorite, if we count such things. Thanks Dad.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Interminably intermittent internet
Apologies for missing yesterday. My internet was not allowing me to remain connected for longer than five-minute stretches, and while I can type fast, I can't type that fast. Comcast only decided to declare an area outage after we called them complaining this morning. And of course there's no clear reason why, and it just randomly cleared itself this afternoon. Maddening.
Yesterday it started out raining, moved into lightning, thunder and hail, and didn't let up all day. I have never seen it hail for twenty minutes, but it did. I'm afraid to go look at my seedlings; I know they're chewed up but my heart just can't take it yet.
My youngest was all excited about a tornado warning that popped, grabbing his teddy, his Nintendo DS, and his Calvin and Hobbes library books and hiding in the basement with his dad and I. It was exactly what I had done as a ten year old one summer in New England, except I somehow managed to stuff a sizable collection of stuffed animals and model horses into three pillowcases and lugged that downstairs. This was quite a bit before the days of handheld electronic devices. In fact it was a couple years or so before Pong (Remember Pong? I do.). You can tell a lot about a kid by what he chooses to save during a tornado warning.
The pictures are of some of the hail we got....yes it's hail, not snow, although it's four inches deep in the road.
Some of it was still hiding in the shadowed spaces under trees and bushes this morning, although that quickly melted when it started raining again.
This morning was my youngest son's spelling bee. I've been making him study all week, despite his protests that he's the smartest kid in the class. I'd also warned him not to cause a scene if he didn't win. He's extremely competitive and has Asperger's to boot, a combination that produces some impressive tantrums when he's handed something unexpected during his day.
He was more wiggly and uncontrolled than the other kids at first, but a quiet word from his teacher calmed him down and stopped the antics. She's a great teacher. He won the whole thing, as he predicted, and I was proud of him although I had to have a word with him about his poor sportsmanship. He attempted to tease one kid for missing a word, but a dark scowl and a head shake from me subdued him right away. For some things, I can badger him all day trying to stop him from misbehaving, but I've found that if I am truly deeply offended by something he's done and let him know it, it'll stop that behavior in its tracks. It takes a strong facial expression of outrage.
Yesterday when I picked up my eldest son from his school it was hailing so hard it sounded like gravel was being poured over the car. Today it was raining, heavily. My son got soaking wet twice in two days getting picked up from school. And I saw kids waiting in the pouring rain, offered seats in cars and refusing -refusing-, from middle school angst or dopiness or whatever. Actually, now that I think about it it was probably to guilt their late parents over how soaking wet they were, and get some extra video game time. There's no other rational reason I can think of to refuse a warm dry seat in a car, surrounded by plenty of other waiting parents who'd see anything untoward. Of course I've also seen these kids walking to school in a t-shirt and shorts in 20 degree weather so who knows. Better to look cool than possibly spare yourself frostbite and pneumonia, I guess.
I still have no job and no leads on one. The search continues, but now it'll likely be for part-time. I'm exploring the hand-made market, but with all the possibilities, I'm paralyzed by my knowledge. I know a little about a lot of things, but I'm a master of none. Am I good enough to sell any of it? Only time will tell. I think I have to sell myself on myself first, the toughest job of all.
No, I still haven't cut out the pj shorts pieces yet.
Yesterday it started out raining, moved into lightning, thunder and hail, and didn't let up all day. I have never seen it hail for twenty minutes, but it did. I'm afraid to go look at my seedlings; I know they're chewed up but my heart just can't take it yet.
My youngest was all excited about a tornado warning that popped, grabbing his teddy, his Nintendo DS, and his Calvin and Hobbes library books and hiding in the basement with his dad and I. It was exactly what I had done as a ten year old one summer in New England, except I somehow managed to stuff a sizable collection of stuffed animals and model horses into three pillowcases and lugged that downstairs. This was quite a bit before the days of handheld electronic devices. In fact it was a couple years or so before Pong (Remember Pong? I do.). You can tell a lot about a kid by what he chooses to save during a tornado warning.
The pictures are of some of the hail we got....yes it's hail, not snow, although it's four inches deep in the road.
Some of it was still hiding in the shadowed spaces under trees and bushes this morning, although that quickly melted when it started raining again.
This morning was my youngest son's spelling bee. I've been making him study all week, despite his protests that he's the smartest kid in the class. I'd also warned him not to cause a scene if he didn't win. He's extremely competitive and has Asperger's to boot, a combination that produces some impressive tantrums when he's handed something unexpected during his day.
He was more wiggly and uncontrolled than the other kids at first, but a quiet word from his teacher calmed him down and stopped the antics. She's a great teacher. He won the whole thing, as he predicted, and I was proud of him although I had to have a word with him about his poor sportsmanship. He attempted to tease one kid for missing a word, but a dark scowl and a head shake from me subdued him right away. For some things, I can badger him all day trying to stop him from misbehaving, but I've found that if I am truly deeply offended by something he's done and let him know it, it'll stop that behavior in its tracks. It takes a strong facial expression of outrage.
Yesterday when I picked up my eldest son from his school it was hailing so hard it sounded like gravel was being poured over the car. Today it was raining, heavily. My son got soaking wet twice in two days getting picked up from school. And I saw kids waiting in the pouring rain, offered seats in cars and refusing -refusing-, from middle school angst or dopiness or whatever. Actually, now that I think about it it was probably to guilt their late parents over how soaking wet they were, and get some extra video game time. There's no other rational reason I can think of to refuse a warm dry seat in a car, surrounded by plenty of other waiting parents who'd see anything untoward. Of course I've also seen these kids walking to school in a t-shirt and shorts in 20 degree weather so who knows. Better to look cool than possibly spare yourself frostbite and pneumonia, I guess.
I still have no job and no leads on one. The search continues, but now it'll likely be for part-time. I'm exploring the hand-made market, but with all the possibilities, I'm paralyzed by my knowledge. I know a little about a lot of things, but I'm a master of none. Am I good enough to sell any of it? Only time will tell. I think I have to sell myself on myself first, the toughest job of all.
No, I still haven't cut out the pj shorts pieces yet.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Strange portents...
The ancient Romans were full of superstitions, seeing both good and bad omens in such things as flocks of crows, the entrails of sacrificial animals, and the way the clouds passed in front of the sun. If there's a modern equivalent, it's like those folks who read their newspaper (or internet, for you young'uns) horoscopes every day and then tiptoe around looking for it to come true. I have nothing against internet horoscopes for pure fun if that's your thing, but seriously, if you want to be all superstitious about it at least understand that those mass-published horoscopes are so generalized they mean about as much as the slip of paper you pull from a random fortune cookie.
If you want to get all weirded-out after you have a full natal chart drawn up by a professional astrologer, then that's your prerogative. Just understand that when you tell me you can't go out drinking when the moon is in Pisces because Pisces is your rising sign, I'm going to grin a little bit. I might go so far as to laugh, until you give me a hurt look at which point I'll try to behave myself.
Your natal chart consists of all the planets in the solar system, set at certain degrees of one another and you when you were born, in the present, and in the future. To pluck out one planetary aspect to focus on as "you" is like pulling one hair from your head and saying it wholly represents you. With an internet horoscope, or a single planet in Pisces, you're getting a single hair.
At any rate, I had an odd "portent" if you will happen to me today. I was driving home after dropping the eldest at school. Coming up our street I saw a mourning dove in the road, just sitting there. Ok. Silly thing will fly up right in front of the car when I get to it, right? I get closer, and closer, thing isn't moving. I know it sees me because it turns its head to look right at me. So I slow down, and now I'm a crazy person talking aloud in the car. "Fly away birdie, come on. Come on, dumb birdie, fly!"
Even though my heart wouldn't break if I ran it over (although I would cringe a bit at the teensy bump of the tires crushing it to oblivion), I really don't want bird guts on my tires. My kids run barefoot in the driveway. The car is at a crawl, but by then I am rolling right over where the bird is still dumbly sitting. I don't see it fly up, but neither is there a crunch. So I drive a little further on, almost to my driveway, then stop the car and look back.
The bird is still sitting right where it was. The car apparently passed right over it, probably scaring the heck out of it, but that turned out to be a good thing because it froze in place. Then while I'm pondering this, a scrawny red fox trots out from the yard nearby, heading right for the bird. Oh man, this thing is about to go all wild kingdom on me, so of course I keep watching, waiting for the shriek, and the crunch, the feathers, and the blood. The dove then decides it knows how to fly, takes a few running hops and takes off. The fox kind of stops in the road, looks after his escaping breakfast, then at me as if to say "wtf?", and trots off down the street. You're asking me?
What does it all MEAN??
If you want to get all weirded-out after you have a full natal chart drawn up by a professional astrologer, then that's your prerogative. Just understand that when you tell me you can't go out drinking when the moon is in Pisces because Pisces is your rising sign, I'm going to grin a little bit. I might go so far as to laugh, until you give me a hurt look at which point I'll try to behave myself.
Your natal chart consists of all the planets in the solar system, set at certain degrees of one another and you when you were born, in the present, and in the future. To pluck out one planetary aspect to focus on as "you" is like pulling one hair from your head and saying it wholly represents you. With an internet horoscope, or a single planet in Pisces, you're getting a single hair.
At any rate, I had an odd "portent" if you will happen to me today. I was driving home after dropping the eldest at school. Coming up our street I saw a mourning dove in the road, just sitting there. Ok. Silly thing will fly up right in front of the car when I get to it, right? I get closer, and closer, thing isn't moving. I know it sees me because it turns its head to look right at me. So I slow down, and now I'm a crazy person talking aloud in the car. "Fly away birdie, come on. Come on, dumb birdie, fly!"
Even though my heart wouldn't break if I ran it over (although I would cringe a bit at the teensy bump of the tires crushing it to oblivion), I really don't want bird guts on my tires. My kids run barefoot in the driveway. The car is at a crawl, but by then I am rolling right over where the bird is still dumbly sitting. I don't see it fly up, but neither is there a crunch. So I drive a little further on, almost to my driveway, then stop the car and look back.
The bird is still sitting right where it was. The car apparently passed right over it, probably scaring the heck out of it, but that turned out to be a good thing because it froze in place. Then while I'm pondering this, a scrawny red fox trots out from the yard nearby, heading right for the bird. Oh man, this thing is about to go all wild kingdom on me, so of course I keep watching, waiting for the shriek, and the crunch, the feathers, and the blood. The dove then decides it knows how to fly, takes a few running hops and takes off. The fox kind of stops in the road, looks after his escaping breakfast, then at me as if to say "wtf?", and trots off down the street. You're asking me?
What does it all MEAN??
Monday, May 16, 2011
From Chicken to Juggernaut
Yes, I finally did it. I sewed the bow tie. Two, in fact, because once my youngest saw his brother's bow tie he had to have one. Despite a couple mistakes on each (including making the ends too short, *choke*), the boys loved them and insisted on wearing them the rest of the day. With their t-shirts. I can see a lesson in fashion-sense coming up soon. We do not wear bow ties with t-shirts. Well, ok, you can in the house. But don't go outside. I don't want the neighbors to think I let you out dressed like that.
My youngest ended up wearing his for his First Communion, which was a hit. A teenage girl saw him in it and immediately told her boyfriend that he should start wearing one. My boys may have started a huge bow tie trend now, so if you see teens suddenly interested, it started here! I just have a few adjustments to make to the pattern and it should be near-perfect, with only my stitching skills to practice on. I need to learn to leave myself more of a seam allowance than an eighth of an inch. Trying not to sew off the edge of the fabric on a curve is challenge enough without a teensy space to maneuver in.
The First Communion was a big deal for all of us. I was afraid my youngest would make odd faces and act up, but he went through with flying colors and despite appearances to the contrary, said it was "fun". (Of course the rest of the service was "boring".) He's happy he can go up with the rest of us now and not just settle for a blessing. I give this novelty about two weeks, after which time he'll be groaning and squirming in the pew, anxious to bolt out the doors again. But at least he's a part of it all now, which is important to him.
So now I have a washed piece of flannel fabric waiting for me to obtain a pattern and cut it for my (eventual) pj shorts. I have to finish the fabric edges, then sew seams, including inseams, and put in elastic.I washed the fabric two days ago, and folded it neatly to await the scissors.
I started crocheting another amigurumi yesterday, for a popular priest that's leaving our parish in June. Have to get it done before he leaves, right?
I'm such a chicken.
My youngest ended up wearing his for his First Communion, which was a hit. A teenage girl saw him in it and immediately told her boyfriend that he should start wearing one. My boys may have started a huge bow tie trend now, so if you see teens suddenly interested, it started here! I just have a few adjustments to make to the pattern and it should be near-perfect, with only my stitching skills to practice on. I need to learn to leave myself more of a seam allowance than an eighth of an inch. Trying not to sew off the edge of the fabric on a curve is challenge enough without a teensy space to maneuver in.
The First Communion was a big deal for all of us. I was afraid my youngest would make odd faces and act up, but he went through with flying colors and despite appearances to the contrary, said it was "fun". (Of course the rest of the service was "boring".) He's happy he can go up with the rest of us now and not just settle for a blessing. I give this novelty about two weeks, after which time he'll be groaning and squirming in the pew, anxious to bolt out the doors again. But at least he's a part of it all now, which is important to him.
So now I have a washed piece of flannel fabric waiting for me to obtain a pattern and cut it for my (eventual) pj shorts. I have to finish the fabric edges, then sew seams, including inseams, and put in elastic.I washed the fabric two days ago, and folded it neatly to await the scissors.
I started crocheting another amigurumi yesterday, for a popular priest that's leaving our parish in June. Have to get it done before he leaves, right?
I'm such a chicken.
Friday, May 13, 2011
Here Comes the Sun...
This morning I awoke to sun again, glorious, warm golden sun. After it raining for two days straight here I was ready to start building a large boat and collecting animals. I know, wimpy, right? It rained for forty days and nights in the famous Ark story. Two days should be nothing. But when the grass on the lawn starts squishing underfoot something is seriously whacked.
My new plants seem to have made it through the two-day deluge relatively intact, if a little bedraggled. The dose of sun should do them good today. I know it lifted my spirits. I left my weekly job search all to today, putting undue stress on myself to get five contacts. I was resolved to just close my eyes and point at the screen and shoot resumes off wherever my finger landed, and I am ashamed to say I did do that for two of them. But I found actual prospects for the other three, so I feel better about that. But I determinedly enjoyed the rest of the warm sunny day by going out and driving around in it. The radio station obliged by playing the Doors and Lynyrd Skynyrd, so I blasted the radio with the windows open and annoyed people I'm sure.
Other people were enjoying the sun too; there was lots of traffic, particularly around the garden stores as people bought plants from the new shipments. I didn't get more plants today but I did go get fasteners for my sons' bow-ties (which I haven't sewn up yet...I'm such a chicken) and elastic for the waistband of my (eventual) pj shorts.
My computer decided to act cranky and lock me out of my profile for a few hours, which had me near panic...I'm one of those people who talks the good game about always backing up your stuff, and then never does it. Yeah I deserve what I get. But I'll still cry if I lose all those photos. On the agenda for this weekend; discs to back up my junk!
After the kids were home my husband and I decided to go out shopping together; my younger son needed a shirt and tie for his first Communion, plus we needed to find wonton wrappers for Italian nachoes. The nachoes came out awesome, yum. And as a bonus the bank was giving out coupons for the local ice cream place so we went and cashed one of those in.
Then, while we were enjoying our ice cream....my cell phone rang. It was my elder son, panicking over something he had done on my computer. He had asked to play a computer game before we left, and I told him to go ahead, but that the computer had been cranky. Sometimes he'll play a disc-based game, and sometimes he'll play one of those browser-based games. Instead of loading a game, he decided to take a dare put to him by some kids at school.
I imagine you can see where this is going. And no I'm not revealing the link he typed in or what he saw when it loaded. These were 12 year old boys daring him. Suffice to say that my biggest worry, a virus on my computer, did not happen. If it had, my son might well have been buried in the back yard garden bed up to his neck in the dirt for a week. As it was he was a blubbering wreck when we got home, and apologized profusely. My husband then had the unenviable task of ferreting out what he saw and what he thought about it, and did he need more info to clear some confusion. A couple of times I had to stifle laughter as I eavesdropped on this delicate conversation. "Do I like girls? Ewwwww, no!"
My son is now banned from my computer indefinitely, a punishment which he took meekly without the usual eyeroll or groan of protest. He's been told not to take dares before because generally they're designed to get him in trouble, but he claimed he "forgot". I think he was curious. It's fine to be curious, but be curious on your own computer, not Mom's un-backed-up relic that is so senile that sometimes it can't even load its own Windows program.
Yesterday this really might have bothered me a great deal, but with the sun still glowing on my skin it was hard to be mad for too long. And it's going to be a whole week before there's rain in the forecast again. Time to break out the sunscreen and shades and go for a long, long stroll. Come on Summer, I'm waiting!
My new plants seem to have made it through the two-day deluge relatively intact, if a little bedraggled. The dose of sun should do them good today. I know it lifted my spirits. I left my weekly job search all to today, putting undue stress on myself to get five contacts. I was resolved to just close my eyes and point at the screen and shoot resumes off wherever my finger landed, and I am ashamed to say I did do that for two of them. But I found actual prospects for the other three, so I feel better about that. But I determinedly enjoyed the rest of the warm sunny day by going out and driving around in it. The radio station obliged by playing the Doors and Lynyrd Skynyrd, so I blasted the radio with the windows open and annoyed people I'm sure.
Other people were enjoying the sun too; there was lots of traffic, particularly around the garden stores as people bought plants from the new shipments. I didn't get more plants today but I did go get fasteners for my sons' bow-ties (which I haven't sewn up yet...I'm such a chicken) and elastic for the waistband of my (eventual) pj shorts.
My computer decided to act cranky and lock me out of my profile for a few hours, which had me near panic...I'm one of those people who talks the good game about always backing up your stuff, and then never does it. Yeah I deserve what I get. But I'll still cry if I lose all those photos. On the agenda for this weekend; discs to back up my junk!
After the kids were home my husband and I decided to go out shopping together; my younger son needed a shirt and tie for his first Communion, plus we needed to find wonton wrappers for Italian nachoes. The nachoes came out awesome, yum. And as a bonus the bank was giving out coupons for the local ice cream place so we went and cashed one of those in.
Then, while we were enjoying our ice cream....my cell phone rang. It was my elder son, panicking over something he had done on my computer. He had asked to play a computer game before we left, and I told him to go ahead, but that the computer had been cranky. Sometimes he'll play a disc-based game, and sometimes he'll play one of those browser-based games. Instead of loading a game, he decided to take a dare put to him by some kids at school.
I imagine you can see where this is going. And no I'm not revealing the link he typed in or what he saw when it loaded. These were 12 year old boys daring him. Suffice to say that my biggest worry, a virus on my computer, did not happen. If it had, my son might well have been buried in the back yard garden bed up to his neck in the dirt for a week. As it was he was a blubbering wreck when we got home, and apologized profusely. My husband then had the unenviable task of ferreting out what he saw and what he thought about it, and did he need more info to clear some confusion. A couple of times I had to stifle laughter as I eavesdropped on this delicate conversation. "Do I like girls? Ewwwww, no!"
My son is now banned from my computer indefinitely, a punishment which he took meekly without the usual eyeroll or groan of protest. He's been told not to take dares before because generally they're designed to get him in trouble, but he claimed he "forgot". I think he was curious. It's fine to be curious, but be curious on your own computer, not Mom's un-backed-up relic that is so senile that sometimes it can't even load its own Windows program.
Yesterday this really might have bothered me a great deal, but with the sun still glowing on my skin it was hard to be mad for too long. And it's going to be a whole week before there's rain in the forecast again. Time to break out the sunscreen and shades and go for a long, long stroll. Come on Summer, I'm waiting!
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Bugs!
By nature I am wary of bugs. They come inside the house despite your best efforts, and just when you think you're safe and happy BOO! there's a beetle crawling across your pillow! Or a moth fluttering near your yarn (that really drives me right off my nut), or a silverfish eating the glue binding your book spines together, or a wasp buzzing against the window glass trying to get out (how did it get in in the first place, is there a nest, eek!).
I can't even talk about spiders. Yes I know technically they're arachnids and not bugs, but if you want to get technical spiders make me crazier than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Just. don't. go. there. The way they move, all spindly-legged, or far, far worse, hang in the air on a thread....eeeeeyeck!(Oddly enough, I don't bat an eyelash at tarantulas. I've held them and let them crawl on me. No freak outs. It must be that they're so huge it doesn't register as a spider anymore. More like a fat mouse with bristly fur and too many legs.)
So tonight my younger son was in a concert at school. A concert about bugs. The second graders have been studying the life cycles of various creepy-crawlies all year and this was the culmination. At least they gave my son the ant to study. Some kids got cockroaches, eck. I'm sure their parents are very proud though.
As soon as they walked on stage the audience was eating out of their hands. Half the kids had bug "antennae" on their heads, the others had green visors (I'm not sure what type of bug this was supposed to represent....maybe a praying mantis' large green eyes?). We'd been instructed to dress them in colorful clothes, and some girls were wearing ladybug polkadots and flowing butterfly type dresses. It was all so cute it almost, almost made me appreciate bugs a little more. That's still gonna take some doing.
Some kids got to speak lines indicating what type of bug they were. One little girl was a stinkbug, poor thing, and all the other kids, er bugs, held their noses and told her to go away. It was a standout part though. She got sung to by butterflies, telling her it would get better. Possibly the best song of the night. Of course I loved the fireflies song, where the kids were given little wands and walked back and forth across the stage in the dark waving the lights, weaving in and out. My younger son got to be in this group, and I got a few shots, though the light was low.
Haha, I just noticed the kids' eyes glowing, kind of spooky. I didn't see that at the concert.
Halfway through the show, in between numbers, some poor kid passed out in the back of the audience and EMT services were called. The show was halted and all the second graders behaved very well while the emergency was handled by the adults. We were all very impressed by the kids' maturity. The poor kid is going to be alright, he was just severely dehydrated apparently.
After the show we were invited into the school halls to check out our kids' bug reports and see what they had been up to during the year. I discovered my younger son is quite the conversationalist in written media. He breaks the fourth wall, makes it entertaining by cracking jokes about himself and his subjects, and basically stretched the idea of a formal report on ants into a comic commentary on daily life. Now if I could just get him to write out his book reports the same way....
My little guy hamming it up with his ant report. He's still wearing his antennae, cute stuff! After the mini-reception was done, we ran through the rain....and it has been raining all day here today, how dreary...to the car and back home. Once he was done with supper I sprang a surprise on my younger son and offered him a treat he'd been salivating over for almost a week, ever since I won it in a basket of goodies in a silent auction.
And of course, like all the best treats, it turned his tongue strange and awful colors while he was eating it.
Sweets for my sweet little bug.
I can't even talk about spiders. Yes I know technically they're arachnids and not bugs, but if you want to get technical spiders make me crazier than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Just. don't. go. there. The way they move, all spindly-legged, or far, far worse, hang in the air on a thread....eeeeeyeck!(Oddly enough, I don't bat an eyelash at tarantulas. I've held them and let them crawl on me. No freak outs. It must be that they're so huge it doesn't register as a spider anymore. More like a fat mouse with bristly fur and too many legs.)
So tonight my younger son was in a concert at school. A concert about bugs. The second graders have been studying the life cycles of various creepy-crawlies all year and this was the culmination. At least they gave my son the ant to study. Some kids got cockroaches, eck. I'm sure their parents are very proud though.
As soon as they walked on stage the audience was eating out of their hands. Half the kids had bug "antennae" on their heads, the others had green visors (I'm not sure what type of bug this was supposed to represent....maybe a praying mantis' large green eyes?). We'd been instructed to dress them in colorful clothes, and some girls were wearing ladybug polkadots and flowing butterfly type dresses. It was all so cute it almost, almost made me appreciate bugs a little more. That's still gonna take some doing.
Some kids got to speak lines indicating what type of bug they were. One little girl was a stinkbug, poor thing, and all the other kids, er bugs, held their noses and told her to go away. It was a standout part though. She got sung to by butterflies, telling her it would get better. Possibly the best song of the night. Of course I loved the fireflies song, where the kids were given little wands and walked back and forth across the stage in the dark waving the lights, weaving in and out. My younger son got to be in this group, and I got a few shots, though the light was low.
Haha, I just noticed the kids' eyes glowing, kind of spooky. I didn't see that at the concert.
Halfway through the show, in between numbers, some poor kid passed out in the back of the audience and EMT services were called. The show was halted and all the second graders behaved very well while the emergency was handled by the adults. We were all very impressed by the kids' maturity. The poor kid is going to be alright, he was just severely dehydrated apparently.
After the show we were invited into the school halls to check out our kids' bug reports and see what they had been up to during the year. I discovered my younger son is quite the conversationalist in written media. He breaks the fourth wall, makes it entertaining by cracking jokes about himself and his subjects, and basically stretched the idea of a formal report on ants into a comic commentary on daily life. Now if I could just get him to write out his book reports the same way....
My little guy hamming it up with his ant report. He's still wearing his antennae, cute stuff! After the mini-reception was done, we ran through the rain....and it has been raining all day here today, how dreary...to the car and back home. Once he was done with supper I sprang a surprise on my younger son and offered him a treat he'd been salivating over for almost a week, ever since I won it in a basket of goodies in a silent auction.
And of course, like all the best treats, it turned his tongue strange and awful colors while he was eating it.
Sweets for my sweet little bug.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Dancing in the Rain
Tonight I had to go pick up my elder son from a Boy Scout meeting, which is usual on a Tuesday night. What's unusual is the spectacular lightning show I got to drive through. Oh I'm used to a few flashes here and there, thunder, rain, the works. But tonight, it's ramped up several levels from "the usual".
While driving, my younger son and I saw several bright, clear bolts, large ones, streak from the sky to the ground, and it seemed they were not far from us. The entire sky lit up around us, not just in the vicinity of the lightning. The bolts, or lines as I've always called them, were lavender and pale blue and white, stark and dazzling against the night sky.
There's been little if any thunder, and only a little rain, no downpours. Just the sky all around us putting on a light show better than any rock concert for it's unbridled wildness. Several bolts fell all around us as I ran into the hall to retrieve my son. I imagine they were at least three miles off, but it looked much much closer. As we were driving home the lightning decided to skate sideways through the sky in branches and forks, making both boys ooh and aah in delight. I was asked several times if the car was safe. I responded with a short lesson in the conductivity of various materials (punctuated by woo!s and wow!s), and soon everyone was calm again. Journey's "Wheel in the Sky" came on the radio, and that was just perfect so we blasted it all the way home and yelled with the flashes of lightning.
I love storms with thunder and lightning, especially in the summer. When I was eight (my younger son's age), my parents would sit with my sister and I on the porch of our house and watch the sky and the lightning, oohing and aahing if we saw a line. Once the lightning faded or stopped we were allowed to run out in the warm rain on the sidewalk, in our bathing suits, enjoying the earthy smell and the water.
My grandmother lived in a second floor apartment that had a huge bay window overlooking a large undeveloped hill, so the sky was wide open above it. My sister and I with our three cousins would often sit in the window watching for lightning when storms rolled through, loving our unobstructed view. My grandmother would fret at us to not sit in the window, fearing we'd get hit by the lightning, but of course it never happened.
When I was a teenager growing up part of the time in a coastal town, fierce storms would roll down the nearby river in the summer, heading out to sea. Those were always great for rain, lightning and thunder, but with the houses packed so close together, you'd have to go out by the river to see the full show, an action that was dubious at best. Lightning struck the steeple of the old church across the street from us one afternoon when I was watching my two year old brother. A crack of thunder like I had never heard before shook the windows, and everything lit up at the same time. I did run outside then, after repeating to my little brother to stay inside, just to see if our house was on fire. But the fire trucks showed up at the church quickly, and though there was smoke, the small fire didn't get far. My little brother was a bit freaked; he actually stayed inside, at the door waiting for me, till I got back.
Years later, as part of the SCA, I'd be camping out in a tent in western Pennsylvania in medieval clothes, enduring downpours, thunder and lightning that were leftovers of a hurricane moving up the eastern coast. Seems like that would be quite far inland to get hit with hurricane remnants; it was a powerful one. Rather than be afraid of getting hit by lightning, people were sitting under the communal area pavilion, raising their mugs at cracks of thunder and screaming "Odin!", and if there was lightning, adding "Thor!" It seemed hysterically funny at the time, probably because we were drinking.
Situated in a safe spot, dry, and with friends, I could watch a summer lightning storm all night. Every one is different, and every one is beautiful. Even in one of my most tension-filled moments, in the midst of driving through Iowa at night, in pitch darkness in a downpour, one part of my mind was registering the lines striking the earth unobstructed and with abandon, wishing for one moment I could take my eyes off the road and enjoy the unrestrained dancing of the light.
While driving, my younger son and I saw several bright, clear bolts, large ones, streak from the sky to the ground, and it seemed they were not far from us. The entire sky lit up around us, not just in the vicinity of the lightning. The bolts, or lines as I've always called them, were lavender and pale blue and white, stark and dazzling against the night sky.
There's been little if any thunder, and only a little rain, no downpours. Just the sky all around us putting on a light show better than any rock concert for it's unbridled wildness. Several bolts fell all around us as I ran into the hall to retrieve my son. I imagine they were at least three miles off, but it looked much much closer. As we were driving home the lightning decided to skate sideways through the sky in branches and forks, making both boys ooh and aah in delight. I was asked several times if the car was safe. I responded with a short lesson in the conductivity of various materials (punctuated by woo!s and wow!s), and soon everyone was calm again. Journey's "Wheel in the Sky" came on the radio, and that was just perfect so we blasted it all the way home and yelled with the flashes of lightning.
I love storms with thunder and lightning, especially in the summer. When I was eight (my younger son's age), my parents would sit with my sister and I on the porch of our house and watch the sky and the lightning, oohing and aahing if we saw a line. Once the lightning faded or stopped we were allowed to run out in the warm rain on the sidewalk, in our bathing suits, enjoying the earthy smell and the water.
My grandmother lived in a second floor apartment that had a huge bay window overlooking a large undeveloped hill, so the sky was wide open above it. My sister and I with our three cousins would often sit in the window watching for lightning when storms rolled through, loving our unobstructed view. My grandmother would fret at us to not sit in the window, fearing we'd get hit by the lightning, but of course it never happened.
When I was a teenager growing up part of the time in a coastal town, fierce storms would roll down the nearby river in the summer, heading out to sea. Those were always great for rain, lightning and thunder, but with the houses packed so close together, you'd have to go out by the river to see the full show, an action that was dubious at best. Lightning struck the steeple of the old church across the street from us one afternoon when I was watching my two year old brother. A crack of thunder like I had never heard before shook the windows, and everything lit up at the same time. I did run outside then, after repeating to my little brother to stay inside, just to see if our house was on fire. But the fire trucks showed up at the church quickly, and though there was smoke, the small fire didn't get far. My little brother was a bit freaked; he actually stayed inside, at the door waiting for me, till I got back.
Years later, as part of the SCA, I'd be camping out in a tent in western Pennsylvania in medieval clothes, enduring downpours, thunder and lightning that were leftovers of a hurricane moving up the eastern coast. Seems like that would be quite far inland to get hit with hurricane remnants; it was a powerful one. Rather than be afraid of getting hit by lightning, people were sitting under the communal area pavilion, raising their mugs at cracks of thunder and screaming "Odin!", and if there was lightning, adding "Thor!" It seemed hysterically funny at the time, probably because we were drinking.
Situated in a safe spot, dry, and with friends, I could watch a summer lightning storm all night. Every one is different, and every one is beautiful. Even in one of my most tension-filled moments, in the midst of driving through Iowa at night, in pitch darkness in a downpour, one part of my mind was registering the lines striking the earth unobstructed and with abandon, wishing for one moment I could take my eyes off the road and enjoy the unrestrained dancing of the light.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Close to the Perfect Day
Yesterday was Mother's Day, so to all of you Moms out there, I hope your day was as good as mine.
First my boys took me to breakfast after church, in the parish center. The church gave out carnations after each mass, so I asked for and got a red one. Carnations are probably my favorite flower, even over roses, because of their scent. So fresh, green, and slightly spicy. And they last much longer than roses. Roses are lovely but oh so fussy. I've grown rose bushes from year-old canes, and they were nice, but entirely too delicate and too much work, not to mention some pretty serious thorns. Those things drew blood.
My grandmother had planted carnations along the side of her condo driveway, and those flourished with relatively little care needed, until the next-door neighbor ran them over with his lawnmower. Anything marring the teeny strip of grass was an offense, I guess. He was kind of an odd person.
After breakfast, the day was warming so we headed home, where I got some cards (including a craft store gift card, woohoo!) from my family and the instructions to "do whatever I wanted to do". My favorite. I thought about what I wanted in my garden bed, then took a nap. I likely should have gone early to the garden store, but it was a day for relaxing. By the time I did go out a few hours later, they were well picked over, and still busy.
Still, I picked up a tomato plant, a mini pepper plant, and some seeds. I am nothing if not optimistic. Then it was time to grab the hoe and decapitate the little weeds that had dared to sprout in the month since my husband had turned the soil for me. That really took less time than I thought it would. I think I complained about having to do it longer than it actually took. I even found the tablespoon we had left in the garden last year after planting my younger son's seeds that he had started at school.
That is a whole other story in itself. The tomatoes and cukes I planted last year never flowered or grew. I planted these spindly little seedlings he brought home from school....squash, corn, and pumpkins. I thought to myself, "He's happy they're planted, if they die, they die." Then, we left on vacation for two weeks.
We came back to all my plants dead in the bone dry dirt. But my younger son's plants had invaded and taken over the garden. The single corn stalk was huge, and growing an ear of corn! The pumpkin and squash vines had gone crazy and were all over the garden, taking over, and growing fruit! I still cannot figure it out. But he was very proud of the pumpkin we harvested in the fall.
Hopefully, my garden will do better this year.
The tomato and pepper I bought as plants. I also planted cucumber seeds, summer squash, and radishes. The radishes are a quick grow and very satisfying, a benefit to children. While setting in my plants and seeds I discovered two plants already in the garden were coming back.
Lemon balm, and spearmint. Of course the mint is trying to cover the whole garden, because that's what mint does. I had to chop the advance back with the weeds. But once I was done planting, I enjoyed both plants...
...in an awesome cup of iced tea. And after that? It was time to get serious with the boys.
Happy belated Mother's Day, and Happy Spring.
First my boys took me to breakfast after church, in the parish center. The church gave out carnations after each mass, so I asked for and got a red one. Carnations are probably my favorite flower, even over roses, because of their scent. So fresh, green, and slightly spicy. And they last much longer than roses. Roses are lovely but oh so fussy. I've grown rose bushes from year-old canes, and they were nice, but entirely too delicate and too much work, not to mention some pretty serious thorns. Those things drew blood.
My grandmother had planted carnations along the side of her condo driveway, and those flourished with relatively little care needed, until the next-door neighbor ran them over with his lawnmower. Anything marring the teeny strip of grass was an offense, I guess. He was kind of an odd person.
After breakfast, the day was warming so we headed home, where I got some cards (including a craft store gift card, woohoo!) from my family and the instructions to "do whatever I wanted to do". My favorite. I thought about what I wanted in my garden bed, then took a nap. I likely should have gone early to the garden store, but it was a day for relaxing. By the time I did go out a few hours later, they were well picked over, and still busy.
Still, I picked up a tomato plant, a mini pepper plant, and some seeds. I am nothing if not optimistic. Then it was time to grab the hoe and decapitate the little weeds that had dared to sprout in the month since my husband had turned the soil for me. That really took less time than I thought it would. I think I complained about having to do it longer than it actually took. I even found the tablespoon we had left in the garden last year after planting my younger son's seeds that he had started at school.
That is a whole other story in itself. The tomatoes and cukes I planted last year never flowered or grew. I planted these spindly little seedlings he brought home from school....squash, corn, and pumpkins. I thought to myself, "He's happy they're planted, if they die, they die." Then, we left on vacation for two weeks.
We came back to all my plants dead in the bone dry dirt. But my younger son's plants had invaded and taken over the garden. The single corn stalk was huge, and growing an ear of corn! The pumpkin and squash vines had gone crazy and were all over the garden, taking over, and growing fruit! I still cannot figure it out. But he was very proud of the pumpkin we harvested in the fall.
Hopefully, my garden will do better this year.
The tomato and pepper I bought as plants. I also planted cucumber seeds, summer squash, and radishes. The radishes are a quick grow and very satisfying, a benefit to children. While setting in my plants and seeds I discovered two plants already in the garden were coming back.
...in an awesome cup of iced tea. And after that? It was time to get serious with the boys.
Happy belated Mother's Day, and Happy Spring.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Life Moves Pretty Fast...
...if you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.
Today was kind of a waste of a day, except I put the cucumber on the needles and committed to a knitting project for a friend that I may not be able to finish, but in which the design possibilities intrigued me. I've already printed out graph paper for charts. We'll see what we get from imagination and practiced techniques.
The ice cream man never showed, again! My younger son is in high dudgeon about it, and clearly the ice cream man needs to learn some better customer service, or he's going to lose his fan base. It's not like my kids are the only kids on the street. That, and he needs to lower his prices. Over three dollars now for the same cheap stuff he was selling me when I was a kid? What a rip! At these rates I'm going to need to take out an ice cream loan for the summer.
We all soothed our collective grumpy souls by watching Ferris Bueller's Day Off. This is a movie that never seems dated to me, even if the hairstyles and clothing are. John Hughes took a risk by making the lead actor break the fourth wall to speak to the viewers, but it works, and more.
It lets us feel like we're part of a smartass kid's world, a really cool smartass kid. One who doesn't need cell phones and texting, but prefers to get out and experience the whole of the world, filling his eyes with art, dining in fancy restaurants, and just going to a ball game. Ferris' mind is so full of things he wants to do that he skips school to do them, but that doesn't seem like such a bad idea to us, in fact it seems like a better idea to us. Don't just read about the world in school, go live it! Ferris isn't a bad kid, he's just a smart, curious kid who wants more than teachers dryly droning on to themselves about mind-numbingly boring subjects with no flavor. He does want to learn, he just does it on his own terms. I can get behind that.
Hughes' commentary on the school system here isn't exactly subtle; the teachers are either clueless, boring or vindictive. The parents aren't much better, although they at least show (some) caring for their kids. I think Ferris can see the way this is going to go and wants to get in as much excitement as he can before he has to become an adult and necessarily buckle down to life and work. His friend Cameron is already on the path to following in his parents' footsteps, with all his neuroses and anxiety. Ferris helps him break out, even if just for a little while, and we know that even though his dad is going to freak out on him for the damaged car, Cameron has changed and will be just fine.
I like to think Ferris will never completely give in to the routine; that he will always be a rebel in the system, showing us all that we should slow down sometimes and experience life instead of watching it flash by.
Watching the movie reminds me of that. I'll never be a rebel, but I will sometimes just sit on the front lawn and knit in the sun.
Today was kind of a waste of a day, except I put the cucumber on the needles and committed to a knitting project for a friend that I may not be able to finish, but in which the design possibilities intrigued me. I've already printed out graph paper for charts. We'll see what we get from imagination and practiced techniques.
The ice cream man never showed, again! My younger son is in high dudgeon about it, and clearly the ice cream man needs to learn some better customer service, or he's going to lose his fan base. It's not like my kids are the only kids on the street. That, and he needs to lower his prices. Over three dollars now for the same cheap stuff he was selling me when I was a kid? What a rip! At these rates I'm going to need to take out an ice cream loan for the summer.
We all soothed our collective grumpy souls by watching Ferris Bueller's Day Off. This is a movie that never seems dated to me, even if the hairstyles and clothing are. John Hughes took a risk by making the lead actor break the fourth wall to speak to the viewers, but it works, and more.
It lets us feel like we're part of a smartass kid's world, a really cool smartass kid. One who doesn't need cell phones and texting, but prefers to get out and experience the whole of the world, filling his eyes with art, dining in fancy restaurants, and just going to a ball game. Ferris' mind is so full of things he wants to do that he skips school to do them, but that doesn't seem like such a bad idea to us, in fact it seems like a better idea to us. Don't just read about the world in school, go live it! Ferris isn't a bad kid, he's just a smart, curious kid who wants more than teachers dryly droning on to themselves about mind-numbingly boring subjects with no flavor. He does want to learn, he just does it on his own terms. I can get behind that.
Hughes' commentary on the school system here isn't exactly subtle; the teachers are either clueless, boring or vindictive. The parents aren't much better, although they at least show (some) caring for their kids. I think Ferris can see the way this is going to go and wants to get in as much excitement as he can before he has to become an adult and necessarily buckle down to life and work. His friend Cameron is already on the path to following in his parents' footsteps, with all his neuroses and anxiety. Ferris helps him break out, even if just for a little while, and we know that even though his dad is going to freak out on him for the damaged car, Cameron has changed and will be just fine.
I like to think Ferris will never completely give in to the routine; that he will always be a rebel in the system, showing us all that we should slow down sometimes and experience life instead of watching it flash by.
Watching the movie reminds me of that. I'll never be a rebel, but I will sometimes just sit on the front lawn and knit in the sun.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Garlic, Lobsters, and Ice Cream
So I mentioned I had finished a project the other day, but the Westminster Canine Unit bumped that post yesterday. So, today you gets pics of the finished project:
What is it? It's a garlic bulb! I think I overstuffed it a little because it's supposed to look like it has cloves, with the slipped stitches up the sides helping the illusion. I love the little root hairs and its round, comfy shape. Best of all, it has no garlic odor, so I can carry it around and spring it on unsuspecting non-knitters. I love the bemused looks that cross people's faces when they see a familiar object rendered into a knit toy. I've never met a person that didn't love these little objects. The whimsy is just too much to allow most people to try to maintain their serious exterior. Knitting toys; serious business!
So since I finished my garlic and my Shaun doll my needles are empty. I had a serious need-to-craft attack and ended up taking the youngest out with me to the craft store. Now, you might think this was tempting the Fates, but he was surprisingly well behaved. He even brought a few dollars to spend on something for himself, which I heartily approved of. We got him some red patterned fabric for a bow tie for him (I still have not worked up the spit to sew curves yet, so his older brother's still sits pinned and waiting), and some thread to match it. Then we had to go over to the fabric, because I'd had my eye on some lightweight flannel for ages, with the idea of pajama shorts for me. This is the pattern I OMG-had-to-have-it-or-I'll-just-die...
It was pricey, which is why I didn't grab it before now, but now I had the need-to-create juju on me. But the Fates were extra kind to me today....as I picked up the bolt I noticed a sign....flannels 50% off! Score!
Picked up some thread and we were nearly done. My son had to decide between the impulse candy counter and some mini wooden paintable birdhouses that really drew his attention. After some consideration, he put the birdhouse back saying, "Maybe next time." and got himself a push pop. I was a little disappointed, but I didn't let on. A "maybe later" is better than making a beeline for the candy any day. He considered it, and being eight years old, the candy won. It was a better outcome than I expected.
We each paid for our purchases and went home, content. My son, flush with his purchasing success, heard the bells of the ice cream truck a few streets away and determined that he had enough for an ice cream when the truck made it to us. By this time his older brother was home from school and they both decided to wait together.
Sadly, it appeared the truck was moving away from us and not towards...my younger son waited for hours, going in and out and making the dog nervous, but the ice cream man never showed. He was very disappointed, but once I pointed out he had tomorrow off from school and he could wait again, he quieted down. He ended up going to the park with Dad and the dog instead.
So, now I have flannel with lobsters on, and a pattern. I still need something for my knitting needles. My younger son has suggested the next knit vegetable toy...a cucumber. I know he has an agenda, because he's never this excited over real vegetables. Or maybe he just loves the idea of being allowed to play with his food instead of having to eat it.
What is it? It's a garlic bulb! I think I overstuffed it a little because it's supposed to look like it has cloves, with the slipped stitches up the sides helping the illusion. I love the little root hairs and its round, comfy shape. Best of all, it has no garlic odor, so I can carry it around and spring it on unsuspecting non-knitters. I love the bemused looks that cross people's faces when they see a familiar object rendered into a knit toy. I've never met a person that didn't love these little objects. The whimsy is just too much to allow most people to try to maintain their serious exterior. Knitting toys; serious business!
So since I finished my garlic and my Shaun doll my needles are empty. I had a serious need-to-craft attack and ended up taking the youngest out with me to the craft store. Now, you might think this was tempting the Fates, but he was surprisingly well behaved. He even brought a few dollars to spend on something for himself, which I heartily approved of. We got him some red patterned fabric for a bow tie for him (I still have not worked up the spit to sew curves yet, so his older brother's still sits pinned and waiting), and some thread to match it. Then we had to go over to the fabric, because I'd had my eye on some lightweight flannel for ages, with the idea of pajama shorts for me. This is the pattern I OMG-had-to-have-it-or-I'll-just-die...
It was pricey, which is why I didn't grab it before now, but now I had the need-to-create juju on me. But the Fates were extra kind to me today....as I picked up the bolt I noticed a sign....flannels 50% off! Score!
Picked up some thread and we were nearly done. My son had to decide between the impulse candy counter and some mini wooden paintable birdhouses that really drew his attention. After some consideration, he put the birdhouse back saying, "Maybe next time." and got himself a push pop. I was a little disappointed, but I didn't let on. A "maybe later" is better than making a beeline for the candy any day. He considered it, and being eight years old, the candy won. It was a better outcome than I expected.
We each paid for our purchases and went home, content. My son, flush with his purchasing success, heard the bells of the ice cream truck a few streets away and determined that he had enough for an ice cream when the truck made it to us. By this time his older brother was home from school and they both decided to wait together.
So, now I have flannel with lobsters on, and a pattern. I still need something for my knitting needles. My younger son has suggested the next knit vegetable toy...a cucumber. I know he has an agenda, because he's never this excited over real vegetables. Or maybe he just loves the idea of being allowed to play with his food instead of having to eat it.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
The Police Are Your Mother and Father....
So today my post is somewhat late due to a cub scout pack meeting with some special guests. I was not going to attend this meeting as it was outside and the day had turned chilly, however I bundled up and went, and was glad I did.
The cub scouts had a visit from the Westminster Police Canine Unit. They showed up with five black SUVs and five dogs, and parked on the side lawn of the elementary school. I'm sure passersby thought some sort of major bust on school grounds was going on; I know we attracted the attention of the fifth graders and parents who were still at the school for a play.
One of the cub scout's parents is an officer in the unit and graciously agreed to demonstrate the training and skills of the officers and police dogs.
I am always amazed at the obedience these dogs display towards their trainers, and the hard work they do every day. The dogs used are Dutch Shepherds and Belgian Malinois dogs, the dogs with the very best noses, and also bite instinct, that the police can use. Apologies for the distance of the photos; I only had my camera phone on me and the thing has no zoom.
First they demonstrated the acuity of the dog's nose, by planting a suspicious little packet on one SUV and having the dog find it. The kids knew immediately when the dog had found the item and were delighted. It looked like it was pretty fun for the dog too; as soon as he found his item he got a toy to play with, woohoo! Toys are worth any amount of work!
The next demonstration was of obedience. The officer threw a ball and a rubber toy; obviously the dog loved to play fetch, but at his officer's command he left off chasing the ball immediately to listen for the next command. Pretty impressive to someone like me; I could never be patient enough to train a dog to go against a strong instinct quite that well. The dogs also followed hand signals too, which I find pretty cool. It's that whole possibility-of-stealth thing. Ninja dogs!
The last two demos were very cool. They put an officer in a bite suit and demonstrated the bite commands and what happens when a dog attacks a human being. Of course, they put the "rookie" in the bite suit, we all knew that was coming. He was grinning though, so he didn't seem to mind too much.
The dogs were intensely focused and at command they hurled themselves at their "prey". You could hear their jaws smack the suit, and they hung on, dangling from his arms like 80-pound handbags. 80-pound snarling, angry handbags with teeth.
The officer in the suit made loud noises and yelling so the dogs would feel they were doing a good job, although I would think a big angry dog hanging off your arm by his teeth would make anyone yell and groan, bite suit or no. The police explained that the dogs are trained to go for any exposed part to drag out their prey; arm, leg, foot, hand....once, a man who had hidden himself only presented his neck. You can imagine how that turned out for him. It was the only instance of a dog causing a death in a hundred plus years of canine police units, so the officer said. And the officer and dog were not blamed for it.
Pretty cool stuff, and I almost missed it because chilly spring nights make me a weeny. I should have volunteered to be in the bite suit. Grrrr!
The cub scouts had a visit from the Westminster Police Canine Unit. They showed up with five black SUVs and five dogs, and parked on the side lawn of the elementary school. I'm sure passersby thought some sort of major bust on school grounds was going on; I know we attracted the attention of the fifth graders and parents who were still at the school for a play.
One of the cub scout's parents is an officer in the unit and graciously agreed to demonstrate the training and skills of the officers and police dogs.
I am always amazed at the obedience these dogs display towards their trainers, and the hard work they do every day. The dogs used are Dutch Shepherds and Belgian Malinois dogs, the dogs with the very best noses, and also bite instinct, that the police can use. Apologies for the distance of the photos; I only had my camera phone on me and the thing has no zoom.
First they demonstrated the acuity of the dog's nose, by planting a suspicious little packet on one SUV and having the dog find it. The kids knew immediately when the dog had found the item and were delighted. It looked like it was pretty fun for the dog too; as soon as he found his item he got a toy to play with, woohoo! Toys are worth any amount of work!
The next demonstration was of obedience. The officer threw a ball and a rubber toy; obviously the dog loved to play fetch, but at his officer's command he left off chasing the ball immediately to listen for the next command. Pretty impressive to someone like me; I could never be patient enough to train a dog to go against a strong instinct quite that well. The dogs also followed hand signals too, which I find pretty cool. It's that whole possibility-of-stealth thing. Ninja dogs!
The last two demos were very cool. They put an officer in a bite suit and demonstrated the bite commands and what happens when a dog attacks a human being. Of course, they put the "rookie" in the bite suit, we all knew that was coming. He was grinning though, so he didn't seem to mind too much.
The dogs were intensely focused and at command they hurled themselves at their "prey". You could hear their jaws smack the suit, and they hung on, dangling from his arms like 80-pound handbags. 80-pound snarling, angry handbags with teeth.
The officer in the suit made loud noises and yelling so the dogs would feel they were doing a good job, although I would think a big angry dog hanging off your arm by his teeth would make anyone yell and groan, bite suit or no. The police explained that the dogs are trained to go for any exposed part to drag out their prey; arm, leg, foot, hand....once, a man who had hidden himself only presented his neck. You can imagine how that turned out for him. It was the only instance of a dog causing a death in a hundred plus years of canine police units, so the officer said. And the officer and dog were not blamed for it.
Pretty cool stuff, and I almost missed it because chilly spring nights make me a weeny. I should have volunteered to be in the bite suit. Grrrr!
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Handwriting is a Lost Art
Today was one of those in-between days, weather-wise. It was warm enough, but the clouds kept covering the sun, the wind would pick up just a little and put some spring chill in the air, the day would look grey...it just couldn't decide what it wanted to be when it grew up.
At noon I was huddled in a blanket reading because it was actually cold in the house. I am so beyond ready for summer, even if that summer brings a move of several hundred miles and new faces to learn with a new job. Winter was a bit colder than normal, with several days of sub-zero weather, and this Spring has just been dragging on and on, struggling to crack 70 degrees more than two days in a row. It's like the earth is waiting for something, although I'm not sure what could top the earthquake and tsunami in Japan in March.
I did work a bit on a knitting project that is close to completion because it is small and portable and ideal to work on while waiting for kids to be let free fromtorture school. I always find it funny when my kids whine about "how much homework they have". I look at their single-sided sheets and their one-page papers and pull the great-grandpa routine. "In MY day, I had to write hundred-page papers, hand-written, single space, both sides of the paper, with leaky ballpoint pens, on cheap filler paper! None of those fancy-shmancy computer printers for me! You kids have it easy!"
While I exaggerated (A small bit. The pens were very leaky, it was hand-written because we had no typewriter, and it was filler paper. Not a hundred pages though. More like ten.), I do think the kids have a lot less homework than I had at their ages. I can remember spending at least three hours a night on homework at age 11, and I'd have some from every category; Math, Science, Social Studies, English and a Foreign Language. And it wasn't any single-sided multiple choice refresher sheet either. It was answering questions with no less than a full paragraph of explanation that restated the question and provided the answer and how I arrived at that answer. You know, homework with research.
I was crazy and loved it. I loved moving my pen across the paper, reading about history or science, thinking about it, answering the questions with some thought as to why things were as they were. I loved hand writing, perfecting my loops, getting the word-spacing just so, the smell of the paper and ink.
It was during middle school and through high school that I wrote, longhand, several stories in the fantasy genre, in love with words and prose and character creation. I had stacks of notebooks and papers filled with writing, occupying extra space in my bedroom, stretching the seams of my backpack, occupying all my extra time in study hall or at lunch. My friends thought I was nuts. Why would I write over and above what I already had to do for homework? I don't know. I loved it.
Few of the stories were ever finished. I'd get bored with them, or the pen wouldn't write as smoothly as I liked, or I'd write the character into a corner that was awkward to try to get him or her out of. I'd read voraciously, and my stories never seemed to measure up to the stories already published. They think of so many things I don't think about. I can't be a writer as good as this. Thinking this at sixteen, seventeen, when I hadn't even been out into the world yet.
Which is probably why I decided to go to art school over pursuing writing. I had vivid pictures of the stories in my head that I wanted to see on paper, or canvas. I got B's or C's in my art classes. Fantasy art hadn't taken off much yet, it was all children's book art, which is lovely, but not what I wanted to do. I burned out at being told over and over to "try children's book art why don't you?"
I got an A+ in my English and Art History classes in art school though. Maybe it was my handwriting.
At noon I was huddled in a blanket reading because it was actually cold in the house. I am so beyond ready for summer, even if that summer brings a move of several hundred miles and new faces to learn with a new job. Winter was a bit colder than normal, with several days of sub-zero weather, and this Spring has just been dragging on and on, struggling to crack 70 degrees more than two days in a row. It's like the earth is waiting for something, although I'm not sure what could top the earthquake and tsunami in Japan in March.
I did work a bit on a knitting project that is close to completion because it is small and portable and ideal to work on while waiting for kids to be let free from
While I exaggerated (A small bit. The pens were very leaky, it was hand-written because we had no typewriter, and it was filler paper. Not a hundred pages though. More like ten.), I do think the kids have a lot less homework than I had at their ages. I can remember spending at least three hours a night on homework at age 11, and I'd have some from every category; Math, Science, Social Studies, English and a Foreign Language. And it wasn't any single-sided multiple choice refresher sheet either. It was answering questions with no less than a full paragraph of explanation that restated the question and provided the answer and how I arrived at that answer. You know, homework with research.
I was crazy and loved it. I loved moving my pen across the paper, reading about history or science, thinking about it, answering the questions with some thought as to why things were as they were. I loved hand writing, perfecting my loops, getting the word-spacing just so, the smell of the paper and ink.
It was during middle school and through high school that I wrote, longhand, several stories in the fantasy genre, in love with words and prose and character creation. I had stacks of notebooks and papers filled with writing, occupying extra space in my bedroom, stretching the seams of my backpack, occupying all my extra time in study hall or at lunch. My friends thought I was nuts. Why would I write over and above what I already had to do for homework? I don't know. I loved it.
Few of the stories were ever finished. I'd get bored with them, or the pen wouldn't write as smoothly as I liked, or I'd write the character into a corner that was awkward to try to get him or her out of. I'd read voraciously, and my stories never seemed to measure up to the stories already published. They think of so many things I don't think about. I can't be a writer as good as this. Thinking this at sixteen, seventeen, when I hadn't even been out into the world yet.
Which is probably why I decided to go to art school over pursuing writing. I had vivid pictures of the stories in my head that I wanted to see on paper, or canvas. I got B's or C's in my art classes. Fantasy art hadn't taken off much yet, it was all children's book art, which is lovely, but not what I wanted to do. I burned out at being told over and over to "try children's book art why don't you?"
I got an A+ in my English and Art History classes in art school though. Maybe it was my handwriting.
Monday, May 2, 2011
You've Got Red On You
So this weekend I looked over at the sadly disconnected body parts of my amigurumi in progress and decided I'd finish him. What held me up was the chain stitching around his middle, for some odd reason. That turned out to be one of the easy parts, though I'm still not convinced I did it right.
I love the stitching while it's happening, but the construction afterward is what slows me down. I want to see what it looks like when it's done, yes, but that involves assembly. Stuffing, sewing, gluing, bleh. It's why, as long as I've been knitting (and I've been doing that for six years), I've never made a sweater. The thought of assembling the pieces afterwards just makes me cringe. I know I'm a process crafter, I've already said that. I like learning new techniques and stitches and trying new things. But once I learn something and know it well enough I just get bored by it or something. Except for socks. I'm addicted to knitting those. But those are all one piece anyways, and you can change up the pattern so you don't ever get bored.
Once I started finishing my little amigurumi though, I could see the end in sight and I couldn't stop. I didn't let the embroidered mouth slow me down, though I had no idea what stitch to use and none looked right, nor could I find any help on the interwebz. The polyclay eyes were surprisingly easy; they've made that stuff easier to work with in the twenty or so years since I last tried it. To be fair though, the first stuff I tried was also the hardest to use. Lesson here: don't set yourself up for failure. Make it as easy as possible on yourself if you're starting a new technique. Use a simple easy pattern for beginners, get all the right tools (not necessarily the most expensive ones either), and make a space for yourself to be able to work. You'd be amazed at how good you can get with proper lighting, tools and space.
I did use a basic pattern from Creepy Cute Crochet by Christen Haydn, for the Corporate Zombie. But I added my own brilliant idea and made his face all his own. I may add more hair later, but I quite like him.
I'm thinking of adding his buddy Ed later, and a little herd of zombies. And of course a little polyclay cricket bat. I've already had to hide him from my kids who want to play with him.
I might have started the herd this morning except my husband had the day off and we decided to go explore, drive around the city and have fun. The weather cooperated well. I tried my first Jamba Juice ever (Pomegranate), went and breathed in the atmosphere at the See's candy shop, and discovered another craft store that is a smaller chain than the big box stores. They also had a craft item I could not find in the larger store: gears! Granted, they are supposed to be used for scrapbooking, but I'm not a scrapbooker. I am convinced I can do jewelry however since I took a light metals course in art school. I only nearly burned off my fingers once with an annealing torch. Only once!
I expect the gears will make it into some Steampunk jewelry shortly, I have to decide what sort of piece I'd like. Likely a bracelet or earrings. Possibly a choker if I have enough gears. Hmmm, maybe with red coral? I have a ton of that because I like its organic form and had a vague idea for a necklace called "Blood and Bone" with mother of pearl against the bloody coral. Yes, so charming, I know.
That's what you get with a zombie-obsessed person. That and architectural plans to build a fortress for your next house.
I love the stitching while it's happening, but the construction afterward is what slows me down. I want to see what it looks like when it's done, yes, but that involves assembly. Stuffing, sewing, gluing, bleh. It's why, as long as I've been knitting (and I've been doing that for six years), I've never made a sweater. The thought of assembling the pieces afterwards just makes me cringe. I know I'm a process crafter, I've already said that. I like learning new techniques and stitches and trying new things. But once I learn something and know it well enough I just get bored by it or something. Except for socks. I'm addicted to knitting those. But those are all one piece anyways, and you can change up the pattern so you don't ever get bored.
Once I started finishing my little amigurumi though, I could see the end in sight and I couldn't stop. I didn't let the embroidered mouth slow me down, though I had no idea what stitch to use and none looked right, nor could I find any help on the interwebz. The polyclay eyes were surprisingly easy; they've made that stuff easier to work with in the twenty or so years since I last tried it. To be fair though, the first stuff I tried was also the hardest to use. Lesson here: don't set yourself up for failure. Make it as easy as possible on yourself if you're starting a new technique. Use a simple easy pattern for beginners, get all the right tools (not necessarily the most expensive ones either), and make a space for yourself to be able to work. You'd be amazed at how good you can get with proper lighting, tools and space.
I did use a basic pattern from Creepy Cute Crochet by Christen Haydn, for the Corporate Zombie. But I added my own brilliant idea and made his face all his own. I may add more hair later, but I quite like him.
I'm thinking of adding his buddy Ed later, and a little herd of zombies. And of course a little polyclay cricket bat. I've already had to hide him from my kids who want to play with him.
I might have started the herd this morning except my husband had the day off and we decided to go explore, drive around the city and have fun. The weather cooperated well. I tried my first Jamba Juice ever (Pomegranate), went and breathed in the atmosphere at the See's candy shop, and discovered another craft store that is a smaller chain than the big box stores. They also had a craft item I could not find in the larger store: gears! Granted, they are supposed to be used for scrapbooking, but I'm not a scrapbooker. I am convinced I can do jewelry however since I took a light metals course in art school. I only nearly burned off my fingers once with an annealing torch. Only once!
I expect the gears will make it into some Steampunk jewelry shortly, I have to decide what sort of piece I'd like. Likely a bracelet or earrings. Possibly a choker if I have enough gears. Hmmm, maybe with red coral? I have a ton of that because I like its organic form and had a vague idea for a necklace called "Blood and Bone" with mother of pearl against the bloody coral. Yes, so charming, I know.
That's what you get with a zombie-obsessed person. That and architectural plans to build a fortress for your next house.
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